Chapter 20 #2
"What if I don’t want to go?" I ask, looking at the helicopter.
"Are you really going to say no to me now? Literally all your money hangs in the balance. If you don’t do what I ask, I’ll find another woman. I had options for my wife. You must realize that."
Glaring at him, I pull the edges of my coat closer together, a breeze whipped up by the helicopter running right through me. "That’s an awful thing to say to the woman that you are supposed to be marrying."
He cocks a brow and grabs my arm. "Just be glad that I am picking you. You should feel lucky."
I'm not feeling lucky, I think. I clench my jaw and stare at the helicopter, my stomach already doing flips. But Dare doesn’t wait and doesn’t ask my opinion.
He just drags me toward the helicopter.
I am in my own pool of humiliation as we start to land, at last. My stomach has been upset since the lift-off point, but I was too busy replaying the scene in the hangar bathroom to even notice.
When we begin to descend, I turn to stare out the window. I’ve been so miserable this entire flight that I didn’t even really notice that we were landing on a private helipad.
We never really left the shore, but I could tell we were going up north. The shore is rockier and the ocean is frothier here, the beach leading up to a dramatic cliff. Just beyond, there is a large white mansion sitting on the beach.
When the pilot sets the chopper down, Dare springs from the helicopter, ripping off his headphones. He doesn’t even wait for me before turning and marching toward the house.
I clamber down from the helicopter, thanking the pilot, before I stop for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, fighting back the wave of sickness I feel.
If helicopters are the way that rich people get around, flitting from place to place, I don’t want to be a part of it. Shuddering at the icy wind that rolls off the ocean, I hug my coat close and hurry to follow in Dare’s footsteps.
As I finally catch up to him, he grins at me.
"So? It’s nice being in the air for such a short time, huh?"
I screw up my face and look forward, noticing the edge of a building down below the edge of the cliff. I squint at it and try to keep my expression from being bitter.
"I think I hated it more than I have ever hated any trip in my life."
He snorts. Finally, seeming to notice me hurrying to keep up with his pace, he slows his steps.
“You didn’t like the helicopter? Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I was trying not to die or throw up."
"Well, you’ll have to get used to it. I probably spend more time in the helicopter than I do on my private plane."
"That must be nice. I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never flown anywhere. Not in a plane, not in a helicopter."
He stops in his tracks, confused. "Wait, what? Really?"
"Where would I even go? Harwicke is the only place I’ve ever known."
He gives a grunt of disgust. "We’ll have to fix that." He starts walking again, leaving me to wonder how one would fix that exactly.
With the mansion looming large to our left, I point out the structure on the beach below. Winding steps that look precarious lead down from the cliff to the structure.
"What’s that?"
"The boathouse," he replies. "We will go down there at some point, I imagine. I love to sail."
His comment startles me a little bit. I hadn’t thought about what he might like to do.
He exists in some parallel universe that I’ve constructed.
Outside of anything positive, outside of liking, loving, or cherishing anything, to hear him say that he loves doing something like sailing. .. It’s just an alien concept to me.
"Are you saying that you like to play with boats?" I ask.
He lets out a cold laugh. “If you want to put it that way, yes. I keep a sailboat and a yacht here."
"A yacht? You Morgans really have it all figured out, don’t you?”
He stops again, his stare icy. "The Morgans aren't big fans of boats. The boats are a holdover from the Mercers, my mom’s family. It’s the only thing I have left of her."
I blink, swallowing. Obviously, I’ve stepped on a touchy area. But before I can apologize or maybe make a joke to cut the tension, he whirls around and heads off toward the front door of the mansion.
Jesus, I have no idea why he is so sensitive about the whole thing. Maybe his mom causes a lot of drama or something. I have never met her, so I wouldn’t know.
Dare is already fully inside the house before I even reach the front door. Stopping at the threshold, I look around. Everything that I can see is made of dark wood and has plain white painted walls. It is a little less fancy than the Morgan mansion in Harwicke.
Still, as I look to my right, there is a staircase made of that same wood, and there are several framed pictures on the wall of women and couples from older, possibly happier times.
An unknown gentleman comes up to me, his hair white, his suit dark, and his expression haughty. He carries a white linen towel over his arm as though he were about to serve me a meal. He casts his gaze over me and sniffs.
"Welcome to the Cliffs," he says. His voice is nasally, his words meaningless to me.
"Thank you." I say.
"Please, come this way."
I follow him through the hallway and into a wood-paneled room. Though large, the room seems vaguely claustrophobic, and I pinpoint the fact that there are no windows in here. There is, however, a fireplace with a crackling, snapping fire.
All around it are uncomfortable looking, overstuffed leather couches. There isn’t so much as a table or a freestanding light fixture in here. The room is lit by sconces, which are doing a poor job of illuminating it.
Dare is already sprawled out on one of the couches, his coat messily cast aside. He looks at the butler and waves a hand, dismissing him. "We’re fine. Leave us."
I stand in the doorway, shivering and looking around. The butler bows his head, and I move aside to let him pass.
Dare looks at me, the firelight playing tricks on his face. I swear I see a hint of hunger in those blue-green eyes of his. But it's gone in the blink of an eye, just as quickly as I saw it.
"For fucks sake," Dare announces. "Come in, sit down."
My teeth start to chatter. The fire may be nice to look at, but whoever designed the chimneys did a poor job at making sure that the fire would actually warm the occupants of the room.
I walk in and take a seat, pulling my coat close to my body. Dare looks at me for a moment and then stands up, going over to a pile of blankets on the end of the couches. He carries them back, unfolding them before slinging each layer on top of me.
"How did you grow up on the coast just like I did, and yet you have no innate weatherproofing?"
My teeth chatter. "I don’t know," I manage.
He goes over to the door of the room and shuts it, then turns back and regards me.
"I’m going to need you to agree to a few things. And not just agree; I’m going to need you to sign a contract saying that you will do as I please."
I pull the blankets closer to me. They have a faint smell of must, like they have been lying on the couch for several years. Still, it’s better than nothing.
Between my clenched teeth, I say, “Like what?"
He gives me a wicked look and starts to pace the room, like a tiger trapped in a cage. "I’m so glad you asked. The first point is that we will have an ironclad prenup. Essentially, it will be a guarantee for me that you can never leave without facing complete financial ruin."
"That doesn’t seem fair." I spit out.
"It’s not. It’s not intended to be fair. It’s intended to have dire consequences if you break the prenup."
Huddling under the blankets, I can’t really think of how to come back to that. What do you say to a man as deranged as Dare?
"Well? What are the other things? I’m sure they’re just as ridiculous."
Dare ticks off items on his fingers like he is making a grocery list or something.
“For one thing, you’ll have to try to forget all the standards that you have tried to live up to.
Instead, you’ll aim to meet my impossibly high standards.
You’ll have to fake it until you make it for at least a little while.
But I have no doubt that you’ll get there in the end. "
I squint at him, licking my teeth. "Great. That sounds totally achievable and not at all intimidating."
He cocks his head and paces around the room, wrapped up in listing items and not really paying full attention to me.
"You also need to know that by marrying me, your child becomes mine. I am his father from that point on. No matter what, hell or high water."
Surprisingly, I don’t have anything to add. That one actually seems rather sweet, in a fucked-up way.
“My fourth point is that you must keep the secret of the child’s parentage and of our fake marriage safe from anyone ever knowing the truth.
That means you can’t tell your aunt, your friends, your doctor, or anyone else.
If you see a therapist, I fully expect that you will lie about this one aspect of your life. No one can ever know. "
He turns, pinning me with his gaze. "I mean it."
I notice that my teeth are no longer chattering. I peel the blankets away from my upper body and exhale dramatically. "That much we can both agree on. I don’t want to tell anybody that I sold myself for my baby. So, the secret is just between us."
I glance away, my eyes narrowing on the horizon. If I were being completely honest with Dare, I would tell him that I’ve already spilled my guts to my best friend Olivia. But Olivia will never tell anyone. And I doubt that Dare is holding his own secrets close to his chest.
He resumes pacing, his back-and-forth movements nearly hypnotic by now. "Oh, I should think that you wouldn’t want anyone to know," he agrees.
I feel a flush rising in my cheeks, but I refuse to be shamed by him. After all, I’m only doing what he wants me to do.
"Is there anything else that you want me to sign my name to?"