Page 71 of The Unplanned Wedding

His body turns to marble. His gaze narrows. “You negotiating with me, July?”

I shiver. I could interpret his nickname as a sign he doesn’t remember my real name, but I know better. The fact that he has one for me, while no one else ever has, makes it special. And his explanation for it indicated he’d given it some thought. Which means, I took up that more of his mind space. And that...makes me feel unique. Also, I don’t mean to challenge him; far from it.

“It’s a request.” I peer at him from under my eyelashes. The effect, I hope, is coquettish, and it seems to work, for his gaze widens. He’s not impervious to my nearness, nor to his need for me. The knowledge infuses me with power. I store it away for future use.

“State it then,” he orders.

“I want to choose my wedding dress, and?—”

“No.”

“No?” I stare.

His jaw ticks. "I'll choose what you’re going to wear when you become my wife.”

My wife. My heart leaps in my chest. He wants me to dress in the clothes he selects. When I marry him, I’m going to slide on fabric that he picks out.When I marry him. I’m going to marry him. Marry. Him.My clit throbs. My nipples tighten. Every cell in my body grasps the significance of his words. My throat goes dry. When I don’t reply— I can’t force a single word out, if I'm being honest—he nods.

“The dress will be waiting for you when you turn up at my apartment, three days from now, for the wedding ceremony.”

Oh my god, that bossy note of his voice threatens to turn my braincells to mush. It’s a wonder I’m able to make any coherent conversation.

“Three days?” I exclaim.

“I’m sure you don’t want to wait to become my wife, but even I need that much time to get the paperwork in order.” One side of his lips quirk, and I realize he’s making a joke. Mr. Grumphole, making a joke? It’s a testament to how shaken I am by the prospect of my upcoming nuptials that I don’t take the time to appreciate it.

“It’s...too soon.”

“The faster we get married, the sooner the adoption search specialist can get started on your case,” he points out.

Gosh, he goes for the jugular, doesn’t he?

“Besides, I’d prefer for us to get married so I can present it to Arthur as a fait accompli.”

"You can’t take any chances with losing your inheritance, can you?” I don’t mean for the words to come out in a bitter tone, but they do.

He gives me a searching look but doesn’t refute what I've said. Instead, he nods. “That’s settled then.” He turns to leave, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. “I’ll arrange for a team to help you move your clothes into my place. I’ll be traveling over the next few days, so you won’t see me around.”

Traveling? But I didn’t see any upcoming trips in his diary. Yes, I have access to it. Even though I quit my job, I haven't lost my access to the company system. Yet.

He heads for the door when I call out, “Wait, there's one last thing.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, a look of impatience on his face. I’m keeping him from wherever he needs to be, but I refuse to feel guilty about that. "I want my job back.”

He frowns. “You’re going to be my wife.”

“So?” I pretend not to understand what he’s implying. He can spell out what he wants from me.

He blinks. “So, you don’t need to work.”

I shrug. “I’m getting married, not retiring from the work force."

His frown deepens. I can tell he’s going to say no, so I burst out, “You’re going to be away for the next few days. All the marriage arrangements are being taken care of. I can’t sit at home and do nothing. I'll go crazy.”

He seems undecided.

I move toward him and flutter my eyelashes. “Besides, I’m not yet your wife. Surely, I can work until our wedding?”

“And after—?” he asks slowly.

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