Page 46 of Charmingly Obsessed
With a heart as heavy as lead, I carefully lift it from its display stand and tuck it away in a locked cabinet. Out of sight.
I scan through Royce’s schedule again on my phone. Paris. An opening at the Musée d’Orsay. But the real opening, the one that matters, is finding a way to tie me to the art world in a way that looks natural, organic, to a cynical old bastard like Royce. Not just another billionaire dabbling.
I stop in the middle of the room. I don’t want “Snowflake” lying alone in the dark, shut away. But if Diana sees it… if she sees it here, in my private office… she’ll understand everything. She’ll know. She’ll know I’m completely, irrevocably, dangerously obsessed with her.
God.I’m going to do it. I have to. And to hell with Royce. To hell with the deal. To hell with everything but her.
If this works… it works. If not… then we’ll stay… exactly where we are. Which is nowhere. And everywhere.
The office door slams against the wall as I fling it open and stride back into the main living area, my lungs suddenly full of enough oxygen to last me two hundred years. Or maybe just a couple of minutes. Depends entirely on what she says next.
“I need… to tell you something, Diana.”
Her smile, that fragile, hesitant thing, fades instantly. Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of apprehension replacing the soft glow. As if I’m about to deliver a death sentence. Or confess to being a serial killer.
Anger, sharp and defensive, shoots from my temples to my jaw. I cross my arms over my chest, a subconscious barrier.
“I need… you to accept my proposal.” I take a deep breath. “A marriage proposal, Diana. I want us to get married.”
I’m ready for anything. Rejection. Laughter. Abject horror. But if she refuses… I don’t think I’ll ever crawl out of this particular abyss. This one is too deep. Too dark.
“Married?” she repeats, her voice a soft, incredulous whisper. I take an unconscious step towards her, drawn by an invisible force.
“Yes.”
I ruthlessly cut all the emotion, all the desperation, from my voice. This is a negotiation now. Pure and simple. High stakes. I need to put myself into efficient, logical, deal-closing mode. No stammering. No begging. I’ll say whatever it takes. Do whatever it takes.
“For you to be my wife,” I continue, my voice flat, devoid of inflection. “Of course, there are… sound business reasons for a quick marriage. I need access to a specific technology. It belongs to an eccentric individual who is… let’s say, selling for sentimental reasons rather than purely financial ones. His name is Royce. And frankly,” I add, a touch of calculated self-deprecation, “I don’t always make the best first impression. Especially not without a… stabilizing influence. A wife.”
Diana slowly sinks down onto the edge of the plush velvet couch.
A shadow flickers across her beautiful face, and I don’t like it. Not at all. I try to read her, to decipher the subtle shifts in her expression, but she’s already composed herself. Mask back in place. Only her lower lip, full and soft and still slightly swollen from my kisses, trembles almost imperceptibly.
I can’t be an idiot. I can’t lunge at her right now. Can’t kiss that tremble away. Can’t beg.
Shit.I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no.I honestly don’t.
“I can… I can help you find someone suitable. If you need to impress him… with a wife… there are agencies…”
“Only one woman is suitable.” The fury, the desperation, I’ve been trying so hard to suppress breaks through, lacing my voice with a raw, ragged edge. I force myself to look down at the intricate pattern of the Persian rug, to focus on my breathing, to regain control. “You, Diana. You’re suitable. He’s obsessed with art. You’re an artist. It’s… perfect.”
Diana is silent for so long the air in the room becomes thick, suffocating.
I swear my skull is rearranging itself from the sheer, unbearable tension.
“I’ll compensate you, of course,” I add. “For your trouble. Your time. Generously.”
As long as I can remember, I swore to myself I’d never approach a woman through money. Never use my wealth as a lure, as a weapon. Not a single goddamn cent. But if she refuses me now… if she walks away… I won’t survive it. This is the only card I have left to play.
“Don’t,” she snaps, her head jerking up, her eyes flashing with an unexpected fire. “Don’t you dare. Of course, I’ll help you, Mykola. If it’s… if it’s truly necessary—”
“It is,” I whisper, the word ringing with a desperate, absolute conviction. “It is, Diana. More than you know. And you will be fully protected as my wife. Nobody will try to intimidatemy wife. Full protection. You can forget about these bastards who hurt your sister.”
“Okay. H-how long will this… this arrangement… last? More than… say… three months?”
“W-what?” My own voice is barely audible. Three months? She’s putting an expiration date on… on this?
She falls silent again, her gaze dropping back to her hands, twisting in her lap.
