Page 17 of Beauty and the Beach

“I’m not doing it!” she goes on. “What would I be getting out of this arrangement?”

“I’ll pay you,” I say coolly.

“You’ll—what?” she says, freezing. Then, like a prairie dog standing at alert, she turns all her focus on me.

Some interest at last.

“You would pay me?” she says, and I duck my chin in a nod.

She clears her throat, her gaze darting away and then back to mine. She’ll probably start fidgeting with her hair soon; she does that when she’s overwhelmed.

“How—how much?” she says.

“Like I told you before—I’m flexible, but it would be competitive.” I pause. “As part of your compensation, I would cover any treatment you needed for that.” I gesture to her knee. Then, taking a deep breath, I bring out the big guns and aim them directly at her weak spot: “AndI would cover Maggie’s tuition for the remainder of her degree. Grad school too, if she wants.”

It’s this, finally, that seems to get through to Holland; her jaw drops. “You’re serious,” she whispers, and one hand comes up to play with the ends of her hair. “You’re actually serious. You really think we—you and I—that we could?—”

“Get married,” I say. “Yes. That’s my hope. I would compensate you well; we would both sign a contract listing acceptable terms. We would remain married until I’m able to inherit Butterfield and until my grandmother dies; after that, we would go our separate ways.”

She mouths wordlessly for a second, repeating the things I say, and then she speaks. “Insane,” she says faintly. “You’re insane.” She shakes her head. “No. I’m not marrying you. You’re rude, you’re arrogant?—”

“I’m hardly arrogant,” I say, bristling.

“And you snore like a wild sow birthing a full litter?—”

“Like a wild—” I stutter, outraged. “A wildsow?”

“And you’re incredibly overbearing—” She breaks off, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. “No,” she says. “No way. Find someone else.”

My eyes narrow on her. “Find someone else?” I say, my voice quiet now. “Really? You think I can justfind someone else?” I take a deep breath and then go on. “It’s a small island; not many women. I’ll just marry one of your friends, then, I guess? Cat? Should I marry Cat? Or Jane?”

Her gaze darts away from mine, just barely—just afraction of a fraction of an inch—but enough that I’m taking it as a win. I pounce.

“Or should I ask a stranger? Should I make some woman fall in love with me so she’ll be willing to get married?”

Her jaw drops. “No,” she says, sounding offended. “You can’t trick someone?—”

“See?” I say with a jut of my chin. “There’s no one else, Amsterdam. There’s no one else for me to marry. No one who will understand, no one suitable.”

“Oh, please,” she says, but her scoff is less convincing than it was a moment ago. “There are dozens of women who would quite literally kill to marry you, all of themsuitable.” She spits the word out. “Your mother has been parading them in front of you for years. Choose one of them.”

“No.”

“A blonde, or maybe a brunette, or a nice redhead?—”

“Don’t be stupid,” I say curtly. “I clearly will not marry anyone but you.”

A faint pink flush rises in her cheeks. “I don’t want to be the wife of a CEO,Titmouse,” she says angrily—and this bodes ill, because that’s the bird name she pulls out when she really wants to annoy me. “I’ll have to smile all the time?—”

“Only sometimes?—”

“And I’ll have to be in charge of things?—”

“I’ll be in charge of all the things?—”

“And I’ll probably have to speak in public?—”

“I’ll find you a body double!”

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