Page 8 of Sunrise Malice

I stare at those words for a little while.

Rope play. Rope play. I try to repeat them in my head, over and over, to turn them into nonsense sounds. I want to crush the meaning out of them, so maybe my embarrassment will fade away too.

It doesn’t work. If anything, it has the opposite effect.

I picture Julien lovingly wrapping a silk rope around my wrists. I picture him whispering in my ear how beautiful I am all tied up and ready to be used. And the fucked-up part is I really,reallylike the thought, even if I still hate the guy and wish none of this were happening.

Instead, I agreed to come meet with him at his house. It’s an old Chicago mansion with a Tudor-style roof, a red brick front, lots of old arched windows, a gorgeous wooden front door. I’d guess it was built in the twenties for some railroad baron or something like that, and I feel completely out of place as I head up the steps and ring the bell.

A part of me wanted to turn him down when he texted me earlier.Rope play, rope play, rope play. I thought I could tell him no thanks, don’t bother, we aren’t compatible, but then my father screamed at me from the living room to get him another beer and my fingers started typing up a response without my brain’s input.

Now here I am, feeling like a moron.

I smooth my crème-colored sweater. I’m in black skinny jeans and black sneakers, trying to straddle the line between cute and casual, and knocking it out of the park, if I’m totally honest with myself. I glance around, feeling nervous, and shift from foot to foot, when the door creaks open. I expect a butler or a maid or something, but instead it’s Julien himself wearing another suit, no tie, top button undone, hair slightly messy, and looking like sin wrapped up in a silk bow.

I really shouldn’t think about gettingwrapped upright now.

“Hello, mon minou,” he says as his full lips quirk into a smile.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I cross my arms and take a step back.

“Because you are like a beautiful little pussycat to me. That’s what it means, my pussycat.”

“Yeah, I’m not really a fan, so could you please stop?”

“No.” He steps aside. “Come in.”

I glance over my shoulder. My beat-up old Nissan is parked by the curb and if I ran, I could hop in the driver’s seat and get out of here. Ronan made it clear that I didn’t have to go through with this marriage if I really didn’t want to.

But all the reasons that made me consider it in the first place remain valid, and I step into a gorgeous entry hall behind the asshole Frenchman.

The place really is beautiful. High ceiling, crystal chandelier, original wood staircase polished to a gleam. Paintings hang on the walls and fresh flowers are left out beneath a mirror surrounded by a gold frame. It smells like furniture polish and cut grass with a hint of sawdust underneath, which is actually really intoxicating.

“Let’s talk in here.” Julien ducks into a door on the left. I follow him and find myself in a small sitting room. Couches, coffee table, fireplace straight ahead, and bookshelves with various knick-knacks and leather-bound volumes. He shuts the door behind me and strides toward the fireplace, rubbing his hands together. There’s a small bar cart beside it, and he pours himself a drink.

He’s nervous. It hits me all at once. He keeps glancing over my shoulder at the hallway and he’s not smiling anymore, which I think means there’s someone here he doesn’t want to see right now. I hang back, not taking a seat.

“Nice place,” I say, looking around. “You live here?”

“Yes, for the most part. I have an apartment as well downtown.” He looks at his watch, pulls out his phone, turns on the screen, and puts it back. He’s fidgeting, and a part of me kind of likes watching him suffer. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“You need a favor?” My eyebrows raise in surprise. “I didn’t know we were at the favor part of our relationship yet.”

“No time like the present.” He smirks in reply and sips his drink. It’s some kind of fancy Japanese whiskey. “My grandfather isvisiting from France and he’s under the impression that you and I have already been married. When you meet him, all you have to do is refrain from correcting him. It should be easy.”

I step forward, caught between feeling shocked and pissed off. “You told him we’re already married? I never actually said I was going through with it.”

He waves a hand. “Formality. We both know this is going to happen, mon minou.”

“If you keep calling me that, I’m going to walk out of here,” I say through clenched teeth.

He comes toward me. “It will be simple. He knows we’re an arranged match and have no feelings for each other. We don’t have to kiss, hug, or even pretend like we know each other. All you have to do is wear this.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses me something.

It glitters in the light as it spins end over end. I barely manage to catch the ring before it hits the door behind me. I stare at the enormous stone with its little halo of smaller pieces, my mouth hanging open.

“Is this thing real?” I blurt out, feeling like an idiot the second the words leave my lips.

“Yes, mon minou, it’s very real, and I want it back before you leave.” He waves a hand dismissively.

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