Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
"And if I trip over my own feet in front of all your important political allies?"
"I don’t like anyone touching what’s mine—”
My heart skips a beat.
“So be sure not to let any of them catch you."
But now I tell my heart to un-beat even as I choke back a laugh, and oh!
There it is again!
That twitch at the corner of his mouth. I'm starting to think that's as close to a smile as he gets.
"As for our private life—”
Do not skip a beat, heart!
“You'll have your own chambers. I won't force anything."
I should feel relieved.
I do feel relieved.
The little dip in my stomach is relief. Definitely.
"Your activities. You'll have freedom within the estate. Continue your photography if you like."
I blink. "My photography?"
"You work at a bridal studio. Lauve." He says it like he's reciting facts from a file. "You're a photographer."
"A photography assistant. There's a difference."
"Not to me.”
I have no idea what to say to that so I just...start eating as the candles continue to flicker and the silence between us gradually grows heavier.
I should let it go. Finish dinner. Go back to my room and figure out what happened to Abigail.
Instead, I open my mouth.
"And if I wanted to see someone?"
The words fall out before I can catch them.
Devyn's fork pauses. Just for half a second.
"See someone," he repeats.
"Not that I would." My face is getting hot. Why did I ask this? "I'm just asking what the rules are. For informational purposes."
"Informational purposes."
"Yes."
"You want to know if you can take a lover. For informational purposes."
Hearing him say it like that makes me want to crawl under the table.
"There are no rules." His voice is flat. "You're free to do as you like."
"Oh. Good. That's good."
Silence.
I should stop talking. I should absolutely stop talking right now.
"And you?"
He raises an eyebrow.
"Kings have..." I wave my fork vaguely, realize I'm gesturing with silverware, and put it down. "Historically. You know. Mistresses."
"Would it bother you if I had one?”
"No." Too fast. I answered too fast. "It's a strategic marriage. You said so yourself. So it wouldn't bother me. At all. Strategically speaking."
We stare at each other across the candlelit table. My heart is beating too fast.
"I don't share."
The words come out low. Almost rough. Like they escaped without his permission.
I stare at him.
"I thought you said—"
"I know what I said."
He's still sitting perfectly straight, still controlled, but something has cracked. I can see it in his eyes. In the way his fingers have tightened around the stem of his wine glass.
"I don't share, Bailey." His voice drops even lower. "If you're mine, you're mine. I don't care if this is strategic or temporary. No one else touches you. No one else makes you laugh. No one else gets to see that dimple."
My hand flies to my cheek before I can stop it.
"What dimple?"
"The one you showed the guard this morning. The one with the curly hair." His eyes are fixed on my face. "You smiled at him. Really smiled. And I saw it appear, right there, on your right cheek."
He noticed.
He noticed my dimple. The secret one. He noticed, and he noticed who I showed it to, and he's been watching me closely enough to track which of his guards makes me smile.
I should be alarmed.
I am the opposite of alarmed.
"Fine," I hear myself say. "Then the same goes for you."
I know this is insane. I shouldn’t even be wasting time establishing rules for a marriage I’m not supposed to want. But—
"No mistresses. No 'companionship elsewhere.'"
I’ve come to realize that I must have left most of my brain cells back in my world—
"If I have to be yours, then you have to be mine.”
And so here I am, saying things old-world-me would never even have considered saying.
“That's the deal. That's my condition."
His eyes crinkle at the corners. That almost-smile.
"Those are your terms?"
"Those are my terms."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I show my dimple to every guard in this house."
He makes a sound. Low, almost startled. It takes me a second to realize he's laughing. A single huff of air and a crinkling around his eyes that transforms his whole face.
"Agreed," he says.
"Good."
"Good."
We're both smiling now. Or I'm smiling and he's doing his almost-smile thing, and I’m 99% convinced that I’ve lost my mind. I mean...I just virtually agreed to marry a total royal stranger. Didn’t I?
My breath catches when he suddenly stands, and all I can do is gulp as he moves around the table. Slow. Deliberate. Each step bringing him closer until he's right beside my chair.
"Stand up."
It's not a request. But his voice is softer than I've heard it before.
I stand.
We're close now. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He's so much taller than me.
His hand comes up. Touches my jaw.
His thumb traces along my cheekbone, slow, and I stop breathing.