Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Valentina’s the best of them. You have to see that. And just to be clear, there are no other options.” Jealousy screams in my belly, warring with rage. God, why am I doing this to myself? Why do I even care what Prime does? He’s a shitty boss, selfish, overbearing, and sure, he pays well and takes care of me, he’s understanding when my dad’s having a bad day and I need time off, but to hell with all that.
“Deanna—“
I snap. I’ve been holding back, but I can’t do it anymore. “I worked my ass off for this, Prime. I embarrassed myself calling up random women and asking them if they want to marry you for money, and only those three showed even the slightest hint of actually doing it. I’m starting to think this was yet another classic bullshit task from Prime, half-assing everything, not taking any of it seriously, jerking me around, treating me like this—“
“Deanna.”
I clench my jaw shut to keep the rest of my speech locked in my throat. I have a few more insults to hurl in his face, but I swallow them back down instead.
Prime pushes back from his desk.
“Tell Valentina I’ll marry her.”
For a second, I’m too stunned to reply. All the rage drains away, leaving only the scummy, algal bloom of green jealousy behind. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Tell her we’ll discuss the children arrangement. Tell her to be ready in two weeks.”
“Uh, right, okay. That’s… great.”
He comes around his desk and pauses beside me. His hand twitches close to my face, but he doesn’t touch. “Is it?” he asks quietly, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He strides off, leaving me alone.
I stare down at my lap, not sure what happened or why I’m feeling like this, like I’ve been both stabbed and burned and left to rot on the side of the road, but at least Prime found a wife… thanks to me.
CHAPTER 9
PRIME
Icrack open a bottle of good bourbon and pour two glasses. I drink from one and place the other at the end of my desk in front of Deanna.
“When I agreed to this, I didn’t know I’d be playing matchmaker and wedding planner.”
“And yet here you are, doing both fantastically.” I sink into my chair, fighting off the headache blooming behind my eyes. “Tell me again about the flowers?”
“Fuck off, Prime.” She sighs, paging through her color-coded booklet. “You could at least show some tiny bit of interest in your own stupid wedding.”
“I could—“ I raise my glass. “But I don’t.” And I drink down a warm splash.
Truth is I’ve been actively avoiding any mention of my upcoming marriage to Valentina. I’ve barely even spoken with my future wife since the interview. We had a few conversations about logistics, about child-rearing, about how money and living arrangements will work, and I’ve found her both eminently practical, extremely smart, easy to deal with—
And somehow still all wrong.
It makes no fucking sense. Whenever the idea of being with Valentina comes up, a headache pounds behind my eyes and I have to pour myself a drink.
Which is why I’m on my third ever since Deanna sat down to go over day-of details.
“Well, if you don’t care then I’m going to figure it all out with Valentina.”
“Does my future wife have opinions?”
“Surprisingly not really.” Deanna fiddles with the binder. “I mean, she likes lilies, she has a dress in mind, she wants to make sure all her uncles are present—“
“She has uncles?”
“God, Prime, at least pretend like you know the woman you’re marrying.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
She knuckles her forehead, scrunching up her nose in that pained wince she gets when I’m being extra annoying, and my chest contracts with a strange tingle in my guts. I love that look on her, the way her eyes crinkle, the cute lift of her full mouth, the smell of her arousal rising in the air—
Fuck. Drink.
Ice pings against glass as I hunch over my desk.
Deanna shows me a preliminary guest list and a possible seating arrangement. Despite myself, I have to offer a few guidelines, mostly to make sure she doesn’t accidentally start a mafia war by placing two blood enemies across from each other. Because while this marriage is for show, it has to be a good show, at least convincing enough that everyone believes I really am settling down and trying to be more established and legitimate.
I have to keep reminding myself why I’m doing this. Why I’m hitching myself to Valentina and going through with what’s so clearly a bad fucking idea.
Augustus Fontana’s smiling, blood-covered severed head going cool in my lap.
“Why are you giving me that creepy smile?” Deanna taps her pen against her lips.
“Nothing. No reason. Just remembering the noise you make when you come.”
“Jesus fucking—“ She takes a breath and turns the binder around. “Here, cakes, pick one.”