Chapter 3
Three
CULLEN
I don’t know what possesses me to utter those words.
Maybe it’s the sobering conversation I had with Darrel Hastings when he challenged me to make my mark on the world.
Maybe it’s the fact that Nardi Davis is a complete and total stranger yet I’m unusually at ease in her presence.
Maybe it’s that I am going to die and being so keenly aware of my mortality is emboldening.
Whatever the reason, I don’t take the words back.
Nardi blinks thick lashes over and over. Her slackened jaw and glazed eyes would mar a less impressionable face. Unfortunately, her rich, cocoa-brown skin, arched eyebrows and full lips is, by all standards, ‘conventionally attractive’.
Not that her beauty—which I didn’t expect in the least—has any bearing on my proposal. I would have proposed had she been severely deformed.
My goal is to make a promising, coding genius my legacy and Nardi Davis is simply the gatekeeper to that happy ending.
“I-I’m sorry.” She leans forward, flabbergasted. “I must have heard wrong.”
“You didn’t.”
“No, I did.” Her jeans rustle against the couch as Nardi flops back. Sunlight glints against the gold bracelet wrapped around her delicate wrist as she brings a hand to her temple and massages.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you. That wasn’t my intent.”
“Your intent was to give me a heart attack then?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Are you joking with me?”
“I’m a dying man, Ms. Davis. I don’t have time for games.”
“Look, Mr…” She falters.
“Cullen.”
“Cullen.”
A nervous, happy thrill runs over my skin when she says my name, but then she follows it up with a stare so pitying that my stomach churns.
“I’d like to suggest counseling.”
“I had a session this morning.” My lips turn down at the memory.
“Good. That’s good. Keep going to those.” She bobs her head tightly. “Life is hard. I get it. Trust me. I’m an immigrant from Belize and it took me years to save up for my green card. I worked odd jobs, cleaning houses and being treated like trash until I could build myself a better life.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not saying it compares to your situation. We each have our own struggles and yours are certainly different from mine, but I do understand what it feels like to be backed into a corner. I really hope things work out for you. I really do.”
It strikes me then, as I listen to her speak, that Ms. Nardi Davis is rather empathetic. This is very much a rejection of my marriage proposal and yet I don’t feel attacked or humiliated at all.
Is this what someone in touch with their emotions sounds like?
It’s too bad I don’t have the same strength. My words aren’t coated with mercy or kindness. Only the truth.
“Ms. Davis, I don’t ‘hope’ for things this important. I get them done,” I say as gently as I can. It must still come out harsh because her mouth twists downward.
“I guess I wasn’t clear,” she mumbles to herself and then stares at me head on. “I’m not marrying you, Mr. Cullen.”
I sensed that she was leaning in such a direction, so it comes as no surprise. In fact, I would find her strange and irresponsible if she agreed the first time I asked.
Undeterred, I lean forward. “Can I know what your objections are?”
She barks out a laugh, sees that I don’t laugh along and juts her chin toward me. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
She considers me for a long moment. “First of all, you’re not my type.”
“What is?” I ask, pulling out my phone to jot down notes.
She gawks at me, rolls her eyes and then concedes. “Not you. The opposite of you.”
“Are we talking race? Height? Build?”
“You’re a little too skinny and, if I can be honest here, I hate the beanie.”
I look down at my body. I’ve never been bulky like the gym bros and athletes I went to college with. Radiation treatments didn’t exactly help me gain muscle mass either. But the beanie…
Unconsciously, I run my fingers over the beanie the way I would do to my shorn scalp.
“Second,” Nardi continues, her eyes narrowed, “I don’t date people who speak a completely different language.”
“We’ve been speaking English.”
“I meant, your passion for coding.” She shudders. “Josiah tried to explain a programming project to me once and it was torture. Since you built an entire company around coding, you must be even more…” she flails her arms, searching for a word.
“Entrenched?” I supply.
“Obsessed,” she says instead.
“Ah.”
“We’d have nothing in common.”
“Attraction and having things in common aren’t a prerequisite for marriage.” I check my watch. I’m stunned to find that so much time has passed and yet I’m still enjoying the conversation with Ms. Davis. Tapping the face so the watch screen goes blank, I muse, “There are plenty of other reasons for people to marry.”
“Exactly, and we’re missing the most important one.”
The slight condescension in her face, like a teacher berating a student, amuses me. I play along. “And what is that?”
“Love.”
“Love?” I rub my chin.
“Yes. I won’t marry someone I don’t love.”
It’s a common expectation, so it doesn’t faze me. “How many marriages start with love and end up in divorce? If love was such a great ingredient, it would be enough to keep those relationships together, wouldn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Spoken like a true cynic.”
I don’t realize I’m smiling until I feel my cheek twitch. It’s been too long since I’ve exercised the muscles around my mouth.
Nardi waves her hands around quite a lot when she speaks and I wonder if it’s the Caribbean side of her or if it’s just her.
“Mr. Cullen, it’s clear as day that you don’t have a romantic bone in your body, and it doesn’t surprise me at all that you’d propose marriage to a complete stranger you just met an hour ago. Since it’s clear that I’ll have to be the rational one here, I once again decline.”
“Because I’m not your type,” I clarify.
“That’s correct.”
“And you don’t love me,” I add.
“Bingo.”
“What if I told you this marriage would be a business contract only and you’d be free to pursue someone you love as long as they sign a pre-nup that the company and assets will remain Josiah’s after I’m gone?”
“Then I’d say… you’re insane.”
“I’m not insane. I’m sick. There’s a difference.”
“You want me to marry you and then date someone else?”
“If you so choose.”
She looks past me to the curtains framing her window. “Am I being pranked?”
“I’m completely serious, Ms. Davis. Please don’t mistake my marriage proposal as an attempt to keep you from any of the things you listed.”
“What about you?” She challenges. “What if you find someone you love while you’re ‘married’ to me.”
“Impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because I’m not interested in women.”
She eyes me curiously. “No?”
Her reaction is odd and I answer slowly. “No.”
“I see.” She clucks her tongue, gives me another once-over and nods slowly. “Actually, that makes sense.”
“I…” The truth dawns and I understand everything she’s communicating with that look. Back ramrod straight, I clarify immediately. “That is not what I meant.”
“Hey, it’s a free country.”
“I like women.”
“Mm-hm.” She taps a fingernail on the arm of her chair. “How many women have you dated?”
I rub the back of my neck. “That’s personal.”
“You want to marry me, but you can’t even answer that?”
I clear my throat. “I spent most of my life studying and building my company. I didn’t have time—” I release an exasperated breath because there is no way to win this fight. “Ms. Davis, let’s get back on track.”
“There’s no track to get back to because I won’t be marrying you.” She pops to her feet, dusts her hands, and asks, “How long do you plan to stay? I left my pots outside and I need to soak them.”
“I…”
Before I can say a word, Nardi walks past me to open her front door. A moment later, she drags in a tower of heavy iron pots. They’re twice her size and I rush to my feet to help her.
“Let me.”
“It’s fine. You’re a patient. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things.”
I try to find a way to take the load from her, but she sidesteps me and expertly sets the pans on the counter.
Since I have no choice, I follow her to the kitchen. The room is small but well-kept and clean. Everything has its place.
She’s tidy. Nice.
The more I see of Nardi Davis, the more certain I am that marrying her wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Nardi begins to dump soap into the rice pots, keeping her back to me. I sense that she’s no longer interested in talking.
“I see that you’re busy,” I begin, watching as she fills the pots with water. “So I won’t keep you any longer, but here’s a card with my personal cell phone number.” I slide the embossed rectangle across the counter, being careful not to set it in the splash zone. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” she says decidedly.
“Tell Josiah he’s free to call or email me if he has any questions. I’d love to discuss the algorithms he used in the competition.”
She doesn’t answer that one and I can tell, again, that she’s extremely protective of her brother.
I take a step back. And another.
And then I stop.
Something keeps tugging on my heart. Something I’ve never felt before.
Like sadness but not exactly…
Is it reluctance?
Why would I feel so reluctant at this moment unless…
I don’t actually want to leave this tiny apartment.
“Goodbye, Mr. Cullen,” Nardi says pointedly, as if she can sense my desire to linger.
“Have a good evening, Ms. Davis.” With wooden movements, I approach the door.
Just as I’m about to slip outside, Nardi calls, “Mr. Cullen?”
My head whips up and I answer hopefully, “Yes?”
“Don’t skip your therapy sessions, alright?”
Mouth flattening into a thin line, I step into the hallway and pull the door shut.
The moment I get back to my car, I start making calls. The first is to my bank, warning them that I’m about to move a significant amount of money. The bank manager assigned to my account assures me that there won’t be any issues.
My next move is to email my virtual assistant, Sara, who liaisons with me over the internet.
A few texts back and forth and she, once again, shows off her efficiency.
My phone chirps with a text.
It’s a bank account number.
And a name.
Aleksy Zuniga.
The second call happens at eight pm to the principal of the Galilei Newton School for The Scientifically Gifted.
At first, the principal, Dr. Phonecia Green, is… less than friendly. Understandable. It’s after hours on a Saturday and I’m a stranger cold-calling her at night. But she quickly warms up when I explain who I am and what I want to do.
After that, my virtual assistant is handed another assignment which faces a tiny hiccup when the bank blocks the transaction.
After posing a call to the bank manager who steps out during his wife’s birthday dinner to answer me and make a few calls of his own, the transaction goes through.
Exhausted, I hang up with the bank manager and limp to the thick brown couch. My entire body groans as I sink into the sofa.
While I can code at my computer, crouched over my keyboard for hours on end, talking to people zaps my energy like a parasite.
I’d thought my ability to socialize had improved as I hadn’t felt any adverse effects while talking to Josiah or Nardi.
But I was wrong.
My head hurts and my eyes burn.
I decide to take a break for the evening, crack open a bottle of mineral water and lose myself in the pages of a C++ programming language research paper.
My phone rings as I turn to the second chapter of the book.
Nope. I’m not doing it.
No more peopling for me.
After Hastings’ therapy session, hiring the notaries, the lawyers, communicating with the bank, my assistant and the principal, I could fly to a remote island and not talk to anyone for one month. At this rate, it might take me a couple weeks to recover.
I contemplate ignoring the call until I see Richard Sullivan’s name on the screen. Guess I have to take this.
“Hello?” I say tightly.
“Cullen, glad I caught you. It’s Dare.”
I reach for a metal bookmark that was gifted to me by my former college. I spoke at their graduating ceremony last year and then I was wiped out for an entire month. Now, I wisely decline all speaking engagements.
Slipping the bookmark within the pages, I close the book neatly. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to check if you’d seen my good friend Hastings today?”
“Yes, I saw him.”
Mr. Sullivan waits.
I add nothing more.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry if you were shocked. I should have given you a heads-up about that.”
“I would have appreciated one,” I say.
He doesn’t seem offended by the scolding in my tone.
“Did it help?” Sullivan asks.
“Actually, it did.” I refill my wine glass with mineral water and take a sip.
“Great! So that means the hospital will stop calling me and you’ll finally go hear your results?”
I remain silent. This is all my fault for making Richard Sullivan my emergency contact.
Given that I have no friends and my assistant is virtual, I wasn’t sure who I should write as my guardian. At the time, Richard Sullivan seemed like the best bet as he appeared somewhat trustworthy and I thought that he’d do what needed to be done if I was ever on life support.
Unfortunately, naming him as my emergency contact gave Sullivan deep feelings of responsibility for my welfare while I’m alive. Which was not my initial intent.
“Cullen,” Sullivan calls my name in warning, “you will go back to the hospital and hear those results, right?”
“I’m very busy.”
“Your team can handle without you.”
“Not at this point. The simulation still isn’t ready and the board?—”
“Don’t worry about the board. I’ll cover for you there. Whatever you need, Moseley and I will handle it.”
Sullivan can say that easily, but I’ve been burned at the stake during his board meetings. Most of the members don’t agree with Cullen Tech’s vision. I feel a direct responsibility to prove that Sullivan’s investment in me was the right call.
“I’ll get in touch with the hospital.” I assure him. Someday. But I leave that part unsaid. Sullivan might release another therapist on me, one who isn’t as hands-off and even-keeled as Darrel Hastings.
“I’m really glad to hear that, Cullen. My wife pointed out that I probably shouldn’t have sprung Darrel on you. That you might have gotten offended. I hope you know this all comes from a good place.”
“Of course.”
“Alright then. If there’s nothing else…”
“There is something I’d like to discuss with you.” I pause. “I think I might have found someone who can finish the human-less flight project if I can’t.”
“Really? Is it someone on your team?”
“Not exactly. He’s eleven.”
There’s a beat of shocked silence. “Eleven? As in… he’s in middle school?”
“That’s right.”
“Cullen, if I didn’t know you, I’d say you were joking. But since I do, you gotta give me more information.”
“His name is Josiah Davis.” I smile as I think about the short conversation Josiah and I had before his sister stormed in. “He’s been playing around with Python and Java Script for about two years now, but he was getting bored in his classes. He studied further and further on his own until he was doing his own thing during class. It was during a lesson at school today that he broke into our simulation.”
Sullivan goes very, very quiet. I don’t have to see him to know that I’ve shocked him speechless again.
“I want to clarify that I’m determined to see this project through before I die. I will throw everything I can at it. However, if I can’t make this a reality, handing it over to someone else in my generation is the wrong thing to do. We need someone from a new generation. Someone with a completely different approach. And this kid,” I blow out a breath, “he’s incredibly sharp. If anyone can do this, he can.”
“O-okay. Well, I guess…” Sullivan stutters. “I mean, if that’s how you want to play it.” Sullivan pauses again and seems to work through my announcement. “So you’ll be a mentor, of sorts.”
“Yes, but I also plan to make that mentorship a little more… legally binding.”
“How?”
“By getting married.”
Dare sounds uneasy. “To who?”
“To Josiah’s sister.”
“Do you know this girl?”
“Nope.”
“And does she like you?”
I take a few seconds to consider it. “She feels sorry for me.”
“Okay then.”
“It’s not a done deal, but I’ve decided that it’s the route I want to take and so, marrying Nardi is a principle, not a variable in my programing.”
“Look, Cullen,” Sullivan sounds like a wary father with a rebellious son who took every penny from him, “I’m the last person who should be judging you about this. I started dating my wife, Yaya, in a similar fashion. However, it was just a couple dates. Not marriage. There’s a very big difference in impact there.”
“I’m not going to force her. I’m just… setting things in place to make it easier for her to say yes.”
Sullivan asks cautiously. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing illegal and nothing that will impact the project.”
“Cullen, you should know by now that I consider you a friend. This is more important than the project.”
Why Richard Sullivan considers me a friend, I still have no idea. “Nothing is set in stone yet. This is just the beginning. If my health worsens, obviously, I’ll slow down.”
“Fine.” He sighs. “Keep me updated.”
“On the project? Of course.”
“Not just that. The marriage. The mentorship. Everything. Who knows? Maybe I can help.”
“Will do.”
I hang up on Richard Sullivan and check my watch. That fifteen minute conversation was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
With all the energy I have left, I brush my teeth and then crawl into bed to sleep. Or more accurately, I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling while the shadows dance around me.
Insomnia is a bastard.
At two a.m., I get up and pad to the bathroom. In the harsh lights, I stare at my reflection and, for some reason, my conversation with Nardi replays in my head.
‘Honestly, you’re not my type’.
“Not her type?” I turn sideways and flex my biceps.
Barely a muscle.
I turn the other way.
Low fat and moderately low muscle physiques aren’t that bad nowadays. I don’t watch many movies, but even I know who Timothée Chalemet is and women don’t seem to mind him.
My eyes slide up to the knit beanie I wear to bed. Removing the cap, I lean into the mirror and stare at my closely-cropped hair. Some of the hair follicles are just starting to sprout while others are further along. But none of it is as it used to be.
With a sigh, I replace the beanie and stare at my face in the mirror. My cheeks are gaunt and my jaw a little too sharp. There are dark circles under my eyes from my battle with sleep—a war that I can never seem to win.
A girl as pretty as Nardi Davis is definitely not going to be interested in me. And really, it doesn’t matter if Nardi finds me unattractive.
For the future that I want, for the legacy that I need to leave, the only path forward is for her to be my wife.
Monday morning, I host a meeting with my team and they’re jumping at the bit to ask about the hacker. I keep them on task by handing out assignments and discussing the latest data pulls.
But my attempts to maintain order don’t last long.
“So now that we’ve finished with work,” Asad grins manically from his computer monitor. “Did you go looking for the hacker? Did you go with the cops? Are you suing him now?”
“I hope you didn’t turn him over to the feds.” Dr. Young’s eyes dart back and forth. “They’re all in cahoots, you know. None of them can be trusted.”
“The hacker is no longer a problem. I handled it.” I turn to look at the simulation code running peacefully behind me.
“What did you do?” Asad asks, his nose so close to the camera I can see every pore.
“We had a conversation.”
Everyone takes a breath at the same time.
Asad starts chewing on a fingernail. “What do you mean a ‘conversation’?”
“Is he going to be working with us?” Dr. Young asks and then he withdraws from the camera as if he’s about to be hit. “Don’t tell me you’re bringing a criminal on the team.”
“He won’t be on the team exactly, but yes… we’ll be collaborating.”
Everyone groans.
I push away from my worn gamer chair and click off a few monitors. “Remember to send me the data from today’s experiment. I won’t be available to help with the infrastructure until after three.”
“Are you going to the hospital?” One of my technicians asks.
“No, I’ll be at The School For The Scientifically Gifted.”
“Oh right.” Asad snaps his fingers. “Hey, why does that name sound familiar?”
Dr. Young arches a brow. “Didn’t the IP address lead to that school as well?”
Asad pales a shade. “Don’t tell me our hacker’s…”
“In sixth grade?” Dr. Young finishes.
Asad bursts out laughing. “No, I was going to say ‘is a teacher’.” Asad brushes away a tear. “You’re a hoot, Dr. Young! How could a nine year old possibly understand, much less write, advanced code.”
Dr. Young turns red.
“Eleven,” I say.
Their attention swings back to me.
“Sixth graders are ages ten to eleven. Not nine.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Asad brushes me off and continues. “The hacker must be a programing teacher.”
“I still think it’s the Russians,” Dr. Young grumbles.
I reach for the ‘leave meeting’ button. “Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you when the time is right.”
“Cullen!”
“No way!”
I cut off my monitor on their exaggerated expressions and chuckle to myself. It was tempting to reveal Josiah’s identity, but it’s not the right time. I haven’t had a proper chat with him yet, so the team will need to wait in line.
Pushing out of the gaming chair, I plot what I’m going to wear for the afternoon’s big event. I decide on a pressed polo with slacks and take a step toward my bedroom.
That’s when a wave of vertigo hits me.
My head spins and I lose all sense of balance. My body falls backwards without any warning. Thankfully, my chair is right behind me or I would have landed on the floor.
The room continues to spin for a long time. I push my head between my legs and I breathe through it, forcing myself not to panic.
Eventually, the vertigo fades.
Testing my legs, I slowly push to my feet.
So far so good, I guess.
At that moment, my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
This is the hospital. Mr. Cullen, we highly urge you to come in and discuss your lab results.
I swipe the notification away and pocket my phone. Pressing my hands against the wall, I make the dangerous journey to my bedroom, glad that I relocated from the first floor to the guest room downstairs.
There are over-the-counter meds in my dresser. I pump out a few in my hands and knock them back with a bottle of water.
I rub my forehead. An ache lingers, but I’m able to stand up again without feeling as weak.
I really could die tomorrow.
Rather than steal my energy, the thought spurs me on.
I better get married to Nardi and set Josiah up for the future fast.
I call a driver to take me to Josiah’s school. During the drive, I keep my eyes closed and breathe evenly. When he finally slows the vehicle in front of the stately building, I’m good as new.
Just in time too because the entire administration is waiting for me on the lawn.
“Mr. Cullen!” The principal opens my door for me and sticks out a hand.
I stare at it. “Dr. Green.”
She jumps on my hand and pumps. My blood curdles. Schools are full of germs. I doubt she washes her hands after touching every door knob in her school.
Fighting to hide my disgust, I pull my hand back and wipe it against my pants. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yes, I did.” She beams at me. “I’m just blown away by what you’ve done for us. Blown away. We received a call from the bank this morning. We now have all the funding we need to build a new, state-of-the-art science lab at the south-east end of the property. And I want you to know that we’ve decided to name that building after you. It’s the least we could do.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” I look out over the faces gathered to greet me. “And what about the club I asked you to start?”
“Of course! The advanced programming club. Barbara.” The principal holds out a hand. At once, a mousy assistant places something in her grip.
The principal swipes through the tablet and offers the device to me. I step back, watching from afar. If she thinks I’m going to touch a germ-infested tablet that probably hasn’t been disinfected since it was purchased, she can think again.
“We selected a group of the most talented, promising children from the programming club along with a few bright stars in our programming elective.”
My eyes brighten when she swipes and I see that Josiah’s on that list.
Yes.
I fight to hold back my smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit in during their sessions. Are they meeting today?”
“No. It was a little too last minute to have them all come together today. Parents need to be notified and all that. I set the time for Thursday. Is that okay?” She peers at my face as if her entire world will crumble if I say no.
“That’s fine.”
Dr. Green lets out a little laugh and sidles up to me. “Mr. Cullen, may I ask what your relationship with our school is? Do you, by chance, have a child here…?” Her eyes dip intentionally to my ring finger.
“No.” I inch back. “I just… want to be a help to the next generation.”
“Marvelous! What a worthy cause.” She gestures forward. “Would you like a tour of our facilities? I may be biased, but we have the most well-maintained lawns in the state.”
“Maybe another time.”
“Oh, well, of course. Perhaps when you return on Thursday.”
I fake a smile, not making any promises. The last thing I want to do is go on a tour with this woman.
My reticence doesn’t seem to faze her. Dr. Green drones on and on about her vision for the academy while I debate if it would be inappropriate to ask for a meeting with Josiah. Technically, I’m not his family, so it probably would come off as creepy.
I’m getting ready to interrupt the principal and make an excuse to go home when I hear a familiar voice screech, “ You!”
Stunned, I swivel to find Nardi stalking up the sidewalk. A dark frown marks her face and her eyebrows cinch tighter with every step she takes toward me.
The principal glances between us. “You’re Josiah’s mom, right?”
“Sister. And yes.” Nardi breathes out harshly. A storm of lightening zips through her eyes and I can tell she’s only holding herself back because Josiah’s principal is here.
“Do you know her, Mr. Cullen?” The principal asks, stepping beside me.
“Yes.” I turn to Dr. Green, a smile brimming on my lips. “This is Nardi Davis, my potential fiancée.”
Nardi’s eyes widen.
The principal frowns in disappointment.
Barbara snickers behind her hand.
“Your fiancée ?” Nardi hisses.
“Can you give us a minute, Dr. Green?” I say without taking my eyes off Nardi.
The principal’s mouth opens and she inhales sharply. With a whiff of annoyance, the woman and her entourage storm up the steps.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to pick up Josiah,” Nardi snaps.
I check my watch and realize it probably is around the time that children are let out from school. A quick scan around the campus lot reveals a parade of fancy cars in the pick up zone.
My driver is waiting for me right on the curb, no doubt a luxury I’m afforded only because I’m such a large donor to the school.
“What are you doing here?” Nardi snarls.
I open my mouth.
She cuts me off. “Are you here for Josiah? Did you not comprehend what I told you last time? Mr. Cullen, Josiah isn’t your human will and testament and I am not your fiancée. If you can’t respect that then I’m going to have to get the police involved.”
I wonder how someone can be so empathetic and fiery. It’s an interesting combination and it makes me curious to see what other layers lie beneath the surface.
“Mr. Cullen? Hello!” Nardi waves a hand in my face.
I realize I’d been staring and clear my throat. “I am here to see Josiah, but it isn’t in the way you think. I’m leading the new advanced Python program at his school.”
“Yeah, right. This isn’t a regular public school, Mr. Cullen. Not anyone can just waltz in?—”
“You can do just about anything if you donate a new lab.” The words come out snobbier than I intend, but they’re the truth so I let them hover in the air.
Nardi blinks, shell-shocked.
I step closer, ignoring the faint smell of vanilla and honey radiating from her dark skin. “Nardi, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It is very much your choice if you don’t want to marry me. However, it is also my choice to do everything in my power to change your mind.”
“And buying a wing in Josiah’s school is going to do it?” She fires back. “Do you think I care if this snooty school gets another donation? Let me answer that. I don’t! ”
I chuckle.
She glares, flames bursting through brown eyes. “Did you just laugh at me?”
“No.” I cover my mouth with a fist and cough. “Something was… was in my throat.”
“I can see you smiling, Mr. Cullen. Please explain to me what’s so amusing.”
“It’s…”
“What?”
“Your lack of emotional regulation.”
She twists her lips tightly. “My lack of… are you saying I’m unhinged? ”
“What? No, that’s not… I mean, I find it refreshing?—”
“Fine! Let me show you what ‘unhinged’ looks like.” Nardi steps right into me. The wind picks up her hair and it brushes the side of my cheek. The sun transforms her irises from black to a thick, honey brown.
Nardi posts her finger just under my chin, her eyes narrowed. “If I ever see you in front of me or Josiah again, you won’t have to wonder whether or not it’s your last day on this earth. I’ll make sure it is.”