Page 22 of Arranged Scars
“Must be nice.”
“Whoever said money can’t buy happiness is full of shit. Money buys time, and time buys happiness.”
“Deep words. Didn’t know you had it in you.” I sink into the water. It’s always so comfortably warm. I try not to show it, but swimming relaxes me. For some reason, I don’t want him to know how much I love this place.
He’s watching carefully. If my dig bothers him, he doesn’t react at all. His smirk remains implacable and beyond frustrating. “What were you and my sister-in-law talking about?”
“Oh, nothing much. The usual stuff. Nail salons, favorite stores, poison recipes.”
“That girl’s too obsessed with my brother to ever bother learning how to respectfully murder someone.”
“There’s a respectful way to do it?”
“There are a million ways.” He floats into the water. I glance at his muscular arms. Moonlight shines off the white, puckered scars. He’s beautiful in a terrifying kind of way. “Viciously. Brutally. Carefully.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Hilariously.”
I snort and look away. It’s annoying that I find him funny sometimes. “Casey was just here to be nice to me, that’s all. I think she feels bad about this whole situation.”
“Makes sense. She went through it.”
“That’s what she said. It’s really true that your brothers all have arranged marriages?”
“To some degree.”
“And they’re all happy?”
He seems to consider that. “I’m not sure Cormac has the emotional depth to experience actual joy… but they all seem like they’re actually in love.” His eyes find mine and hold me tightly. “Don’t for a second think we’re going to end up like that.”
A jolt runs down my spine. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I paddle away, putting more distance between us. I feel tense and sick.
“Good. Not with you. Not with a Flanagan.”
There’s a strange edge in the way he says my last name. I can’t help but notice it. There’s a raw, sharp feeling behind it. “You have a problem with my family?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he drifts back to his wine and drinks. When he looks back, it’s like that slight moment of emotional intensity is totally gone. He’s back to good old Finn.
“We should probably talk about the wedding.”
I want to push him about my family, but I decide now isn’t the time. “Do you have a preference on flowers?”
“Not particularly, but I do have a preference on how my wife behaves.”
I snort with shock at his brazenness.
“What makes you think you have a say in my behavior?”
“I’m betting Casey just gave you a speech about learning how to live together. Am I right?”
I glare at him. “You’re close.”
“Good, then you understand. You play by the rules, you act like a good little wife?—”
“—And what exactly areyoudoing in this situation?”
He ignores me. “You get rewarded. That’s how this will work. I won’t ask too much of you. In fact, ideally, we’ll act as though the other hardly exists. But there are ground rules we both have to follow.”
