Page 26 of Fragile Twisted Vows

“It will do,” he grumbled before he turned back to flash the cashier a million-dollar smile.

“Prick,” I grumbled as I marched out to meet Bruno, who was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Bruno?” I asked when Damien came out.

“With Adrian at the restaurant. Which we’re late for, because of your antics,” he said as he pressed some buttons on a key fob.

An all black, sleek Audi lit up before us on the store front and it took all my willpower not to stomp my Jimmy Choo heel into the Manhattan sidewalk.

The car ride was silent and tense, and I refused to look at him the entire way to lunch. And now, as I sit across from him and his attorney, I can’t help but gape at him in absolute horror.

A contract. A fucking contract. Detailing every single term and condition that I must abide by as long as I’m with him.

Which is a year in total. Per the contract at least. And I can’t back out of it, because he’s threatened to kill me, which I refuse to bring up here at lunch in this restaurant in front of his lawyer.

So, needless to say, I am fucked.

I am so completely fucked.

“You can’t be serious,” I say to him as I lean back in my chair and try to keep my ravioli down.

Which he watched me eat the entire time with watchful eyes. But I refused to feel scrutinized. I know he spent a majority of his years with my sister who got full off of a handful of almonds and I’m sure he’s fucked many thin, beautiful models who eat the exact same way.

I, on the other hand, enjoy food. It’s one of life’s most sacred and basic desires.

And now I’m trying not to hurl it up all over the white, silk tablecloth.

“As a heart attack, but please, don’t have one at the table. I don’t want to cause a scene by calling an ambulance,” Damien says as he rolls his eyes in his chair.

He looks around the restaurant, a bored expression on his stupid, handsome face. All the while his lawyer looks like he’s going to pass out.

“You approved this?” I sneer at Adrian, whom I just met less than an hour ago.

He shrugs at me then, refusing to look me in the eye.

I look back down at the contract, my vision blurring as I stare at the text.

“No leaving the premises without contacting the party in which this contract was initiated by,” I growl as Damien nods.

“No phone calls should be made unless authorized by the initiating party,” I repeat as my eyes scan down the page.

“An allowance of twenty grand per month will be allotted to the signee,” I say, the only line that I somewhat am okay with.

“No trips shall be made without the initiating party, and the signee must attend any and all events created for and by the initiated party both in and outside of the United States.”

Great, so now I’m signing up for human trafficking.

Cute.

“The signee must attend routine, monthly visits to the doctor assigned by the initiating party with a staff member present.” I scoff.

“Are you going to monitor my birth control too?” I growl and he raises his eyebrows at me.

“No need. You’ll be getting the shot every three months,” he says casually.

As if it’s not invasive.

As if it’s not controlling.

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