“Ms.Hughes?”Jessica’s voice, carefully neutral.The kind of professional detachment that came from working a front desk and learning never to ask questions.“Mr.Antonov is here to see you.”
Of course he was.Right on time.Ten o’clock exactly, because a man like Raphael wouldn’t give me even those few extra minutes to prepare.Wouldn’t let me pretend I had any control over when this happened.
“Send him up.”
I hung up before she could respond.Stood from my chair because I refused to receive him sitting down, refused to let him tower over me from the start.I moved around the desk, positioning myself with my back to the windows.Let the light fall on him.Let me be the one in shadow for once.
My reflection caught in the window glass.Pale.Sharp-edged.A woman I barely recognized anymore.
You’re not enough.You need a man to handle things for you.
My father’s voice, even from the grave.The marriage clause in his will had made his opinion perfectly clear.And now here I was, about to prove him right.
I counted my breaths.In for four.Hold for four.Out for four.The meditation technique Clara had taught me years ago, back when my biggest problems were college exams and navigating the social politics of the hospitality industry.
Those problems were laughably small now.
The door opened.
He walked in like he owned the place.Like he owned everything.Like he owned me.Tall and immaculate in a designer charcoal suit that was exquisitely tailored, his dark hair perfectly styled, his face a mask of cold composure that gave away nothing.The same face I had studied for months, searching for cracks in the mask.The same face I had foolishly thought I was learning to read.
I had been wrong.I had not known him at all.
My body betrayed me instantly, before my mind could catch up and slam the door shut.The scent of him hit me first.Sandalwood and leather, and underneath it that dark, warm masculine scent that was just him.Achingly familiar.My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly alert to his presence in the room.My pulse jumped in my throat, right where the collar used to rest, as if my body still expected to feel that silver chain against my skin.
I hated him for that.For the way my traitorous flesh remembered his hands on my hips.His mouth on my throat.The weight of him pressing me into silk sheets while I gasped his name and shattered beneath him.
I hated myself more.
“Raphael.”My voice came out steady.Cold.Good.
His eyes swept over me, cataloging.Dark and unreadable, moving from my face to my throat to my hands gripping each other in front of my body.They paused at my neck, at the bare skin where his collar used to sit, and a muscle in his jaw tightened.The only crack in the mask, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.
“Lena.”
He didn’t move toward me.Didn’t sit in the leather chair across from my desk.Just stood there on the other side of the room, watching me with those dark eyes that revealed nothing and everything at once.The morning light caught the sharp planes of his face, illuminated faint shadows beneath his eyes I had missed at first glance.
He looked tired.The realization hit me unwanted, unwelcome.The perfect veneer was still in place, but underneath it I could see the signs.The slight tension in his shoulders.The way he was holding himself carefully, like he was injured.The darkness under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.
The observation registered before I could stop it.I did not care if he had been sleeping poorly.I did not care if he was in pain.I didn’t care about anything except surviving the next few minutes without screaming.
“You wanted to discuss the contract,” I said flatly, crossing my arms over my chest like a shield.“So discuss.”
“I have a proposal.”
“I’m sure you do.”The words came out sharper than I intended.I didn’t try to soften them.“You always have a plan, don’t you?Every angle covered.Every escape route blocked.Every piece on the board exactly where you want it.”
He didn’t rise to the bait.That infuriating calm, the same patience he had shown throughout our arrangement.Like nothing I said or did could touch him.Like I was a child throwing a tantrum he was prepared to wait out until I exhausted myself.
“You need to be married within a year of your father’s death,” he said.“The contract gives me nine remaining months of your time.I’m proposing we combine the two obligations.”
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.Ripples spread through my chest, my stomach, my lungs, radiating outward until my whole body was vibrating with the impact.
“You’re proposing marriage.”
“Yes.”
The laugh that escaped me was ugly.Broken.The sound of a woman who had nothing left to lose.“You destroyed my family.You owned the debt from the beginning.You planned all of this, from the very first moment you walked into this hotel and pretended to be a stranger who might help me.”