I don’t want more children—or at least I thought I didn’t. Then I saw my seed on Chloe’s thighs, and all sorts of tempting images flooded my mind: of Chloe growing round with our child, of her nursing a chubby infant… of us playing with a brown-eyed toddler whose radiant smile lights a room.
It was like a montage from some fucking Hallmark movie, except it made me ache deep inside.
With effort, I shut down that line of thinking. Whether or not I acted consciously doesn’t matter. The outcome is the same either way.
Forcing my shoulders to relax, I sit back and study Chloe’s tightly drawn features. “Tell me something, zaychik… what will it take for you to accept our marriage and be happy? For the two of us to avoid my grandparents’ fate?”
She’s too smart, too cautious to come in here just to castigate me. There’s something she’s after, some kind of goal she’s hoping to achieve, and I suspect I know what it is.
She stares at me for a couple of long seconds, and I sense the battle playing out in her mind. Continue pressing me on the condom question or move on to her actual agenda?
She must decide on the combination of the two because she sits up straighter and says, “Well, for one thing, unless and until I agree to have a baby, I want us to always use protection. In fact, I want you to get me back on birth control pills right away and get me a morning-after pill today.”
“Done,” I say, suppressing an irrational surge of disappointment.
It’s really for the best; another Molotov is the last thing this world needs. I don’t know what came over me last night, but I intend to control myself better in the future. In fact, I did use condoms throughout the rest of the night, so I will chalk up what happened to a momentary lapse of reason.
Chloe blinks, clearly surprised by my easy acquiescence. “Okay. Good. Then how about we discuss the timing of the wedding? I think next summer or fall should be—”
“No.” I didn’t intend to rush her into marriage, but now that we’ve gone down this path, I can’t imagine waiting a day longer. As impatient as I’ve been to have her in my bed, it’s nothing compared to my burning urge to tie her to me. I wasn’t planning to propose until some weeks from now, after I’d dealt with Bransford, but everything changed the moment I saw my seed on her and knew I could’ve made her pregnant. At that moment, putting my ring on her finger became my top priority—and it still is, regardless of whether or not there’s going to be a child.
The mere possibility of it made me realize that nothing less than having her as my wife will do.
She sucks in a breath. “But—”
“No. The timing is nonnegotiable.” I know I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t—I won’t—relent on this. Something irrational in me is convinced that if I don’t make this happen now, I will lose her… that I must seize this chance at happiness, illusory though it might be.
She balls her hands as spots of darker color appear on her cheeks. “I thought you wanted this to work, for us to actually be happy in this marriage.”
“I do… and we will be. But first, there has to be a marriage. And for that, there has to be a wedding—which is what’s happening at five o’clock today.”
“This afternoon?” Her voice jumps in pitch. “You realize how insane that sounds?”
I smile grimly. “Sanity is overrated, zaychik. What sane person is ever happy? In any case, you don’t need to stress about the logistics. Everything’s already been arranged.”
For a few beats, she just stares at me, breathing shakily; then she pushes back her chair and launches to her feet. “What about what I want? What I need to accept this marriage?”
“Tell me what it is, and I’ll do my best to make it happen—as long as it doesn’t result in a delay.” Rising to my feet as well, I step around the table and cup her delicately carved chin, tilting her face up to take in her mutinous expression. “Tell me, zaychik. What can I do to make you happy? What is it you need?”
She grips my wrist, her eyes dark with turbulent emotions. “I need you to not make me do this.”
I smile and bend my head to kiss the fragile shell of her ear, my body tightening as I breathe in her wildflower scent. “No, zaychik,” I murmur when I feel her shiver. “That is precisely what you need.”
Someone as innocent as her will never embrace a man like me without worrying about how it compromises her society-imposed morals and feeling at least some form of guilt.
I meant what I said. In my own selfish way, I am doing her a favor. This way, she can pretend she doesn’t want this, that she’s embracing me against her will.