Chapter 31
MAX
FOUR WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING . . .
The ticking of the clock echoed through the room, each second a slow, deliberate taunt. Half an hour. Half an hour I’d been waiting at this table, which did nothing but bring my simmering irritation to a boil.
Bianca sidled up beside me, a fresh pot of coffee in her hand. With a pour, she filled my cup. “Rough morning?” she wondered, flicking her gaze between me and the empty chair beside me.
“She’s being difficult.”
Bianca let a laugh bubble in her chest. “Give her time. I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”
I grunted, lifting the cup to my lips. “Time? She’s had plenty of time. She’s got more opinions than sense, and she’s made it her mission to challenge every damn thing.”
Bianca just smirked. “Sounds like you’ve met your match.”
I didn’t bother to answer, just watched the steam rise from my coffee, my mind wandering back to the empty chair across from me.
Thirty minutes late. Typical. Rosalie never did anything on anyone else’s terms. She was probably still fussing with her hair or picking out which ridiculous pair of heels to wear, knowing full well it would drive me up the wall.
“She’ll warm up to you.”
Yeah, right.
I wasn’t so sure. Rosalie flinched whenever I came near her, her eyes widening like a startled doe. It wasn’t hatred in her gaze but a cold, ingrained terror.
Her father, a man who carried grudges like heavy stones in his pockets, had filled her childhood with whispered nightmares. We were the villains in his bedtime stories. Generations of animosity, twisted truths passed down like family heirlooms, had painted a horrifying picture of us in her mind.
I couldn’t exactly fault her fear. It was a by-product of the brutal game we were playing. I’d done what I had to do in order to finally have what was mine, and I would do it again.
Rosalie knew the rules. She knew the consequences.
Why play with a monster if you were so utterly terrified?
A part of her had to be at least a little curious. I was going to grab onto that curiosity as if it were my lifeline. She would soon learn she was in good hands. I wanted her to meet my family and find out for herself, but I knew that would be too much all at once.
Even Bianca had said to give her time.
Unfortunately, time was my greatest enemy.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my eyes settled on a familiar silhouette. There she was, stepping down the stairs with that dog of hers.
I swear, she cared more for him than she did for me. And here I was, jealous of a damn dog.
“Good morning,” she greeted, her voice as smooth and honeyed as her smile.
Not once had she shown respect for my time. This was the second time she’d shown up to our breakfast late.
I had never been a patient man. Never a forgiving one either. Yet I was trying to be both for her.
The woman could set me on fire and I’d thank her for lighting the match.
That didn’t mean I’d keep my mouth shut.
“Do you do that on purpose?” I finally managed to ask. I tried to keep the thumping in my chest to a minimum, but that proved nearly impossible.
“Do what on purpose?” she asked as she took a seat next to me, her voice innocent, as if she had no idea of the effect she had on me.
“Torment me.”
She met my gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes,” she admitted. “It has its perks, remember?”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Perks for you, maybe, but for me, it’s like walking through a minefield.”
“Where’s the fun in making it easy for you?” she asked, leaning in slightly.
“Fun for you,” I muttered, shaking my head as if that would help to dislodge the thoughts of her from my mind. “Daily struggle for me.”
“Oh, poor you,” she said in a voice that bordered on sarcasm and dripped with annoyance. She tilted her head slightly, letting her hair fall perfectly over one shoulder, making it even harder to focus. “Tell me, how do you cope?”
“I survive,” I said, my voice thick with irony. “Just barely.”
She laughed, the sound a melody I couldn’t help but be drawn to. “You know,” she said softly, her tone shifting to something almost affectionate, “some people pay good money for this kind of attention. You’re lucky I even come to these breakfasts.”
“Oh, is that right?” I replied, raising an eyebrow and forcing a smirk onto my lips. “Do they get a loyalty card or something? Buy ten torments, get one free?” I leaned back, trying to put some physical distance between us, hoping it would help to clear my mind.
She laughed again—a light, airy sound that made my chest tighten. “If only. But then, where’s the spontaneity in that?”
“Spontaneity?” I echoed. “Is that what you call this?”
“Absolutely. Life’s too short for predictability.”
“Predictability,” I repeated, musing over the word. “And yet you are reliably late.” I looked at her, waiting for her reaction, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm,” I said, looking down at my watch, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break free. I could feel her gaze on me, studying each and every move I made.
“You don’t have patience,” she said, reaching out to touch my arm lightly. The gesture threw me off.
“Patience?” I echoed once more. “I have plenty of patience. Especially when it comes to you.”
“Is that so?” she asked, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Then why do you always look like you’re about to lose your mind?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me.
“Because,” I replied, keeping my voice steady, “you’re a master at pushing my buttons.” I leaned in closer again, closing the distance between us just enough to make my point.
“Can’t have you getting too comfortable,” she said with amusement.
“Comfortable is the last thing I am around you. You make me anxious.”
“And yet here you are,” she pointed out. “Every Monday morning at 9 a.m. sharp.” She uncrossed her arms and rested her hand on the table, her fingers inches from mine.
“Glutton for punishment, I guess.”
The sunlight filtering in through the window cast a glow on her face as she grabbed the very same meal she’d chosen during our breakfast last week: avocado toast, topped with a sprinkle of sea salt and a drizzle of olive oil.
She didn’t have anything smart to say back to me. Finally.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she blurted out suddenly, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. “About the contract.”
“Quickly,” I said, looking down at my watch. “I have a meeting to get to.”
“Another one?” she asked curiously. “Is that where you are all day?”
“I’m in and out of the city. With your father’s marina, I now have double the work,” I explained. There was a part of me that wanted to ditch the meeting completely and stay here with Rosalie all day.
“I see.”
“What was your question?” I asked.
“Well, I might as well just ask it. Can I have your money?”
Her request was blunt but not entirely surprising given our situation. The terms of our agreement, the legally binding contract, dictated what was once solely mine was now to be shared.
I’d gladly signed.
“You can have anything you want,” I assured her, already anticipating her next words.
“Perfect.” A bright smile spread across her face. “My sister is going to start planning the wedding, and she wanted me to come into her shop sometime on Friday. She’s adamant about fitting me for a dress.”
“A dress?”
“Yeah. You’ll like this one.”
“I’m sure.”
As I settled back with the morning paper and a steaming cup of coffee, determined to solve the crossword, Rosalie continued to ramble on about the details of the dress and why she had to have it, almost as if she were trying to justify wanting it.
The wedding dress had more than 143 buttons on the back, and twenty on each sleeve.
There was no other like it, and apparently, it would take weeks to make.
I wondered how expensive a dress could be.
Not that it mattered. As I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushed against the smooth, glossy surface of the card. I placed the Amex card on the table before her, the metallic black sheen catching the light.
“Thank you,” she said, tracing the edges of the card with her fingertips. Before I could respond, she’d already started to talk about what heels she’d get.
Finishing the puzzle, I placed it down on the table and listened to her. I didn’t understand her language much. Something about fabrics—chiffon, I think. I didn’t know, but I liked it when she talked to me like this.
In fact, I liked it so much I was an hour late to my meeting, and I was never late.