Page 356 of The Christmas Wife

Mira

"What?" I jump up so quickly my chair almost topples over, except he grips it and straightens it.

"What do you mean, it’s you?"

He rounds the conference table until he’s standing on the opposite side of the room from me.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don’t." I turn on my father who’s examining the carpet at his feet, because apparently, that’s more interesting than confronting the future that lies ahead for me.

"Dad, what’s he saying?"

My father sets his jaw. His lips thin but does he speak? Of course, not.

"Dad? Please, say something, please."

My plea must get through to him for he slowly raises his eyes, and then I wish he hadn’t, for the expression on his face confirms my worst fears. "No, no, no, no."

"I’m sorry, Mira." An anguished expression comes over his features. "So sorry."

The fact that my father called me Mira, a name he’s eschewed in favor of the more formal Mirabelle, confirms to me everything Edward said is true. That, and the fact my father looks torn. Cyril Young is too set in his ways. Too confident in his ability to make money, to steer the destinyof his company and his employees and his family, to ever show any emotion or resort to niceties. The fact he apologized to me earlier is a sign the deal is done, and while he may not be in favor of it, as evinced by his reluctance to tell me about it, the fact is ,he’s here. And we’re talking about my future—myfuture—like it’s a business transaction.

"How much did he pay for you for the deal?"

My father flinches, but he doesn’t deny it.He. Doesn’t. Deny. It.

"No." I begin to shake my head. "No. No. No." My knees give way. I sink down into the chair, and suddenly, Edward’s standing next to me. He snatches up a bottle of water from the table, twists open the cap, pours it into a glass, and offers it to me. "Drink."

I shake my head.

"Belle," he lowers his voice to a hush, then holds the glass to my lips, "drink it. Now."

I take the glass, ensuring not to touch his fingers, then take a sip, another.

"Drink all of it." There’s a command in his voice which insists I obey. I drain the water like the dutiful wife-to-be that I am, then place the glass on the table with a soft thunk.Is this my future? To obey him? Is that why he’s committed to this alliance?

"Why?" I address my question to my father. "Why him?"

My father’s shoulders stiffen. There’s a look on his face I can’t quite interpret. One that’s a mixture of anger and irritation and helplessness. I’ve never known my father to be helpless. Never known him to be this silent. It’s as if he’s unable to form the words. "The least you owe me is an explanation."

Next to me, Edward stays motionless. His attention is on me. I feel his gaze on my face like he’s run his knuckles down my cheek. Heat suffuses my skin. The hair on the back of my neck rises. It’s like I'm caught in a quagmire of emotions that's pulling me under.

"Dad,"—I swallow—"tell me."

He blows out a breath. "I needed the money."

"Money?" Of everything he could have told me, that was not what I expected. "You are a billionaire many times over. Why do you need the money?"

"Iwasa billionaire many times over." He looks away, then back at me. "A few of my investments in the last six months did not deliver the way they should have. I lost a lot of money. Enough that when Chase, here, approached me, I couldn’t say no."

"You approached him?" I turn to meet Edward’s gaze and flinch. The full impact of those smoldering embers which are his eyes sends a shiver of anticipation—no fear, it has to be fear—down my spine. I see the answer in his expression and a slow burn starts somewhere deep in my belly. "Why?" I clear my throat. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"There are so many other women out there. Anyone who would fit the bill and would gladly become your wife."

"I chose you."

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