Page 5 of The Devil's Pawn

Her eyes close slowly, and she takes two deep breaths. “What do you like to drink?”

“Water. Cognac.” I point my chin at the empty brandy glass on the table.

She pauses, as though she’s waiting for me to ask her the same question. I don’t. After a few seconds, and the merest shake of her head, she hits me with her next fascinating question.

“What do you like to do in your free time?”

“I don’t have any free time.”

Smoothing both her eyebrows at once, she presses her fingertips to her temples again. “Work with me here.”

“I am. You’re asking me questions, and I’m answering them.”

“You are aware you’re behaving like a complete jackass, yes?”

I get to my feet once more and swipe my empty glass off the table. With my back to her, I pour another drink. After corking the bottle, I bring the glass to my lips and slowly pivot, replying with a question of my own—one laced with sarcasm.

“What doyoulike to do in your spare time…Imogen?”

She takes a moment to answer, as though she’s carefully weighing my question. “I like to spend time with myfriends, although that’s been curtailed somewhat by recent events.”

A wave of sadness rolls across her face, but she pulls herself together a second later. Her melancholy further cements my decision that isolation is the right approach.

“I also like to draw. I majored in architectural studies.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

I keep it to myself that my curiosity eventually got the better of me, leading me to attend her graduation last week to watch her from the back of the room, right before I visited her parents and invoked the relevant clause in the contract. She’d graduated, with honors I might add, and that made her my property. For now.

Another bout of sadness bows her shoulders. “I was supposed to start a job with one of the biggest architecture firms in America. Then you arrived and stole my dream from me. My parents tell me I’ll be too busy being awifeto work.” She almost spits the wordwife.

I mold my expression into one of indifference, but file away her admission for possible future use. If working for this firm is her dream, then maybe if I regularly remind her of what she’s lost, it might just force her hand into leaving me.

Returning to my chair, I take a few moments to study my future wife. If I were in the market for a long-term commitment and wrote out the characteristics of my perfect woman, she’d be it. She’s smart, fearless, with hair the color of autumn leaves, vibrant green eyes, and a body made for a man’s hands to explore. Not to mention the stubborn jut to her chin that makes her a worthy adversary.

“What else do you want to know?” I ask her.

A gentle headshake signals her surrender. “Nothing. Like you said, why bother?” Rising to her feet, she rubs her lipstogether. “I’m going to go find my parents. I presume that’s all right with you?” Though she’s not asking me for permission. She’s testing me.

“My exact words were ‘what’s the point’, not ‘why bother’,” I remind her.

A flush blooms in her cheeks, and her hands curl into fists. “Jackass,” she hisses before spinning on her heel and marching across the room.

To her credit, and my surprise, she doesn’t slam the door.

Chapter Three

IMOGEN

My phone lights up, buzzing simultaneously. I reach for it, a pang of homesickness hitting me at the sight of Emma’s name on the screen. Swiping up, I read her text.

Emma: You didn’t let me know you’d arrived okay. SMH, Salinger.

In spite of my low mood, I smile. Emma and I met the first year of college and became fast friends from day one. She was the first person I called after my parents told me about the wedding. If anything, her shock was greater than mine. I’d never mentioned my intended future to her, nor to my other college friends—partly because I convinced myself it wouldn’t happen.

Then, it did.

Me: I arrived okay.

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