Page 21 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

The way he says the word tells me it means something different to him than it does to me. He trusts this dog to watch out for him, to read and see people for who and what they are. And apparently, he thinks Whiskey misjudged me.

I can’t help but smirk at him. “So, did I pass your test?”

Part of me thinks he released Whiskey, believing the dog would scare me away and he wouldn’t have to go through with this sham marriage.

Silas’ agitation returns. He points to the contract. “I want you to understand something. Just because I’m a Bolton doesn’t mean you’re going to live that lifestyle. This”—he motions around the cabin—“is my only home and the only one I ever want. I’ve never taken a penny of my father’s money, but I’m doing it now to pay you.

“You will get the sums owed to you in the contract when the terms are met, and you’re free to do what you want with it when that time comes, but you won’t be leaving here for some mansion in Pittsburgh. This place—me and Whiskey—this will be your life.”

My back stiffens at the anger in his voice. Whatever happened between him and his father, it has clearly wounded the man standing in front of me deeply enough to truly make him hate the Boltons. And me, apparently, based on the ire in his harsh warning. “Do you evenwantto get married?”

Maybe it’s a stupid question to ask, given the circumstances. Every single moment since he entered this conversation has screamed his disdain for the situation.

He reaches up and runs his fingers through his long, dirty-blond hair. “No,never.” His gaze cuts to Ronald. “But sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want to in order to protect those who need it.”

Who the hell is he protecting by marrying me?

I don’t understand any of what’s happening, but that seems to be intentional on both Silas and Ronald’s part. I’m notsupposedto know. I’m just supposed to say, “I do,” accept the money, and move into this claustrophobic cabin with this burly, tattooed, reclusive grump of a man and hope all goes well because I’m stuck with it the rest of my life.

Whiskey licks my palm, almost as if he can sense the anxiety ramping up in every cell in my body. I return to petting him, his soft fur sliding through my fingers, helping ease a little of my discomfort. But even him snuggling against me contently as Silas scowls at his apparent attraction to me can’t make any of this okay.

You can leave.

The car is waiting…

For a split second, I start to stand. I actuallyconsiderwalking out of here, driving back to the city, and trying to figure out another way to come up with fifty grand. But I drop back into the chair before I can get up an inch…because there isn’t anything else—short ofactuallyprostituting myself.

And God knows I’m not skilled enough in the bedroom to make any decent money at that, even if Icouldbring myself to try.

Ronald’s gaze darts between Silas and me before he holds out his hands. “Are we doing this thing or not? Because if not, I need to call Carly and discuss other options as fast as possible.”

I hold up my free hand, tightening my other into Whiskey’s fur. “No, we’re doing this.”

The tattooed man in front of me may be physically intimidating. He may have a shit attitude, and living in this cabin isn’t exactly top of my dream home list, but one thing he does have is money, and it’s the only thing I need right now.

A lot of people marry someone they don’t love. Arranged marriages still happen every day in other countries. Surely, Silas and I can come to an understanding, learn a way to co-exist here so we can both get what we need.

I grab the pen from where I dropped it on the table and immediately scrawl my name on the contract. Ronald looks at Silas expectantly. He ambles toward the table and snatches the pen out of my hand. His scent—a heavy mix of pine, wool, and fresh mountain air—fills my lungs as he scribbles his name almost unintelligibly on the line for his signature.

Ronald claps his hands together sharply once. “I’ll just notarize this and go take care of the certificate.”

I raise a brow at the man I had readied myself to marry before Silas walked out of that door and apparently stole my sanity, along with my breath. “We’re really doing this tomorrow?”

Silas releases a heavy sigh beside me, full of frustration and pain and something I can’t quite place. “We’re really doing this tomorrow.”

* * *

SILAS

Though, I don’t have a clue why.

Even after having a few days to think about it while Ronald worked out the arrangements with Carly, I’m still not one hundred percent confident I’m doing the right thing—for me or for this girl who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.

The world would be a better place without the Boltons in it, if Bolton Steel were to go under or get sold to some other company that would absorb it or completely dismantle it.

It would end the vehicle that allowed Uncle Marty to be the vile, disgusting piece of shit he is. Without Bolton Steel—the money and power it created—he never would have gotten away with any of it. The company has blood on its hands, and I would be the one running it—something I never wanted once I left.

But I can’t shake that nagging feeling that I’d be letting down all those generations of Boltons who fought so hard to build it into what it is, that I’d be making a huge mistake I’d regret later by letting Uncle Marty “win” and continue hurting people until the day he finally keels over like Father.

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