A Tempting Arrangement (Twisted Vows Book 1)

22. Misty

I burymy nose into the pillow and breathe in the sweet smoke and expensive cologne…Damon. My eyes snap open as the memories of last night rush to the surface. The ghosting of his hands over my skin, the barely there brush of his lips, the way his words lit a fire within me that feels impossible to put out.

I groan, flipping onto my back, and rub the sleep out of my eyes, frustration building inside me. He just left. Like we weren’t in the middle of the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me, like he didn’t have control over every fiber of my being. Maybe it’s good he left because I would have done anything he wanted to get him to touch me.

I’d think he left for the night if it wasn’t for the vague memories of him pulling me into his arms sometime later last night and his fingers stroking my hair, so faint they could’ve been a dream.

Knowing there’s no way I’m going back to sleep, I roll out of bed and grab my giant unicorn robe, hoping he’s already left.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of a shirtless Damon leaning against my counter, casually drinking coffee from a neon pink cup while staring at his phone. My heart skips in my chest at just how domestic he looks, like he’s done this every day.

Meanwhile, I’m about to swallow my tongue to stop myself from drooling over the way his gray sweatpants mold around his curves. I can’t stop staring at the way his long, slim fingers dwarf his phone. Tingles scatter over my skin of the memory of how they felt against my skin.

“Morning, Nymph,” Damon says, his voice filled with amusement. “I like the unicorns. Cute.”

Suddenly feeling completely exposed, I pull the corners of my robe tighter. The realization of just how bad I look in the morning, hair a wild mess, half sticking to my face, sinks in and has me fidgeting with my hair.

“I like your sweatpants.” I go for sarcasm but fail miserably. I’m never like this. I’ve spent years mastering the art of hiding my irritation, but one look from Damon has me bristling like a defensive cat.

He chuckles. “I can tell.”

Dammit. My cheeks heat, only bringing him more amusement.

“Whatever,” I grumble and make my way to my coffee maker, only to stop dead in my tracks. My little box-store-bought pot is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s been replaced with a stainless steel, state-of-the-art espresso machine. I go to turn it on, but my fingers hover over the dials. I don’t even know where to start. An underlying frustration builds within me, sparking a fire in my chest. “Who said you could bring your coffee maker?”

“Grumpy in the morning, I see?” Damon’s voice is right next to my ear, and a shivery heat tracks down my back.

I scoff. “I’ve been told I’m a joy in the morning.”

“Mm-hmmm,” he hums in mock agreement before grabbing a cup from the top shelf. It’s a pale blue mug printed with the words “Oh” and “It” and a cute fox in between them. He moves to the machine and turns a few dials. He hits a button, and it comes to life with a loud rumble. I stand, mouth dropped open, as he uses the machine, effortlessly frothing milk. He dumps several scoops of sugar into my cup, and his arm moves in tightly controlled gestures as he combines the frothed milk with the espresso.

My mind is so monumentally surprised at the scene that’s playing out for me it takes a second to catch up and realize he made it exactly how I order them at a fancy coffee shop. “How did you know?—”

Damon thrusts the warm mug into my hand, cutting me off. “You have half an hour to get ready. I thought it would be better to let you sleep in as long as possible.”

“I’m not coming with you.” I hum as the perfectly made cappuccino passes my lips.

“Yes, you are.” His eyes flash with hidden meaning. I wish I could read him better. “Now, go get ready. I have a meeting first thing.”

“Can’t do that.” I shake my head, enjoying the way his mask cracks, revealing his growing annoyance.

When I don’t elaborate, he asks, “Why not?”

I raise one brow in a mock portrayal of his favorite expression. “Well, I’m pretty sure that would ruin the whole keeping our marriage a secret thing, don’t you think? Or do you want the whole office to just jump to the conclusion that I’m sleeping with you to get a promotion? Because I can promise you they won’t guess we’re married.”

His teeth clack together, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “That’s why we should announce it.”

“No, we…we can’t.” Coldness freezes in my lungs, preventing me from taking in a breath. The last thing I need is for news of our marriage to get out and my parents to see. “You agreed.”

I expect to see anger, but it’s concern creasing his brow. “Why is that one of your rules, wife?”

A shiver rolls through me, and I try to suppress my reaction to the title. I swallow hard. “Telling you isn’t a part of our agreement.”

“Fine.” He cracks his jaw from side to side. “Nicholas will drive you.”

I smile at his attempt to stay calm and can’t resist giving his control a little shove. “Actually, I have the morning booked off.”

“Who approved that?” He practically growls out the word.

“My husband.” I smirk.

He visibly softens in front of me and rests a hand on the counter, a slow smirk curving his mouth. “Why would he do that?”

“Because I asked him to.” I meet his gaze, playfulness evaporating. “I need the morning to speak with my friends.”

He watches me for several moments before nodding. “Nicholas will be waiting for you when you leave. We’ll have lunch at the office.”

“Oh, that’s not going to happen. You’re really bad at this whole covert thing.”

He tilts his head and bites his lips. “Apparently, only when it comes to you. I expect to see you this afternoon.”

“Yes, boss.” I roll my eyes.

He crowds me, my coffee pressed between our chests. “What happened to husband?”

Heat builds in my lower stomach. I need to get away from him before I do something stupid, like kiss him.

“It’s a secret,” I stage-whisper.

He leans in and brushes his lips over my forehead, his words a caress. “Not when we’re alone.”

He shifts so his dark gaze meets mine, and time stops with the intensity of the moment. The air grows thick with the tension surrounding us, making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t look away, instead scanning my face for any reaction. My carefully protected heart starts to crack open, and fear seeps in. I can’t do this.

His brows pull together, eyes scanning rapidly between mine.

“What’s wrong?” His voice comes like he’s speaking to a scared animal.

“I…I have to get ready.” He’s still in front of me and doesn’t move when I try to skirt around him. “Please, let me go.”

The plea in my voice startles him, and he steps back so fast his back bangs into the counter.

The glint of my silver bracelet catches my eye. “What the hell is this?”

“You said no ring. You didn’t think I’d marry you and let you walk around without something that marks you as mine?”

“I can’t take it off.” It’s not so tight that it imprints my skin, but it can’t be removed.

He smirks. “You’re not supposed to.”

“You’re very frustrating, you know that?”

“I could say the same for you.”

Warmth fills my stomach, expanding throughout my limbs at the way he’s looking at me.

Ugh. I turn away from him and his perfect smile, escaping into my bedroom. Stripping out of my clothes, I bury my head under the shower. I stay like that for what feels like forever before finally peeling myself out of the room, my unicorn robe firmly back in place.

There’s a coffee on the counter and a handwritten note.

You look cute in the morning, wife. I’ll see you for lunch.

--Your husband.

I ignore the fact that Damon has, once again, suggested we have lunch together and run my fingers along the thick textured paper. I subconsciously raise it to my nose and take a deep breath of his scent.

Husband, husband, husband. The word both thrills and terrifies me. Everything feels like it’s barreling down a freeway at a million miles a minute, so fast that I can’t make out the passing buildings. So fast the world blurs.

I spin the silver bracelet around my wrist as I look around, the cool metal now warm against my skin.

Damon’s things are all around my place. There are a few bottles of whiskey that look more expensive than my rent sitting on a new table tucked against the wall. The smooth oak looks out of place with the cheap laminate of everything I own. His suit jacket is still hanging over the back of the chair from last night.

My cheeks flush at the memory of his barely there touch, and I shake off the shiver traveling over my skin. A bubbly feeling grows in my chest, spreading warmth through my body.

The plan seemed so simple yesterday. Get married, get my visa reinstated, get divorced in a year, and forget all about this.

Then he had to go and be so freaking observant. He was understanding when I didn’t want to go into his house. Now, he’s moved into my place, and he’s leaving little reminders of his presence everywhere I look. There was a softness to him that I didn’t anticipate. An understanding, like only he could see what I’ve buried deep within me.

He didn’t ask questions or try to pressure me. Instead, he bent to my level and gave me a choice in what we did. He gave me a say in his life and had no trouble adjusting. If I’m not careful, I could get used to this, and that’s not the plan at all.

My chest tenses. One year, and this will be over.

I have one year to survive with my heart intact.

First, I have to face the inevitable chaos that’s about to ensue when I tell my friends what I’ve done. I bring my coffee to the couch and collapse against it, pulling up the group chat with Piper and Mia, and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next.

Me: I did a thing.

Piper: Why does that sound so ominous?

Me: I got married. Surprise.

Piper: No seriously. What’s up.

Me: Yesterday, I got married to keep my working status in the US.

Mia: YOU DID WHAT?

Piper: Explain.

Mia: To who?

My thumb twitches above the keys, and I bite the corner of my lip. It’s one thing to marry Damon. It’s an entirely different thing to admit it. I pull the Band-Aid off and type out my reply.

Me: Damon Everette

Piper: WHAT?

Mia: I KNEW IT!

Me: I can explain. Kind of…

Explaining means opening up my past and letting them see me for who I am. It means owning up to hiding a part of myself from my closest friends, which is considerably easier to not feel bad about when you’re the only one who knows.

Piper: Girls meeting. Now.

I sigh, resigning myself to the disaster that’s going to be the rest of the morning, and get up to pick out the perfect outfit.

If I’m going to the gallows, I might as well look pretty doing it.

“So let me get this straight. He wouldn’t sign your visa papers, so you…married him?” Mia asks from across the small bistro table.

We’d chosen a cute cafe down the street to meet. I thought it was better to have this conversation with witnesses in case they decide I’ve gone insane and my only hope is for them to kidnap me.

When I’d told Nicholas it was ridiculous to drive somewhere so close, he opted to trail me as I walked the entire way. I rolled my eyes at him, but he just smiled.

I shrug. “Pretty much.”

“Okay, not to be insulting, but why you?” Piper lays her chin in her palm, leaning forward with rapt attention.

Excellent freaking question, unfortunately one that I’d also love to know the answer to. “He didn’t say. Just that he has to get married and he wants it to be me.”

Mia grins into her coffee. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“He coerced me into marriage,” I scoff.

She shrugs. “Still sweet.”

“Why did you do it?” Piper cuts in.

Confusion tumbles through me. “What do you mean? You know I needed to do something, or I’d have to move back.”

“Yes, but don’t you think getting married is extreme? You could have moved home, then had everything sorted and come back. Or, now that you have experience, you could have found a Canadian team to work for.” She twists a strand of her hair. “So, what’s the real reason?”

I’ve been avoiding telling them for so long I have no idea how they’ll react when I do, but I owe them at least some of the truth.

“I can’t move back there because my ex will find me and won’t leave me alone.”

I explain everything I can about my past, holding only the most painful parts back. My manipulative ex. The rape, how my parents chose his side over mine. Chose their reputation over my sanity.

Piper’s brows pull together, hurt clear in her expression. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Ah, there’s the question I’ve been expecting. I take a deep breath. “When I met you, I’d just restarted my life. I’d cut all ties with Thomas and didn’t want anything from that time seeping into the new me. I wanted to forget everything that happened and let myself recreate my life. Don’t get me wrong, there were countless times I wanted to tell you, but in the end, I just wasn’t ready.” Tears slip down my cheeks. “I really am sorry. Eventually, it just felt too late to bring it up.”

Piper reaches across the table and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Misty, there is nothing to be sorry about. You went through something traumatic, and you chose how you would recover from it. What kind of friends would we be if we centered our own feelings over yours?”

“Thank you.” I sigh.

“Of course.”

“You know, the guys are good at threatening exes,” Mia adds, a playfulness to her tone, but it’s cold dread that fills my stomach.

“Not him.” For a second, I debate explaining he’s a part of some rich people’s secret society, the same that people speculate Damon’s in. It basically makes them untouchable. I drop it. Some things are meant to stay secret, and the knowledge that a bunch of asshole men are basically controlling everything is one of them. No need to feel like a helpless ant if you don’t need to.

I subconsciously spin the silver bracelet. It’s providing way more comfort in this conversation than it should. Despite the fact that my dear husband coerced me into this marriage, he’s never made me feel like I should be anything but what I am. The thin band should freak me out, but there must be something wrong with me because I’m eating up the fact that he wants me to wear it. I can’t even begin to process how I feel about him. I know how my body responds, like he’s set it on fire, and it somehow was meant to be that way. Like, it’s just been waiting for him this entire time. But my brain? It’s split in two, and the sane, rational part tells me I need to get away from him as soon as possible.

The instinctive, selfish part of me, however, wants to believe he wants me. That I’m more than his latest obsession. I quickly squash that part because in one year, he’ll be gone, and if I’m not careful, there will be nothing of me left.