Page 6 of Marry Me Not
What was that?
“Most women in your position—educated, with a career, having experienced independence—would fight an arrangement like this.”
I met his unreadable gaze. “I guess I’m not most women. The opportunities my brother gave me were contingent on me coming back when duty called. It did. And here I am.”
“Duty,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re doing this.”
What else? Did he think I had some hidden agenda? What possible agenda could anyone in my situation have? “Our families have been at odds with each other for decades. Now there’s a chance to put all of that to rest. If marrying you helps my brother achieve something that important, I’m happy to do it. I’m not arrogant enough to think my personal preferences matter more than the safety and security of the whole family.”
His jaw tightened. “How noble.”
I got the sense my answer had annoyed him. Well, it was the truth.
He glanced at his watch. “This was riveting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I’ll see you on Tuesday then. For our lunch.” It had been arranged a few days ago.
“I can’t make it. Something came up.”
“We can reschedule. Wednesday?”
“Reach out to my secretary.”
I stared at his retreating back, a sinking feeling in my gut. Whatever test this had been, I had a feeling I’d failed. My anxiety spiked. Asshole or not, Rafe was counting on me to make things with Cosimo work. “You sure you don’t want a tour of the full exhibit?” I called out.
“I think I’ve demonstrated my poverty of imagination enough for one night.”
I swallowed down my pride. “Cosimo.”
He halted.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was rude. You’re entitled to an opinion, even if I disagree with it.”
Slowly, he turned around. At first glance, it seemed my apology had done little to soften him, but he walked back toward me, and when he stopped, he stopped close. Too close.
He towered above me, and I felt very small and very insignificant as he reached into his jacket and produced a black velvet box.
“Almost forgot.” His voice was a low rumble that made something hot drip into my bloodstream. “Your ring. Wear it in public.”
He didn’t hand the box to me. He pressed it against my chest, just above the neckline of my dress. The velvet was soft, his knuckles were warm, and the pressure was firm enough to make my breath catch. For one stunned second, all I could do was stand there with his hand between us and his eyes locked on mine.
Then I lifted my palm and covered the box. Covered his fingers.
His jaw ticked. His gaze fell to my lips.
Slowly, he let go and dragged his hand back. His pinkie skimmed the edge of my neckline as he withdrew, pulling the fabric away from my breasts.
Heat pooled low in my belly.
I forced myself to look down and open the box, to pretend I was focused on the ring and not the ghost of his touch lingering against my skin.
Inside was a solitaire diamond on a pavé band.
Elegant, without a doubt, but utterly impersonal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d walked into a jewelry store and bought the first thing that the jeweler showed him.
He made no move to put it on me. Even that small gesture was apparently more than I was worth. So I plucked the ring from the velvet and slid it onto my own finger while he watched, humiliation burning a path across my cheeks.
“Beautiful,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.
