Page 43 of Stolen Rival
Honestly? Neither am I. A week ago, I’d have said this ispreciselythe kind of behavior I wanted her to display. Now I’ve had a taste of her snappy comebacks and sharp one-liners, I crave more.
“The problem is it’s not my intention to quash your personality. I don’t want a silent wife. You’re allowed to have thoughts and opinions and to voice those. As long as you treat me with the kind of respect which befits a man of my position and standing in this world, then I have no problem with you showing your character.”
There’s a beat of silence before she laughs, but it’s not an amused sound. It’s filled with astonishment.
“You want respect? A man who murdered my entire family and who is holding the safety of my last remaining relative over my head who, I might add, isn’t capableof hurting a fly. A man who forces me to marry him. Does that sound like a man who deserves respect to you?”
I smooth a hand over my tie and tug on the cuffs of my pale blue shirt. “May I remind you that it was because of your family’s actions that I needed a wife in the first place? If your father hadn’t ordered that hit, then you and I would never have met, and you could have lived a life of your choosing. But we all have to play the cards we are dealt.”
She snorts. “Even so, respect is earned, not given.Husband.”
If anyone else showed such contempt, I’d have slit their throat by now. But with Sorcha, it amuses me. I’m not entirely sure why.
We both stare at each other, locked in a silent war of wills. She bristles, becoming more indignant, and when she opens her mouth, I brace myself for a barrage of abuse that’s certain to come my way. Except something far worse happens instead.
She breaks down into floods of tears. I’m a tough man, and I can deal with a great many situations, but this… I’m not qualified for this.
Fuck. If we get to Dylan’s house and her eyes are puffy and red, he’s going to know she’s miserable, and the last thing I need is his focus to be on Sorcha rather than on handing over the business to me. Dylan might be a boss, but in his eyes, we care for family. And like it or not, Sorcha is now a part of mine.
“You really have no heart?” Her breath hitches, her cheeks wet. “Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for a fraction of a second? You t-t-took everything from me, and now we’re married. How am I supposed to resolve those two things? To you, my family deserved it. Their deaths were nothing but a business transaction, but to me, they were my flesh and blood,people I saw every day, people I loved.” She sniffs, brushing her nose with the back of her hand.
An urge to reach out and try to comfort her rolls through me, but I fear she’d swing a punch directly at my face if I tried. I don’t regret what I did. If I didn’t kill her family, they wouldn’t have stopped until me and mine were dead. But something’s pressing on my chest.
I can’t give her back her family, but I can maybe smooth things over enough between us that we both survive this trip, and maybe beyond. “I’m sorry.”
Her watery eyes meet mine, and she narrows them, evidence she doesn’t buy my apology.
I clear my throat and try again. “I’m not sorry for what I did, but for what it cost you.” I’m shocked to find that I might just actually mean the words that came out of my mouth. I can’t imagine how difficult things are for her right now. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own business, using her as a tool to get what I want that I didn’t take a beat to think about it from her perspective.
“I’m sorry things are difficult for you, but if you work with me, I’ll do my best to make your life easier.”
On the off chance Dylan doesn’t put a demand in his will for us to remain married—which I fully expect him to—I plan to divorce her once I’ve absorbed his business interests into mine. Not that she needs to know any of that.
“How?”
“I’ll make you a deal.”
She frowns. “What kind of a deal?”
“If you play the part of a dutiful,respectfulwife while still letting your personality show, when we return to Ireland, I’ll loosen the reins a little.”
Those ice-blue eyes of hers fill with the flickers of hope, and I flinch under the weight of it. “Say more things like that.”
I half smile. “You will be allowed to leave the property once a week—with a bodyguard. You can visit your brother, go to a spa and get your hair and nails done. Whatever you like.”
“Twice a week. And I resent the implication that the only hobbies I have are making myself look more palatable for the male population.”
I chuckle at her sass. “This isn’t a negotiation. Once a week for the first month, then I’ll revisit my decision. If you’ve been a good girl, then we’ll see.”
Leaning over to her side of the car, I run the back of my forefinger over her cheek. She doesn’t pull away. Good.
“Can you be a good girl, Sorcha?”
She rubs her lips together, and a faint pink flush creeps up her neck. “I-I can.”
“Excellent. Then we’re both winners.”
Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath in. “What’s he like? Your cousin, I mean.”
