Page 12 of Pandora's Pleasure
“But I thought—”
“You thought I wanted to dance with you at your Debutante Ball?”
Six months ago, he’d made me believe that it was his choice when he took my hand and led me onto the dance floor, slow dancing with me in his arms all night. Gliding me around the floor as though he was a prince who’d come to rescue me from my monotonous existence.
“You’re not my type, Pandora.”
His words hit me like a bullet to the chest. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. “Why would you say that?”
“We should at least be honest with each other, right?” He took another long drag.
“What’s your type, then?”
“Certainly not a spoiled little brat of a girl.”
“I’m a woman.”
“You’re twenty.”
“And I’m not spoiled.”
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe we’ll grow to like each other.”
“I thought you already did—like me, I mean.”
He snubbed out his cigarette in the ceramic bowl.
“They’re making you marry me?” I asked softly.
He stared at me like I’d just asked a stupid question.
I held my breath for a beat. “Maybe you should forget about me and find a woman that’s your type.”
“That door’s closed.”
“I’m still holding out for my one true love.” It was cruel, but he’d been crueler.
The air chilled and the weight of his accusatory stare squeezed my heart.
“Maybe my father can help us, Damien. Help us break apart. Release a statement that lands well.”
“Your father has an agenda.” His expression softened. “This is how it’s done.”
“They want to see me happy—”
“Yet you’re standing in my fucking kitchen.”
I let out a long sigh. “What if I refuse to marry you?”
“Have you any idea how many people’s lives will be affected if you disobey?”
“My mother—”
“I’m not talking about your family. I’m talking about years of decisions that all led to this moment—” He gestured to me and then himself. “We’re standing here with our future set.”
I shrugged off his jacket and threw it over a barstool. “How about you call that helicopter back so I can leave?”
“And now you bore me.” He slid another cigarette out of the packet.
