Page 23 of Conall's Reign

"I want my own money. Not an allowance, not some account you control—my own money, separate from yours.”

She would have had that anyway, but I didn’t want to go into detail. Francesca would not only be well cared for, but she would also have her own money, just as she requested. I had relied on others before, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

She took another deep breath as she watched me, waiting for me to speak or to make some kind of hysterical objection. “I want the freedom to come and go as I please. If this is going to be a partnership, I don’t want to feel like a prisoner."

Again, I remained silent. I wouldn’t hold my own wife prisoner. She’d have protection, but she could go wherever she wanted to.

She paused, letting the silence linger and daring me to speak up. When I stayed silent, she went on, “And finally, if you ever lay a hand on me in anger, I’m out of here. There will be no discussions."

Her last request hit me like a punch to the gut, but I kept a neutral expression. “Anything else?” I asked, half-joking to mask the unease and hurt twisting in my chest. Did she think I was like my father? That I would ever raise a hand to her? Still, it left a nagging discomfort in my chest, something unresolved. I hated loose ends, hated variables I couldn’t control.

“The marriage will be in name only,” she said, the last bit delivered with bravado as she looked off to the side. “I’ll sleep in the guest room or whatever. That’s it. Take it or leave it." She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up.

I stepped closer, just close enough to see the defiance burning in her eyes. “You realize that what you’re asking for isn’t usually how things are done.”

She laughed, a brief, bitter sound. “Nothing about this situation is normal, Conall."

She had a point. She might believe this was about duty, family, and survival, but that was a lie. I wasn’t doing it for any of those reasons. That was the party line I had fed my sister. I was a jerk. Still, she found love for herself, and things had all worked out in the end.

Francesca sought a way to take control and shift the balance of power in her favor. I admired her for this, even as it frustrated me.

“Are you really serious about all this?” I asked, trying to stifle the amusement that was growing alongside my admiration.

"Dead serious." Her lips pressed together. “If you are determined to get married, then I am equally determined about these things.”

I ran my hand along my jaw, counting the exact number of strokes. They had to be even and precise. She had no idea how disorder grated on me, how it made my skin feel too tight and my thoughts spiral into chaos. Her demands were reasonable—mostly. The no-children clause stung, but I couldn’t contest that point now. Children were messy anyway, I reasoned. As for the rest, I could handle it. Hell, I even respected her more for standing her ground.

"Alright," I said finally. "We’ll draft the contract. You’ll get what you want,” I paused. “Except for that last one. This will be a real marriage. No separate beds.”

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t expected me to agree so quickly. “But what about everything else?”

I smirked. “Don’t think for a second that I’ll let you dictate everything, Francesca. This is still my world, my rules. You may have your conditions, but don’t test your luck."

She met my gaze, unwavering. "I wouldn’t dream of it."

“ Liar, “ I thought, but I didn’t voice it. Instead, I extended my hand. "Deal?"

She hesitated for just a moment before taking it. Her grip was firm, her skin cool against mine. "Deal."

As her fingers slipped from mine, I flexed my hand and rolled my shoulders to combat the creeping discomfort. Uneven. Off-balance. I needed to restore order, to find a way to fit this within the structure of my world. Francesca might think she had control now, but she had no idea who she was dealing with.

CHAPTER TWELVE

conall

Three hours later,I laid the document drafted by my lawyer before her. Roger was good, but it still took longer than I had hoped, a delay I didn’t appreciate. Francesca had spent the intervening hours ensconced by the fire, her phone glued to her hand as she texted with Theo—or so I assumed.

Finally, the swirling chaos in my mind began to settle, and control slipped back into my grasp. I handed her a blanket and a steaming cup of tea, guiding her to the couch while intentionally keeping my hands to myself. It felt better to take action than to stew in uncertainty.

Roger raised his eyebrows when I first explained what I wanted from him. He completed the work, though he shook his head a few times.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as she sat, her delicate fingers brushing against the edge of the blanket. She looked good here. Right. “How’s your throat? Should we call the doctor?”

“I’m fine. I promise,” she replied, her voice steady as she reached for the papers. “This is it, I’m assuming?”

“It is,” I confirmed, gesturing toward the neatly organized documents while resisting the urge to straighten them. “Along with the confirmation of the accounts opened in your name.” Roger had been less than thrilled about those as well. “Everything should be as you requested. Make sure you read through everything.”

Silence filled the room momentarily as she leafed through the pages. I watched as her keen eyes caught sight of the clause I had been certain would draw her attention.

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