Page 22 of The Heir's Bargain

If I had been drinking something, I would have choked. Instead, my jaw dropped, my eyes nearly popping out of my head. "Good one, Fynn," I said with a forced laugh.

For years, I had dreamed of Fynn asking to court me. Never in my wildest dreams, however, did I imagine him asking to pretend to court me. While my feelings about Fynn might have changed since we were teenagers, it still felt like a slap in the face.

"Hear me out." Fynn stood and began to pace, waving his hands as he spoke. "I pretend to court you. We go to a few public events and make a grand show of it. In the process, we appease both of our mothers. Not only that, the military leaders will see that you do have ties to hold you down and that you do, in fact, have a life outside the military. Then, once you get your promotion in five months, we end things."

"Just like that?" I asked, laughter bubbling in my mouth.

Fynn nodded, no hint of amusement marking his features.

His proposition was ridiculous. Outrageous, really.

"That could never work," I said, shaking my head as I stood. "Our mothers would see right through that. Plus, I don't want to be courted. I don't want a relationship, Fynn. Even a fake one."

He grabbed my wrist, his fingers cool against my skin. "Think about it, will you?"

I snorted. "Goodnight, Fynn."

Chapter 5

DANI

My mother was a terrible matchmaker.

When I returned home after training the following week, my brother, Sawyer, had stopped me at the door. His mere presence immediately revealed what was happening.

Sawyer never came home randomly during the day, especially when Ambrosia had given birth to her second child two months ago. The moment Lia entered this world, Sawyer was so smitten that it was hard enough to pull him away from his little family of four for our monthly dinners.

If my mother thought his presence would help comfort me, she was wrong. I didn't care if Sawyer claimed our mother was a "pretty good matchmaker" based on his and Xander’s wives. Based on the group of men before me, I was beginning to think that either my mother had poor taste in men or she was trying to spite me.

At least thirteen men were scattered around the sitting room when I entered. Several men sat on the white leather couches, a few stood by the large windows, and a couple leaned against the bookshelves lining the back wall of the room. And now they were all staring at me, smiling at me, puffing up their chests and straightening their collars and ties. And for what? To impress me?

I could have gagged.

"Danisinia, we've been waiting for you," my mother said, lowering her teacup and grinning triumphantly as she sat between two men. She wore one of her favorite yellow dresses, and her golden brown hair was crafted in an intricate braid that flowed down her back. She blinked up at me, her hazel eyes threatening death if I walked away—which, granted, the thought had passed my mind the moment I stepped foot into the room.

One man leaned against the piano, and his hand slipped. A horrendous combination of notes filled the room, screeching. His brown cheeks reddened as he straightened and chuckled nervously.

My hands rolled into fists at my sides.

My mother's stares be damned, I spun on my heel, rushing out of the room and down the hall.

"Excuse us for a moment, gentlemen," my mother said before the door clicked shut.

Behind me, my mother hissed my name, but I ignored her and quickened my pace. My boots hit the tile floor, echoing throughout the halls.

When I was halfway up the stairs, my father's voice called after me, his tone a mix between comforting and commanding.

Despite myself, I stopped.

Begrudgingly, I turned around, but I didn't descend the steps. Instead, I held my ground. After all, Father had always said that the best position a soldier could take was the high ground. And right now, as a petite woman rounded the corner with a flushed face and angry eyes, I was facing my worst nightmare: my mother.

"Oh, on second thought, dear," my mother said, placing a hand on my father's wrist. "It might be best if Dani changes first."

"Why would I do that?" I asked, propping a hand on my hip.

My mother surveyed me. Her gaze went from the dirt smeared across my training shirt to the worn khaki trousers with scuff marks on my knees.

Little did my mother know that the streaks of dirt were badges of honor. Today's focus was hand-to-hand combat training, and I had wiped the floor with every one of my opponents.

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