Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Sort of,” he acknowledges. “I looked a lot when you were underage, but I didn’t touch.”
“Why wait until I was twenty-one then?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper. “Why not just go for it, if you already had an agreement with my mother?”
He looks at the ceiling, then back at me. “I know this sounds crazy, but Jeannine intervened. Your mom said you weren’t ready at eighteen, that you were still too immature and naive. You were still sleeping with a stuffed animal at night and singing K-Pop songs, even though you were at college already. So Jeannine begged me to hold off for a little. She said you needed to grow up more, and to get through a few more years before I approached. So I did. I waited, biding my time.”
The last three years unspool in my head: the way Kent would text me from the hospital, the birthday checks, the small gifts. The way his gaze would sear me at Thanksgiving, like my curves were the only thing in the room worth seeing.
The room is spinning a little. I grip the table harder.
He speaks again, softer this time. “I know it’s fucked up. I know you deserve better.”
I breathe. Once, twice, three times.
My voice is calm when I finally answer. “You planned for this to happen,” I say. “You wanted me so bad you married my mother.”
He nods, eyes raw. “Yes. And I’m a fucked-up asshole for making it happen.”
I sit with it, the knowledge burning cold and bright inside my chest.
I could hate him. I could walk out. I could do a myriad of things, including throwing items across the room, setting fire to his home, and torching his career by letting everyone at the hospital know. Instead, I start to laugh—small, shaky at first, but growing into something sharp and bright. “You’re a fucking psycho,” I say.
He looks down, his jaw sharp. “I know.”
I stare at him, eyes blazing. “I guess that makes me your reward.”
He flinches. “No, Mary Kate. You’re more than that. You’re everything.”
I shake my head, not sure if I’m angry or pissed or thrilled or a million other emotions that I can’t even name. I think of Mom, the way she’d hover at the edge of every room, never quite touching, always half a world away. “She agreed,” I say, and the knowledge lands hard. “She signed her name on the dotted line.”
He nods. “It was the only way for you to afford college without a raft of student loans. Jeannine knew you wanted to pursue a B.A., and marrying me was one way to make it happen without saddling you with crushing debt.”
Yet a chill runs down my spine as I clench my teeth.
“My life is about more than money,” I say in a clipped tone. “Not everything’s about dollar bills.”
Kent nods, his eyes soft.
“I know. You’re not the materialistic type, sweetheart, and that’s one of the things I love about you. It’s one of the things Jeannine knows about you too. Your mom knows that you don’t care about money, and would give the shirt off your back to someone who needed it more. But she didn’t want that for you. She wanted you to have a carefree college existence, and so she made it happen in the best way she knew how.”
I fold my hands on the table. “So my tuition was part of the price?”
He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face is enough.
I think of all the times the tuition bill went straight to the house, instead of my dorm. I think of the pre-paid meal plan, the room and board that was always paid in full, the “allowance” I received that was more than generous. That was all this man’s doing. Of course, I knew already because Jeannine stopped working when she married Kent, but hearing it from his lips is sobering.
For a long time, we just stare at each other. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel, so I let it all happen: the anger, the relief, and oddly, a weird, twisted sense of finality. The circle coming to a close, the curtain pulled back to reveal the mechanics within.
And yet I’m gratified too. I’m grateful to this man for jumping through a myriad of hoops, and then waiting for me until I was ready. I’m flattered even, although I know I shouldn’t be. Kent Robinson, MD, is gorgeous, handsome, rich and kind. Okay, he’s Machiavellian in a way, but I was picked. I was chosen by a powerful alpha male, and it gives me a thrill, even though it probably shouldn’t.
I lick my lips.
“Okay. I’m okay with it,” I state.
Kent looks stunned. “You are?” he asks carefully. “That surprises me, sweetheart. This should come as a huge shock to the system.”