Page 19 of Forbidden Proposal

“Then why did you agree to this?” I ask as I start walking once more, Jameson joining me. “You’re an attractive guy.” I gesture down his frame, taking the time to fully appreciate him now that we’re not on display for the royal household.

Dusty blond hair. Crystal blue eyes. Angled jaw. It’s no surprise he’s been named as one of the most eligible bachelors these past few years, especially with the way he fills out his suit.

And he’s not wearing a regular suit. Oh, no. Jameson Gates has to go above and beyond, donning a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. I have to admit I’m a complete sucker for a man in a vest. It’s better than porn.

Then again, I’m also a sucker for a man in camouflage, tight t-shirts, and combat boots.

“Based on some of the comments I’ve encountered on social media, there’s no shortage of women who would happily agree to marry you.”

“I appreciate you saying so.” A nervous laugh falls from his throat as he fights a blush.

I’ve been around privileged and powerful men like Jameson all my life. Not much gets to them. It can’t, not if you’re to be successful, like Jameson’s family is. Like Jameson is. It’s refreshing to know some things do embarrass him. That he is human.

“And you’re correct. There have been plenty of women.”

“Then why agree to this?”

“Probably the same reason you’re talking to me right now.”

When I pass him a questioning stare, he flashes a sad smile.

“Because we’re powerless to fight this. So many people think when you’re born into a wealthy family that you can do anything you want. In reality, you have certain expectations placed on your shoulders. Decisions on who you should marry aren’t based on who you love, but who can increase your social standing.

“When those photos of us dancing together were plastered on dozens of websites and all of Europe salivated over what an amazing couple we made, this was bound to happen. My father would never allow me to turn down Silas Archer’s proposal, not when marrying you would raise our family’s social standing higher than it already is.

“So my father gave me an ultimatum. Agree to this arrangement or he cuts me off financially. And before you accuse me of needing Daddy’s money, I don’t. I can support myself. Perhaps not at the level my parents have grown accustomed to, but I’d be fine. Unfortunately, all the NGO’s I’ve spearheaded would disappear, and I couldn’t stomach that. Plus, we both know how things really are for people like us. Marriages are more…business transactions done to increase power or further concentrate wealth. It may be the twenty-first century, but some vestiges of the past remain, including parents arranging marriages.”

“But what about love? Don’t you want to marry for love?”

I glance his way as his expression falters, emotion sneaking through the cracks. And not just any emotion. Heartache. Sorrow. Despair.

“Let’s just say love isn’t in the cards for me.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a pained swallow. “Lightning rarely strikes the same place twice. I’m not holding out for another strike of lightning.”

“I’m sorry.” I want to press for more information but sense it’s not something he’s ready to share with me.

“And you?” he asks after a brief pause. “Don’t you want to marry for love?”

I push out an annoyed laugh. “When you grow up being told that there’s no place for love in a monarchy, you give up any childhood notions of a fairytale ending.”

He nods, processing my response. Then he comes to an abrupt stop, grabbing my hand and forcing me to face him.

“Listen, I’m not a bad person. I’m just as much a pawn in this game of chess as you are. Maybe not to the same extent, but that doesn’t mean we have to torture ourselves for the rest of our lives. I’d like to think I have some rather endearing qualities. I don’t slurp my soup. I don’t ask a thousand questions during a movie, all of which would be answered if I’d shut up and watch.”

My mouth relaxes into a natural smile, the noose wrapped around my neck loosening.

“And I promise our dinner conversations will never be boring. I tend to be a sieve of useless information.”

“Is that right?”

He nods. “Did you know that you’re fourteen times more likely to die on your birthday than any other day of the year?”

I tilt my head, biting my lower lip. “Really?”

“It’s true. They did a study in Switzerland.”

“Leave it to the Swiss to want to know what day of the year you’re more likely to die. What other tidbits of information do you have stored?”

“Dragonflies have six legs but can’t walk. They can stand, but their legs are too weak to support their bodies to walk for any length of distance.”

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