Page 7 of Sinister Engagement

I glanced back up to him. "This is too much," I said uncomfortably.How the hell could I accept a gift such as this?

"It's not enough," he replied, never losing that careful mask of his. It was almost enough to make me want to scream. I was going to marry this man, an elusive and secretive stranger, and yet he acted as if he’d known me my whole life.

"I'm sure it's very expensive," I said, trying to hand the box back to him. "But I can't—"

"Think of it as an engagement gift," he insisted, not bothering to reach for the box even as I practically shoved it back at him. "I haven't been able to go looking for a ring yet."

A ring. For me. Because that's what a couple who were engaged to be married did—they exchanged rings. I'd probably have to look for one for him. I stopped trying to hand the necklace back to him.This is really happening.Not only was I considering marrying someone that my father had chosen to take over the family, it was becoming an inevitability in my mind.

"Here." Gaven approached. "Let me help you put it on."

Without an excuse as to why he couldn't, I stood silent and still as he removed the diamond choker from the black box and lifted my hair, circling my neck with the jewelry and clasping it into place. The gold and diamonds felt cold against my skin. Somehow, it became heavier the longer it rested against my neck—weighted. Like a collar being locked into place.

"Th-thank you," I stuttered out.

"You're welcome," he said before circling me and offering his arm. "Shall we go?"

This was ridiculous. The betrothal, the extravagant gift, his offered arm and gentleman facade he held tight to … it all felt like some horribly dramaticDownton Abbeyfilm. Maybe he thought that acting so proper was something that might set me at ease, but all it did was made me wonder what sinister aspects he was hiding beneath the surface. This was it. This was the reason why—after my mother had been murdered—my sister ripped away my blissful naivete and my father had finally sat me down to explain what he did for a living. Because knowing was better than being kept in the dark. Knowing was safer. Knowing meant I could plan accordingly. Right now, I didn't have that luxury, so I would just have to wait until this man showed his true colors. Only then would I know what I'd gotten myself into and could figure a way out.

* * *

The rideto the restaurant Gaven and I were supposed to have dinner was quiet, and I was a little surprised that he had elected not to have any of my father's men follow us. It was different than I was used to because whenever I went out with my father, we were constantly surrounded by guards. As I'd gotten older, they'd been smart enough to fade into the background—always watching, but keeping far enough away that I could at least pretend that I had some space of normalcy. Now though, I realized just how skilled he must have been to allow him the freedom to do so. Or how arrogant he was to think he was untouchable from threats, but if my father allowed it, the only explanation was that he trusted Gaven’s skill.

"So..." I began, eyeing the passing landscape as Gaven drove the sports car down the road. "What is it that you do?" I asked, finally prying my gaze from the outdoors to my date.

His lips quirked up into a smile. "A little bit of everything," he replied vaguely.

I gritted my teeth. "Care to share?" I found myself pressing.

Gaven's eyes slid toward me once before returning to the road. "Not at the moment," he said. "I don't wish to scare you."

I was already scared, but how could I explain that I'd rather know what kind of man he was first. Was he an arms dealer? A drug cartel boss? Or something worse … a human trafficker? I shuddered at the thought. There were things I knew my father had done—he'd killed people. He'd stolen. He'd sold illegal items and opened businesses under legal means for money laundering, but he'd never done something quite that vile.

After that, I kept my mouth shut, letting my thoughts roam free and unfettered as Gaven drove us into the city. When we stopped in front of a small Italian bistro, I waited for him to get out of the car, hand his keys to the valet, and circle the front of the Aston Martin to make it to my door. I was on autopilot as he helped me out onto the sideway and moved into the building, the two of us escorted to a private eating room with a single table set for a romantic evening. Elegant white tablecloth, a single rose in a crystal vase, and a small flickering candle, only it didn't feel romantic. It felt forced.

I shivered as I sat, a wave of realization coming over me. I'd tried so very hard since my mother's death to stay out of the spotlight of my family's business. I was quiet. I'd studied. I didn't speak to many of my father's men—though they all knew who I was. Jackie was the one who'd commanded attention, flirting with whoever my father's favorite of the week was. But now things were different. I wasn't just noticeable; I was smack dab in the middle of this whole ordeal. They would start watching me even closer now. There were other families like ours, I knew, and they, too, would be made aware of my presence in their world. My stomach cramped with fear.

"Are you feeling all right?" Gaven asked as he sat down across from me.

Forcing back the sickness that was creeping up my throat, I gave him a small smile and reached for my napkin, spreading it over my lap as a method of avoiding his gaze. "Of course."

There was a beat and then he sighed. "I'm not a cruel man, Evangeline." The sound of my full name coming from his lips caught my attention, making me look up to meet his gaze.

"I never said you were."

His brow arched. "You're sitting there, shaking and shivering as if you're terrified I'm going to slit your throat at any moment."

"Are you?" I countered before I could think better of it. He blinked as if shocked by the outright question, and heat rose to my face at my brash response. Fear iced my veins at what he might do in response. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean—"

He lifted a hand, palm out. "Stop," he ordered. My words cut off, but before he or I could say anything else, a waiter entered the room and set down two glasses of water as well as a basket of ciabatta. Gaven cut a look my way as if to tell me to remain silent. While one part of me—the scared part—was more than happy to do that in order to keep the peace, another part of me—the part that was still rebelling against this whole arranged marriage thing—ground her teeth in irritation.

I waited, nonetheless, as the waiter took our orders—or rather, took Gaven's as he ordered for me. My hands clenched beneath the tablecloth, the desire to demand to order for myself strong. It was nothing though. Just a simple meal. It shouldn’t have been anything to get upset about, but this was a stark reminder that my life was no longer my own. As soon as this man slid a ring on my finger and I said the eternal words 'I do,' he would, for all intents and purposes, own me.

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Gaven's full attention returned to me. I expected him to begin speaking immediately, but instead, he sat back and stared at me. "You're angry," he said after a moment.

No shit, Sherlock,I thought. But instead of voicing that, I merely nodded. "I'm irritated," I clarified.

He tilted his head to the side. "You're a curious thing." His tone was thoughtful, and I just didn't understand it. Frankly, I didn't understand this whole thing. Jackie was the one most suited for the life of a mob wife. She was intelligent. Cunning. Beautiful. But no, for some unknown reason, this man had chosenme. "What are you thinking?" Gaven suddenly asked, and with the way my thoughts were rolling through my mind, all it took was that one question for them to come tumbling out from between my lips.

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