Chapter 23
EVA
Alex hasn’t moved for several minutes. He sits propped against the headboard, arms folded, staring at nothing. His jaw is tight except for the twitching muscle.
I should be furious at him for springing that ridiculous job offer on me. But I’m not. It was clumsy, off base, and completely unacceptable. Yet, it was sweet in its misguided way.
If anything, what startles me most is my reason for rejecting his offer.
Assuming Millie and I lose, I had the choice between a great job on generous terms and…
this. And I chose this. Not just the sex, addictive as it is, but everything.
The stolen glances, the teasing, the warmth in his voice when he says my name, the easy camaraderie we shared exploring the tunnels and sifting through the archives…
It was never like that with Geoffroy, even in our early, happy years.
I’ve never had a lover who was also my friend.
Alex Castellane, a friend? a cynical little voice whispers in my head. Are you sure?
“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me out of my inner turmoil. “It was a stupid idea.”
“It was,” I agree, but then I soften it by adding, “But thanks.”
His eyes cut to mine. “You’re thanking me?”
“You were trying to be constructive.” I slide closer and rest my palm on his chest. “To solve our mess.”
That earns me a grin. I smile back. His hand finds my hip, then my thigh, thumb stroking my skin. My pulse skips.
He leans in. Our mouths meet, slow and unhurried. His lips are warm, his kiss a question. I answer by deepening it, curling my fingers into his hair.
The air between us heats fast. His palm slides to the small of my back, pressing me closer. I swing a leg over his, straddling him.
When we break for air, he murmurs against my mouth. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you.”
Another kiss, this one more urgent. My body reacts before my brain catches up. A slow coil of heat builds, spreading from my core. I want him. Now.
But then his lips still. He leans back. His breath hitches as if a new idea has struck.
I groan. “What now?”
“I have a solution!” he exclaims, as if he’s cracked a code. “The solution.”
“Go on,” I say skeptically.
“Marry me.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Marry me,” he repeats, his tone even. “With a prenup. Problem solved.”
“You’re proposing? And that’s your idea of a proposal?”
“I see how it sounds premature and unromantic—” he begins.
“Because it is,” I interrupt.
He sits up straighter, visibly warming to his pitch. “If we’re married, we can have as much sex as we want. Openly, without hiding. No awkward power dynamics or employer-employee nonsense.”
I stare at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he carries on, “Millie gets to stay in her home. She’ll have everything she needs, plus I’ll set up a trust fund for her.”
“That’s generous of you, but—”
“You’ll have the same,” he says quickly. “You’ll keep the lifestyle you’re used to. The lifestyle you deserve.”
“Alex, I—”
He cuts me off. “If you want to keep helping with the estate, great. But I’m hiring an estate manager, anyway.”
His earnest expression tells me he’s not joking.
His eyes lock on mine. “You’ll be officially the Duchess of Rohinn again. Not just a courtesy title. Not a dowager. The real deal.”
I study him, the weight of his “proposal” settling like a stone in my stomach.
Rationally, I see the logic. He’s offering security.
Stability. A way for Millie to avoid moving and starting over.
A way for me to avoid financial woes. But I won’t be thanking him for this offer, if that’s the reaction he hoped for.
I don’t say yes. I don’t even smile.
His brow creases. “You do know the verdict’s expected tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say, sharper than I intended. “Pauline told me.”
“Did she also tell you it’ll be in my favor?” His tone is measured, but I catch the challenge.
I meet his gaze. “Not in those words. But yes, she said things don’t look good for Millie and me.”
“So, you know.” He exhales, visibly relieved. “Then we can talk reason.”
“You mean your business pitch with a side of sex?”
He props himself on one elbow. “Eva, think about what I’m offering. It’s generous. More than generous.”
I purse my lips.
“You’re thirty-five,” he continues, voice lower. “You might not be able to have more children. And even if you do…” His voice trails off.
“What?” I challenge. “Come on, say it.”
His eyes narrow. “If it’s a boy, there’s a fifty percent chance he’ll have hemophilia.”
He said it. Did that help?
“Realistically,” he says, “if we stay married, the most likely outcome is I’ll never have children of my own. I won’t get to pass on my genes. Millie will be my heir.”
She’s a Castellane, I want to remind him, but the lump in my throat stops me.
“Which is fine,” he says. “I don’t mind. She’s a great kid.”
My heart pinches. That part’s true.
“And she’s my niece,” he adds. “But if she decides not to have children—”
I open my mouth, but he keeps going, “Don’t get me wrong, it would be an understandable decision for someone at such high risk of pregnancy and postpartum complications. But it would mean that the thousand-year-old Castellane bloodline ends with her.”
It takes me a moment to process the sheer gall of his tirade. Intellectually, I know it’s just Alex being stark honest. But each blunt, cold, transactional word stings.
He searches my face. “Eva? Please say something.”
“Where do I begin?” I tilt my head. “Let’s see… You prefaced your proposal with ‘if we stay married.’ ”
He doesn’t hear the warning in my voice. “I don’t know you well enough to be certain the union would last.”
“If we stay married,” I repeat, mocking. “Oh, I can promise you we won’t. Because we’re never getting married to begin with.”
His face tightens as he catches on. Good.
“You know what?” I say, anger crowding out everything else. “You can shove your proposal. If you win this case, congratulations. Millie and I will be out of here the next day.”
“Eva—”
“No.” My voice rises. “I’m done with marriage. I’m done with Castellane men. You’re all goddamn morons!”
I throw the covers back hard, tangling them at the bed’s foot. The cold air hits my skin, but I don’t care. My robe’s on the chair; I grab it, shove my arms through the sleeves, and cinch it tight.
He’s still in bed, watching me as if stunned I’m leaving.
I don’t look back. I cross the room and yank open the door. The only reason I don’t slam it hard enough to rattle the frame is I don’t want to wake up Millie down the hall.
Exhaling sharply, I close the door and stalk to my room, my pulse pounding in my ears.