Page 92 of Necessary Cruelty

Twenty-Eight

I always thoughtI would hate it if Vin ever kissed me.

But I was wrong.

He drags me up the wide wooden staircase with a single-minded intent, barely seeming to notice the beautiful furnishings or warm sunlight filtering through the bay windows that dominate the second floor. We pass about a half a dozen rooms but don’t see any other people as he tugs me toward a set of double doors at the far end for the hallway.

Honeymoon Suiteis etched onto a little gold placard above the lock.

The doors swing open so violently I’m convinced the wood will crack.

But as soon as we’re alone in the room, the frenzy fades away. He takes in the room with an unreadable expression, dropping my hand as if it burned him.

A trail of red rose petals leads to a massive four poster bed. Rose petals are also scattered across the bedspread. Someone clearly butchered an entire garden to accomplish the task. An uncorked bottle of champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the nightstand next to a bowl of bright strawberries, the same red of the rose petals.

With a disgusted sigh, Vin rips off his suit jacket and tosses it in the general direction of a nearby chair. “I’m taking a shower.”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer and stalks away. I hear the slam of a door and the sound of rushing water.

Gingerly, I sit on the edge of the bed and brush the petals to the floor. My gaze immediately moves to where my hands clench in my lap, drawn like a moth to a flame to the stone that has glittered on the edges of my vision since it was shoved on my finger.

The ring I’m wearing feels a bit like having a cowbell hanging from my hand. Traditional setting. Clearly an antique, but polished until it shines. A diamond the size and shape of a robin’s egg.

It’s the sort of ring that Mrs. Vin Cortland would wear, like a dozen women probably have before her.

I’m surprised he would give me something so obviously expensive and clearly of sentimental value, though probably not to him. Vin doesn’t care about anything as silly as family legacies, but people are going to assume things when they see this ring on my finger. This isn’t a ring you use for a fake marriage that is only for the money.

It’s the ring you give someone who will bear your name for the rest of your life.

I had barely even read our prenuptial agreement, barely skimming it for mention of the $100,000 and that it would be mine after only a year. Part of me wanted to pour over it in great deal, just to annoy him. But what do I really have for him to take away? It seemed better to just get it all over with as quickly as possible.

Iain hadn’t said so much as a word to me during the entire the ceremony and left as soon as it was over. I used to think that Vin’s best friend hated me as much as he did, but I realize now that Iain doesn’t care enough about anyone to hate them.

The guy is practically a reptile.

But even he seemed surprise when Vin pulled out the ring, his gaze resting on it for too long before his piercing gaze rose to my face. I don’t know what expression he saw there, but it made him shake his head and look away.

I never thought I’d be on the same page as Iain McKinley, but here we are.

Everything about this has been unnecessarily over the top. The grand gestures made sense in the beginning when Vin was trying to convince me to agree to this ridiculous arrangement. He didn’t have to drag me out to wine country and book us into a honeymoon suite.

The skirt of my dress spreads out around me on the bed and I rub the smooth silk between my fingers before letting it drop. This isn’t fancy enough to technically be a wedding dress, but it is white and elegant in its simplicity, nothing that would embarrass if anyone saw us standing together on that altar. He didn’t have to do that either. He could have dragged me to the courthouse in sweatpants and still made it to school in time for first period. That would have amounted to exactly the same thing.

Why would he do this?

If I didn’t know Vin, if he were literally anyone else, then the only conclusion I could draw is that he cares about if I feel used. That he wanted to make some virtue out of this necessity so I won’t feel like a whore spreading her legs for a meal ticket.

Because he cares.

Except I know Vin doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and he hates me.

But a guy who is only filled with hate wouldn’t take the time to pick out a dress or book a honeymoon suite. That guy wouldn’t give me a ring that should rightfully only be worn by the woman he actually wants to marry. For real.

Forever.

Ever since I agreed to this, he hasn’t just been nice. He has taken the time to figure out what I need before I’ve even asked for it. Anticipating me. Making this as painless as his prickly personality will allow instead of robbing me of any dignity I have left like I assumed he would.

I can almost convince myself we could be something more than we are.

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