Weird.
I’m sure if I went to Winston with my Charlotte-related complaints, he’d laugh in my face. Keaton would make an insulting remark that would sting even sharper than usual since he’s younger than me. The both of them smugly content in relationships they chose, versus one that’s been forced upon them.
Like me.
Charlotte Lancaster is a prickly little thing. What woman doesn’t want a flawless diamond?
The woman I’m going to marry, that’s who.
I try to talk to her about it and she goes silent on me. And while she looks hot as fuck yet again in that light-blue dress with the too-short skirt, she doesnotwant me to touch her.
Why not? What’s the problem? Is she a man hater? Did she have a bad experience with a guy in the past? Is she just uptight? There are so many reasons, almost too many to fathom.
I’m not about to ask her. Especially not right now.
Every time I do as the photographer instructs while we’re standing on a bridge in the middle of Central Park, I feel Charlotte stiffen. Recoil. Her entire demeanor shifts the moment I lay my hands on her, as if I physically repulse her.
And I’m supposed to touch her. We’re a so-called happily engaged couple. We need to look the part for these photos, though why I’m bothering, I don’t even know. I should’ve never shown up in the first place. The deeper I get sucked into this, the harder it’s going to be to get out of it.
“You’re just so stiff,” the photographer announces after about twenty minutes of endless poses, sounding exasperated.
Charlotte glances over at me with an accusing gaze and I murmur, “She’s talking about you.”
“You’re saying I’m the stiff one?” she asks Susan, sounding confused.
“Yes, my dear. You need to loosen up. This is the man you’re going to marry, and not to be offensive, but he’s an absolute doll. You want to look happy in your photos, not like you’re being led to the gallows,” Susan the sassy photographer explains.
The nervous laughter that escapes Louisa Lancaster doesn’t help. Swear to God, Charlotte stiffens even more.
“Hey.” I snag her hand, ignoring the way she’s trying to pull out of my hold while I lead her over to the side of the bridge and away from them. “Look, you gotta pretend you like me. At least for the next ten minutes while we wrap up this shit show of a photography session. Or else our official announcement is going to be of you looking like this.” I offer her a fake-ass smile as an example.
Her eyes darken and her lips thin. “I don’t look that bad.”
“Oh yeah. You do,” I say firmly. “Trust me.”
“I shouldn’t trust you at all,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You act like this entire situation is one big joke, when this is my life we’re talking about here.”
“I’m playing along with it, okay? Isn’t that what you want? My help to get you out of your house and away from your father?” I keep my voice low, though deep down I’m furious. I give her what she wants and she complains. I try to lighten the moment and she complains.
I can’t please her. The very least she can be is grateful I’m not blowing up this entire mockery of a situation in her face.
Charlotte says nothing. Just sinks her teeth into her lower lip and averts her head, gazing out at the water. The sun shines upon her face just right, casting her in a golden glow, and in this exact moment, she looks perfectly relaxed.
Perfectly beautiful.
“Okay, that’s it!” Susan shouts as she once again starts snapping away.
“Don’t move,” I tell Charlotte, my voice low. Calm. Like I’m talking to a wild animal who’s about to dart away. “Or you’ll ruin everything.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she mutters, her lips barely moving.
Impressive.
“As your future husband, I have every right to tell you what to do whenever I want.” I have never felt this way about someone before in my life, but I have to admit…
I get off on the idea of bossing this woman around. Especially since she’s so damn resistant.
“Oh please. You wish,” she says irritably, her gaze still on the water. “You’re rude.”