Page 7 of Honeythorn
“I see. Well. I’m sure the food will be delicious.”
The food probably was, but Milan barely tasted anything, glaring at a fixed point as he fumed. Who did this ridiculous man think he was, leaving Milan there to eat alone? If Raphael was trying to humiliate Milan, he would have to try harder. And if he was expecting a docile Omega, he was about to be shocked by how hard Milan could bite back.
He lay in bed that night, face pressed against his pillow as he tried to fend off the curling, suffocating vines of loneliness and fury. He refused to give up. In steel and hardened fist, determination was growing too.
He closed his eyes and spent his sleepless night forging a plan.
CHAPTER THREE
Milan groaned as he woke up hazily, his eyelids bright with sunshine. For a moment, he wondered why in the world he had left the curtains open when he suddenly remembered.
Raphael. The plan.
Milan jumped out of bed, washing and dressing quickly before calling Melissa, who seemed resigned to see him dressed and ready for the day.
“Good morning, Mister Pryor,” she said dutifully.
“Good morning! I was wondering where Lord Raphael is at the moment? Is he awake?”
“Um, yes. He’s had his breakfast delivered to his room.”
“Of course, why use the dining table when you could eat from a tray? Never mind. Please, take me to his rooms.”
“Oh. Um…”
“Please. I will not tell him how I found them.”
Melissa looked back at him, large brown eyes uncertain, before a tiny frown dipped her eyebrows.
“All right,” she said with a decisive nod.
“Thank you. See? Great friends,” Milan teased. Melissa smiled before leading the way.
“It’s that door there,” she whispered, pointing. They had travelled to the other side of the manor, still on the second floor.
“Thank you.” He smiled gratefully and waited for Melissa to leave before striding forwards, not giving himself even a moment to feel doubt.
Milan knocked loudly on the door Melissa had pointed to. He only had to wait a few seconds before he heard a distinct “Come in,” from inside. Milan paused for a second. He was more than happy to confront Raphael, but it wasn’t appropriate to storm into his rooms. He knocked again.
“Orson, what…” Raphael’s eyes widened as he realised that it was his neglected betrothed before him.
“Hello,” Milan said, voice cold. Raphael washed his face away from expression.
“Hello.”
They stared at each other. Milan could feel his nails digging into his palms, his heart beating furiously. When he spoke, however, his voice was quiet.
“What am I doing here, Lord Raphael?”
Raphael seemed taken aback. Milan went on before he could answer.
“Do you agree to marry me? Or is this all a farce? Have you brought me here simply to humiliate me? To pretend I don’t exist?”
“I…” Raphael looked away. Milan waited, but nothing came forth.
“What? Are you even willing? You don’t want a husband. I know these arrangements come with great pressure to agree, but agree you did.”
Raphael clenched his teeth. “I am willing,” he said finally. It did not escape Milan’s notice that he hadn’t disagreed with the idea that he didn’t want a husband.
