Chapter 4
Heir.
The word hung in the air like a heavy, expensive chandelier that was about to fall on my head.
I stared at him. I stared at his handsome face. Then, because my eyes have zero discipline, I stared at his very, very hot body (I mean, the buttons on that shirt were holding on for dear life against his chest muscles). Then I looked back at his face.
"An... heir?" I repeated, my voice sounding tinny and small in the giant room.
My brain started spinning like a hamster on a wheel that just drank three espressos.
Processing... Processing...
I know what an heir is! I watch historical dramas! An heir is the person who inherits the kingdom, or the castle, or the massive fortune when the King... um... kicks the bucket.
But... give him one?
Does he think I'm a headhunter? Or an adoption agency?
I bit my lip. Hard. It started to taste like strawberry lip balm.
"I... I'm so sorry, Mister..." I realized I still didn't know his name. "Mister Handsome Scary Man. But I don't think I can help you with that!"
I gripped my paper bag tighter, the crinkling sound filling the silence.
"You see," I explained earnestly, leaning forward just a little. "I don't really know many rich people. I mean, there's Stephie, but she's a girl, and usually heirs are boys, right? Although, patriarchy is bad, so a girl could be an heir! But Stephie already has parents."
I paused, thinking hard.
"And I can't give you Mr. Samuels!" I added quickly, shaking my head vigorously. "Because, no offense, but he doesn't look like you. At all. You are... well, you. And he is... a potato. A mean potato. So genetics-wise, that would be a very confusing lineage."
I took a breath. "And my classmates... most of them are broke, and they already have parents. So I don't think they qualify as 'heir' material unless you want an heir who eats instant noodles for dinner."
I looked at him with wide, apologetic eyes. "So, I'm really sorry. I don't have an heir in my bag. I only have rice balls."
The man stared at me.
He didn't blink. He didn't move. He just sat there, looking like a statue carved out of ice and danger.
One second passed. Two seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
The silence was so loud I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Finally, he moved.
He ran his tongue over his lower lip—a slow, deliberate lick that made my stomach do a weird flip-flop. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. The serpent tattoo on his neck seemed to move with him.
"You misunderstand, Ms. Garcia," he said. His voice was lower now. Softer. But somehow, scarier.
"I am not asking you to find someone."
He locked his obsidian eyes with mine.
"I am going to make you pregnant," he stated, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. "And you are going to give birth to my child. That is how you will give me an heir."
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CRASH.
My brain short-circuited. Sparks flew. Smoke poured out of my ears (metaphorically).
I coughed I hacked loudly, choking on my own spit.
I thumped my chest with my free hand. My face felt like it was suddenly on fire. Like, literal flames. I was probably tomato red. No, beetroot red!
Pregnant?!
Him... making me... pregnant?!
I know how this works! I've seen the diagrams! I've studied gametes and zygotes and fertilization when I was in sixth grade!
To get a baby, you need a sperm and an egg. And to get the sperm to the egg, the man has to... and the woman has to... and they have to...
INSERT EXPLICIT CONTENT HERE.
My eyes dropped to his lap.
NO ALEESHA DON'T LOOK THERE!
I snapped my eyes back up to his face. He was still staring at me. Waiting. His expression was completely unbothered. He looked like he was waiting for a bus, not waiting for a girl to recover from the shock of being told she was going to be used as a human incubator!
"You..." I squeaked, my voice an octave higher than normal. "You mean..."
I gulped. The lump in my throat was the size of a tennis ball.
"You mean... biologically?" I whispered scandalously. "Like... natural conception? The... the process? The... act?"
The man's brows furrowed. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.
"Of course," he said coldly. "How else do you expect it to happen?"
"Well!" I stammered, waving my hand vaguely. "There's IVF! There's artificial insemination! There are turkey basters! Science has come a long way!"
He stared at me blankly. "I prefer the traditional method. It is more efficient."
Efficient?! He calls that efficient?!
I felt faint. I really, really felt faint. I pressed my back against the soft couch, trying to ground myself.
He wants to do... the thing. With me.
Him. And me.
I looked at him again. Okay, objectively, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Like, if he was a drawing, he would be in the Louvre. But he is a stranger! A scary stranger who kidnapped me in a fancy car!
And there is a Rule. A very big, very important Rule.
I bit my lip again. I chewed on it so hard it started to hurt.
I have to tell him. I have to stand my ground. I am a woman of principles! I have morals! I passed Theology 101 (well, almost, except for Mr. Samuels being a jerk)!
"Uhm..." I started, my voice trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
"Sir... Mr. Scary Man... Sir..."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That... that thing," I gestured vaguely between us. "The... reproductive activity. The... boombayah..."
His lip twitched. Did he just wince?
"It is..." I took a deep breath. "It is strictly... strictly prohibited."
Silence.
The fire crackled. Pop.
The man tilted his head to the side again, like a dog listening to a weird noise.
"Prohibited?" he repeated. His voice was dangerous. "By whom? You are an adult. I have checked your medical records. You are physically capable."
"By God!" I blurted out.
He stared.
"And by society!" I added. "And by... by everything!"
I sat up straighter, clutching my bag to my chest like a shield.
"That thing..." I whispered, my face burning. "is only done by married people."
There. I said it.
I looked at him, waiting for him to laugh. Or yell. Or throw me out the window (we are on the 100th floor, I would definitely become a pancake).
But he didn't do any of that.
He just looked at me.
His obsidian eyes bore into mine. He wasn't blinking. He was studying me. Analyzing me. Like I was a bug he found on his shoe and he was trying to decide whether to squash it or keep it in a jar.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty seconds.
He leaned back in his chair slowly, the leather creaking under his weight.
He looked annoyed. No, not just annoyed. He looked inconvenienced. Like I was a vending machine that ate his dollar bill.
I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch up. Clench.
Oh no. He's mad. He's going to kill me. This is it, Aleesha. Nice knowing you. At least you're wearing a cute dress.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the yelling.
"Then marry me."
...
My eyes flew open.
"Huh?"
I blinked. "Come again?"
The man didn't hesitate. He didn't stutter. He didn't get down on one knee. He didn't pull out a ring. He didn't even smile.
He sat there, looking like a dark king on a throne, and delivered the proposal like it was a business transaction.
"You require marriage to perform the task," he said flatly. "I require the heir. The solution is simple."
He looked at me, his gaze intense and unwavering.
"Marry me, Ms. Garcia."
I stared at him. My mouth fell open. My jaw hit the floor (figuratively).
Did... did he just propose?
Is this a proposal?
Where are the violins? Where are the flowers? Where is the romantic speech about how my eyes look like the stars?!
He just wants to marry me so we can... do the boombayah?!
"But..." I whispered, my brain melting into a puddle of goo. "But... we don't even know each other! I don't even know your name! You don't know my favorite color! You don't know that I'm allergic to dust mites! You don't know that I cry when I see old people eating alone!"
"Gabriel," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"My name," he said. "Gabriel Muratori."
He stood up.
Suddenly, the room felt very, very small again. He towered over me, casting a long shadow that swallowed me whole.
"Now you know my name," he said, looking down at me. "The rest is irrelevant."
He took a step toward me.
"So?" he asked, his voice low and commanding. "Do we have a deal?"
I looked up at him. Gabriel. Gabriel Muratori.
He was terrifying. He was cold. He was practically a supervillain.
But he was also asking to marry me.
And if I marry him...
Wait.
My brain, which had been panicked, suddenly had a thought. A very sneaky, very Aleesha thought.
If I marry him... I become powerful.
If I marry him... I will have money.
If I marry him... I can put bad guys in jail because I will be the wife of a powerful man!
And...
I looked at his face again.
He is really, really handsome.
"I..." I swallowed.
"I have conditions!" I squeaked, holding up a finger.
Gabriel looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn't. "Speak."
"I want..." I thought fast. "I want my grade to be an A! With Mr. Samuels!"
Gabriel let out a short, sharp breath through his nose. "Done. Mr. Samuels will give you an A. In fact, Mr. Samuels will likely be retiring very soon."
"Okay," I nodded. "And... and I want to finish college! I want to graduate!"
"Fine," he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Education is acceptable. Anything else?"
"Yes!" I stood up.
I am short. I only reached his chest. "I want..." I shoved the paper bag toward him. "I want you to eat my rice balls..."
Gabriel stared at the paper bag. He looked at me. He looked at the bag.
He looked completely baffled.
"Rice balls?"
"Yes!" I insisted. "I made them! They are tuna mayo! It's a gift! And... and in my culture (which is just me, specifically), accepting food means we are friends! Or... allies! Or fiances!"
He stared at me for a long, long moment.
Then, slowly, he reached out.
His large hand took the paper bag from my small hand. His fingers brushed mine.
ZAP.
Electricity again.
He opened the bag. He peered inside. He looked at the Hello Kitty lunchbox.
His lips twitched again.
"Fine," he muttered.
He looked back at me.
"So," he said, his voice deep and rumbling. "We are engaged."
I felt my knees go weak.
"I guess so," I whispered.
"Good," Gabriel said. He turned around, walking toward the door with my lunchbox in his hand.
"Come, Aleesha. We have paperwork to sign."
I stood there, blinking.
I came here to get an A. I am leaving with a fiancé.
"Mommy is going to freak out," I whispered to the empty room.
Then, clutching my cardigan, I ran after him.
"Wait! Mr. Gabriel! Wait for your wife!"