Page 8 of Dearly Betrayed

“Glad we understand each other then.” He turns away, staring out at the ocean again. “We both know why we’re doing this. No reason to drag it out.”

I feel like such a fool. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? All my dreams of making a life with this stranger are dashed, tossed aside, and burned to ash.

I cross my arms and set my feet, too stubborn to just walk off. “Why bother coming today if you’re just going to be like that?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Then I suppose your family forced you?”

He tilts his head and looks back at me. “Let’s not pretend this is anything but a sham.”

I grimace as if struck. “Yes, a sham, you’re right.”

“Are you going to pretend like you want this?”

“No, I won’t.”

“We were killing each other a month ago. Now you and I are supposed to say a few words, share a bed, and make it all better.”

“Yes, alright. That’s what I’m told. Although I’m thinking separate sleeping arrangements is a good idea.”

“Separate houses maybe.”

“Separate lives. You can go on being a dick here in Atlantic City and I’ll move out west. Put an entire continent between us. I’ll shack up somewhere on the Pacific.”

“Perfect. We’ll write letters once a year, renewing our vows, so our families don’t start murdering each other again.”

“Lovely, I’d like that, although I’m surprised you’re literate.”

“You’d be surprised about a lot of things when it comes to me, little fox.”

I laugh at him. “Little fox? Is that a comment on my hair? Real fucking clever.”

His face closes again and he turns away. “Go back to your brother and tell him we’re going through with the marriage. That’s all he needs.”

“Maybe I should just walk away. You’re clearly going to be a nightmare. I might as well marry my right hand instead. At least that’d bring me a little pleasure when I’m alone in the night.”

His eyes snap back to mine and I regret the dirty joke. It was meant to insult his manhood, but his expression is pure lust, nearly overwhelming, and I take a step back.

I’m trembling a bit in surprise, and my nipples feel like they’re about to burst.

That look is everything. All raw, masculine energy. Behind the hatred, there’s something deep and dark, a brewing need, a sexual desire.

Raw sweat and spit and a husky moan in the dark. That’s what his eyes make me imagine.

But as quickly as he looks at me like he wants to tear my frumpy sweater off my body and fuck me into a puddle of gushy post-orgasm bliss, his teeth clench together, and he crosses his arms. Shutting that shit down.

“Alright, little fox, let’s make a deal. Let’s pretend we go through with this joke. We say the words, make everyone happy. After that, we’ll stick it out for a year or two.”

“A year or two? Lovely, that’d be grand. Two years of torture.”

“After that, once our family business interests are deeply intertwined, we can leave each other. Divorce, get separated, whatever you want to do. I don’t give a damn.”

“Annulment. Catholics don’t believe in divorce.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thanks.” He grunts and cocks his head. “You’re devout?”

“Enough to know a devil when I see one.”

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