Page 61 of The Devil's Deceit
I eye the exit. If I catch him by surprise, I might make it to the door, but there’s no way I’ll make it past his bodyguard. Fuck. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him here. I should’ve suggested somewhere public, where he can’t slit my throat or strangle me, or worse. Are there worse things than a slit throat or strangulation? Torture, maybe.
I feel sick. Saliva floods my mouth, and I keep swallowing, but my body keeps making more.
“Okay,” I squeak.
He stares deep into my eyes, his gaze volleying between them. “Ready?”
No. Not even a little bit.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Will you marry me?”
Relief hits me so hard that my knees give way. Christian locks his arms, which is the only thing that stops me from collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“M-marry you?”
“Yes, marry me. My father thinks you’ll make the perfect addition to the family. He actually said, and I quote, ‘she’sgot a good head on her shoulders, and she’ll be a great partner for you’.”
The truth hits me like a wrecking ball. Charles agreed. Heagreed.
Christian’s serious play was a joke.
I slam the palm of my hand against his shoulder. “Christian. That was mean. I thought you’d discovered my long, extensive prison record and had come to break things off with me.”
He flashes me a panty-melting grin. He’s good at those. Too good. “I’m sorry I teased you, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He arches a brow. “Prison record?”
“Oh, yes. I’m a master criminal, don’t you know?”
“I can believe it.” He delves into his pocket, and the next thing I know, he’s down on one knee holding out a diamond engagement ring to me that’s got to have cost the GDP of Lichtenstein at the very least. “Marry me, Grace. I think we’ll make a great partnership.”
“Christian, get up. This isn’t real.” I’m laughing as I say it, but there is a part of me deep inside that’s weeping. When the truth comes out, he’s going to look back on this moment and regret ever meeting me.
“It’s realer than a lot of marriages. At least we’re both open and honest about how we see this going long term. That’s why we’ll make a great partnership.”
“You didn’t have to get me a ring, though.”
“Fake or not, there are certain expectations. Besides, you deserve a pretty engagement ring.”
“Pretty expensive,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “Shush. Now, stick out your left hand, woman, and stop arguing.”
Guilt tastes like soot on my tongue, but I shouldn’t feelguilty. The man down on one knee owns the guilt. Even so, I can’t help it. I started out thrilled at the idea of outsmarting and exposing him for what and who he is, but that was before I got to know him. I expected a man who was always ducking and weaving, always up to something, yet he’s not like that at all. I have to stick to the belief that he did wrong by my parents and he’s hiding how and the manner in which they died to benefit himself. If I don’t, all is lost.
He ends up grabbing my hand and sliding the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, although it’s heavy and will take some getting used to.
He rises to his feet and grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’ll make a stunning bride, Grace. I couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect wife. Can you promise me one more thing?”
My tongue feels too big for my mouth. “What’s that?”
“You’ll always be honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you.”
A poisonous lie trips off my tongue. “I promise I will always be honest with you.”God forgive me.Guilt doesn’t taste like soot anymore. It tastes like regret. Like shame.
“Good.” He dips his head and brushes his lips over mine. “I’d love to stay, but I have work coming out of my ears. The wedding planner will be in touch with you tomorrow. Dad wants to have the wedding as soon as possible.”
“W-wedding planner?”
