Page 88 of Necessary Cruelty

Twenty-Seven

When we finally reach thevineyard, I see in her eyes an understanding of why I’ve been so cagey.

I need her not to get the wrong idea about this, because it isn’t what she thinks.

But I see the question in those limpid brown eyes. Why would I bring her all the way out here?

The picturesque seaside vineyard looks like something out of a Hallmark movie. A gorgeous lodge is nestled at the center of acres of wine country. It’s beautiful, and not the sort of place you come for anything short of luxury. A quick hop over the Nevada border to some dingy chapel would have served the exact same purpose, but here we are.

Explaining myself to her would require having an explanation in the first place. If I can’t make myself understand the wild urges driving me, then I’d like to avoid making myself look like a fool. Especially in front of the girl who has always seen a little bit too much of the truth I prefer to hide.

I’d love to find the pieces of her that grow like a cancer inside me so I can finally cut them out for good.

I’m still trying to figure out how the hell to do that.

Zaya’s eyes stay glued on the view out of her window, probably so I don’t see the blush still staining her cheeks or the orgasm-blasted haze in her eyes. Our little encounter hadn’t done anything to ease the tension growing between us. If anything, it was like smelling something mouthwatering in anticipation of a feast.

All we managed to do was whet our appetites.

When we pull off the highway and onto a winding road that leads to a long gravel driveway, I watch out of the corner of my eye as some of the tension leaves her body.

There are special places in the world where it’s almost impossible not to feel at peace. Anna’s Vineyard is one of those places, and that plays a huge role in me dragging us out here on a whim. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want my wedding — despite it being the quickie kind with only a legally mandated witnesses and no fanfare — to be something embarrassing.

Even if everything else comes crashing and burning around me, at least I won’t have to feel grossed out when I think back to my wedding day.

It doesn’t really matter that this union is faker than the peace between us.

I remind myself that this is all about getting what I want. The happier I can make Zaya in the short term, the more likely I am to keep enough of my inheritance to avoid living in the Gulch in the house right next to her.

The look she casts me now is exactly why I didn’t warn her about this beforehand. She looks at me like I’m something different than the monster she always thought I was.

She’s wrong.

“We have to hurry.” I mean to sound brusque, but the words come out too softly to be anything by cajoling. I’m losing my edge. “Iain is already waiting for us so he can get back to Deception before baseball practice.”

“Iain is here?”

She sounds wary, and I can’t exactly blame her. Iain is my best friend, but sometimes he even scares me a little.

“We need a witness.”

For our damn wedding ceremony.

Zaya just stares at me as we drive slowly past trellises heavy with grapes, rolling hills, and clear blue skies on the horizon. This place offers tours, but we’re the only visitors right now. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, which is a deliberate choice on my part. The whole point of this is to avoid a crowd.

“Are we actually getting married today? If this is some sort of trick, I really don’t have any more energy left for it.”

“I told you what the fuck we’re doing. No need for tricks when you’re going to do whatever I want anyway.”

That makes her angry, which is precisely the point. When she’s pissed off and calling me an asshole, which she proceeds to do for the rest of the way through the vineyard, it’s easier for me to remember who she is and who I am.

We aren’t in love, we aren’t even friends. No matter how much I enjoy screwing her, it won’t ever be more than that. Whether she has a ring on her finger or not.

I thought getting off would temper the edge of tension tightening every muscle in my body. But jerking myself off against her hot little body has only made things worse. My skin is so tight it feels like it belongs to someone else. I should be loose and relaxed after coming in my fucking jeans like a middle schooler who just discovered porn for the first time, but I’m tenser than if I just spent the last week at a monastery. We need to get this over with so I can be inside of her. For real, this time.

Sex is something I understand. Good sex doesn’t require emotions or deeper meaning. But each time I put my hands on her, it gets easier to imagine doing it for significantly longer than a year. I have to remind myself over and over that she will eventually walk away.

Or run, if she’s as smart as I think she is.

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