“Sorry about that.” I gently place his phone down and ignore the look on his face. Unimpressed is an understatement, but I don’t let it deter me. “Come on, you don’t want to marry me.”
“Of course, I don’t.”
My mouth drops open, offended. Which is crazy since I don’t want to marry him either.
“Exactly.” I cross my arms, recovering quick and pretending I knew he was going to say that. “So, drop me off at the airport and let’s put this fucked up day behind us.”
He rubs his face, running his fingers through his hair, then massages his temple. “Your father’s right, you are a headache.”
I freeze, his comment feeling like a slap in the face.
He turns to me, about to continue, but I guess my face must have shown just how much those words hurt.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches over to touch my arm, but I pull away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Taken aback, I frown. I’ve never, ever heard a man like him apologise to me over words. But it’s too late, the damage is done.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” My voice void of emotion. “Besides, you have no idea how right he is. And if you really think we are going to get married, I’m going to make it my mission to be your biggest headache, until it’s your idea to fuel up the jet, hand me my papers, and drop me off in Jamaica, just to be rid of me.”
He doesn’t break eye contact, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he just says, “That will never happen.”
And that’s how we stay, staring each other down. Until he says something that truly makes me laugh.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
Needless to say, that cracked me up.
“Oh my god.” I hold my stomach. “Stop, I can’t.”
His frown deepens, and I’m not sure it’s from confusion or concern. “You saw the way he was looking at you. He’s not going to stop; he will find you if you run.”
My laughter dies and it’s my turn to look at him like he’s lost his marbles.
“There wouldn’t be any need to protect me if you had left me alone!” This time I yell, because damn, I deserve to.
“I’m trying to make it right.”
“By making this game for him, even more exciting. You think he’s going to stop even if we did get married?”
“You’re mine now. I’ll kill him if he touches you.”
“I. AM. NOT. YOURS.” I scream, my voice echoing through the car. “I am not his. I am a human and get to fucking choose.”
“And you chose inside.”
“What choice was there?”
“This isn’t what I want, either. You heard my men; we aren’t getting shit from this. But I fucked up. And I’m going to make it right, whether you like it or not.” He turns in his seat and starts the car.
“Well, just so it’s clear.” I fold my arms and lift my chin. “I don’t.”
“Clear as fucking day.” He revs the crap out of the engine, the wheels spin and the smell of burnt rubber fills the car as the tyres screech.
That’s fine. I can sit and bide my time. At least his already said he wouldn’t lay a hand on me. So, this should be easy.
“And don’t get any ideas about running. You won’t get far,” he says, as if reading my mind.
But I answer that with a smile, and I know he sees it because he just shakes his head.