Page 11 of Marrying the Billionaire

He motions to a pile of clothing on the bed and looking closely at them, I realize they’re dresses I picked up on a whim when out at places like Target. Apparently, these aren’t worth enough to resell or auction or whatever he’s doing.

Julia packs them in a suitcase for me, which I guess I’m allowed to keep, and my tongue finally unfreezes. “You know, I paid for some of these things with my own money.”

He gives me a sardonic look. “You don’t have any money.”

“I do in my account. Sometimes people give me money for my birthday or Christmas.”

“You meanIgive you money for those things. And not too much or you’d spend it all on your little charity project.”

I shrink back at his tone. The Montague Animal Foundation is what I devote most of my time to, but he’s acting like it’s some unreasonable thing.

Wait, he’s not stopping funding for it, is he? The clothes are replaceable, but my animal shelter isn’t.

“You’ll still fund the shelter, right?”

“Harold Bishop can,” he says distractedly, going through some of the more expensive dresses again.

“But I got married. You only said you would stop funding if I didn’t marry Gabriel.”

“And you didn’t marry him.”

“A technicality. It wasn’t my fault he backed out.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t have if you’d tried a little harder.”

I take a long breath through my nose, exhaling slowly. “I did what you asked. The animals shouldn’t suffer because of all this. And I married Archer. It’s the same difference.” Well, not to me. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Julia has packed your toiletries,” he replies, changing the subject. “And we’ll start moving your things out tomorrow. Your presence isn’t necessary, though. We have it covered from here.”

Tears form in my eyes at his callous words. This is five years of my life being boxed up and shipped off. “Why are you doing this? Why do you have to get rid of all my stuff?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about that.”

He passes by me to go back into the living room and I bite my lip so the bitter sound stuck in my throat won’t escape. He might as well have patted me on the head like a child. But what can I do? It’s his money, not mine. And he’s never been one to explain himself if I question things.

Julia wheels over the suitcase to me, whispering, “I got him to agree to give you some of your nicer dresses, especially if they had any rips or stains on the hems.”

Wow, how lucky for me. I get to keep all the inferior stuff.

“Thanks,” I mutter, knowing she’s only trying to help but unable to appreciate it at the moment.

I sink down on the edge of my bed, hiding my face in my hands, wishing I could bury myself under my soft floral comforter and make it all disappear.

I’ve done too much of that lately, though. Ignoring problems, hoping they’d magically go away. And look how that’s turned out.

At least I already told Archer I’d move in with him. Now that timeline will just have to shift up a little. As in… tonight, apparently.

I sneak anything else I can stuff in the suitcase when no one’s looking, and don’t bother saying bye to my dad as I leave, my hands full anyway.

Twenty minutes later, with the very kind help of first Raul and then Archer’s doorman with my luggage, I’m standing at his front door three hours before I’d planned to show up, his confusion apparent on his face as he stares at my suitcase.

“Could I, um, move in earlier?”

He glances back up at me, gaze sharp. “What, tonight?”

I nod, my arms crossing over my stomach. There’s no way I’m admitting to him the way Dad had talked down to me, somewhere between the level of a child and a simpleton.

He motions toward my single suitcase. “Are you having the rest of your things delivered?”

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