“No. You need a family home once you’re married,” his mother says. “Somewhere in Bishop’s Landing. I have a few properties in mind for the two of you. With plenty of bedrooms for you to fill with children.”
She smiles. And it’s weird, how easily she talks of us having kids, when we don’t even know each other. I have no idea if we’re sexually compatible, and if I’m being real right now, I don’t want to see if we are either.
I’m not interested. Despite how delicious he smells.
“Ma,” Perry starts but his mother shushes him, her intense stare aimed at him and no one else. I almost feel sorry for him.
“There’s no need to discuss it. We’ll find you a house,” she says firmly.
Anger blazes from Perry’s very being but his mother doesn’t even notice. The idea of living in Bishop’s Landing doesn’t appeal to my future husband.
Doesn’t particularly appeal to me either.
Fingers circle around my wrist and I freeze up, my gaze shooting to my future husband to find him already watching me. The mothers are already involved in another conversation about what sort of house we should move into, so they’re not paying attention.
“Let me go,” I practically hiss, trying to pull out of his hold.
“We can’t let them go through with this.” His fingers spring away from my wrist, and I jerk my hand back into my lap, rubbing the spot where he touched me. “Pushing us into this marriage. We need to find a way out.”
“I agree.” What am I saying? I don’t agree.
Not at all.
This is my chance out. Why wouldn’t I want to marry this guy?
He’s the escape I’ve been looking for.
Chapter Five
Perry
Didn’t think I’dfeel this way, but I have to admit…
My fiancée is a hot little piece.
I still stand by my angry virgin assessment, but she’s sexy as fuck in the hot-pink dress that somehow covers her up yet shows her body off too. The dress has a freaking turtleneck for Christ’s sake, and billowy long sleeves. There’s no cleavage on display. Not even a bare shoulder or elbow, since the sleeves end right at her wrists in a sexy little flounce.
It’s that damn skirt that does me in. Extra short and with a flirty ruffled hem, it shows off plenty of leg.
And Charlotte Lancaster has really nice legs.
Too bad we’re stuck sitting at this table and I can’t really see them. I acted like there wasn’t enough room for me beneath the table earlier, but that was a lie. I was bumping into her on purpose so I could try and cop a feel of her bare knee or some shit. Like I’m a middle schooler trying to grope the hottest girl in class.
Not sure if she likes me, though. She greeted me like I was her long-lost lover, yet just now freaked out when I touched her. Those icy eyes when they met mine were full of fear.
All because I touched her freakingwrist.
Maybe she’s not interested. Which is too damn bad, because she’s definitely gorgeous. She just reeks of money and class, with the elegant bone structure and her perfectly put-together appearance. Large diamond studs glitter in each ear, bright enough to blind. Her hair color is classic ice-queen-rich-girl-from-Manhattan blonde—a variety of golden shades, each of them blended so perfectly, no one would ever question if it’s real or not.
I’d guess it’s fake. No one could have that many shades of gold and blonde in their hair. Not even ultra-rich heiresses who never have to work a day in their lives.
She seems all right. Not put off by my appearance and willing to work with me. Giving off very us-versus-them vibes when it comes to the moms.
“I’m glad you agree,” I finally tell Charlotte, my voice low as I lean over the table so I can get closer to her. Don’t need the mamas hearing our plot to ruin everything. “We need to figure out what our next move is.”
“We do.” She nods, her expression cool. Unreadable. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”