Page 39 of Vicious Games

“Yeah, and I can think of a couple billion reasons why it’s a great idea.”

“You can’t honestly think I’d marry a man just for his money?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It was good enough for both of our mothers.” She then gasped. She hugged me from the side. “Oh, God, I’m an asshole. I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

I waved aside her apology. I was hardly broken up over my mother’s death. I couldn’t fault Eleanor for not being more sensitive.

We found another bench in a deserted smaller gallery. Under the disapproving glares of long-dead aristocrats, we continued our conversation in harsh tones.

Eleanor leaned in. “It’s not like you’d be marrying him only for his money. There’s also his big cock.”

My cheeks burned. “I told you about that in confidence.”

She smirked. “Yeah, and I’m confident that if that gorgeous piece of super rich man meat had asked me to marry him, I’d be down on my knees sucking his big cock in gratitude.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Eleanor adjusted her seat and turned to face me more directly. “Okay, all kidding aside. Let’s look at the facts.” She ticked off her fingers one at a time. “Fact, he stood up for you against your ghoulish stepfather. Fact, he rescued you from possible near-death after you got sick staying in that dreadful apartment. Fact, he’s paying for you to have one-on-one tutoring by some of the best musicians in the world. Fact, he showers you in gifts and attention and gives you anything you want. What am I missing here?”

I pursed my lips as I spread my fingers and ticked off my own points. “Fact, I’m still not convinced he wasn’t somehow involved in my stepfather’s embezzlement and my almost being arrested for his and my mother’s murder. Fact, he stole my entire inheritance, which is why I was stuck in that dreadful hole of an apartment. Fact, he’s only paying for tutors after burning all my bridges for attending university in France. Fact, I don’t give a damn about all his gifts. I want his—”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Cock?”

“Love!”

She shrugged again. “It’s overrated. Love fades. Money lasts.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Well, who’s to say he doesn’t love you? He proposed, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t say he loved me.”

“So? Don’t you watch movies or read romance novels? Men suck at saying I love you. It’s like a whole thing with them.”

“What if he doesn’t love me?”

She waved her hand in my direction. “Who couldn’t love you? You’re adorable and hot as fuck.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Do you have any idea the type of woman Roman Winterbourne has dated? Stunning models, princesses. I think there was even a female royal fighter pilot in there somewhere in his twenties. He never proposed to any of them, did he?”

Holy shit. She had a point.

“You don’t think I’m too young to get married? Or that he’s too old for me?”

It was Eleanor’s turn to roll her eyes. “You can’t be serious. You know what the boys our age are like. You can’t honestly prefer one of them to an intelligent, sophisticated gentleman who knows the proper fork to use at dinner and doesn’t belch the alphabet to impress you.”

I gave her a playful slap on the upper arm. “Stop making sense.”

She draped her arm around me and rested her head on my shoulder. “What are besties for?”

“Still, you don’t know what he can be like. He’s very… controlling and domineering and seriously possessive.”

“That’s just because it’s still new. He’ll mellow out.”

I laughed so hard I snorted. Just the very idea of Roman mellowing out was hilariously ludicrous. That was like saying the sun would dim or a tornado was just a little breeze.

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