Page 100 of Charmingly Obsessed
“Uh-huh,” he nods down at me, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, challenging light. “You read one contract, shoved in your face by some slick, overpaid lawyer, and now you think you’re a goddamn expert on matrimonial law. Is that it? So, let’s do this properly, then. You know how it’s properly done, don’t you?”
“Let’s do it,” I lift my chin defiantly, because his smug, condescending expression is suddenly, unbearably irritating.
“Yeah?” He studies me for a long, unnerving moment, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he bites the cap off his expensive, gold-plated fountain pen. “Yeah.”
I have doomed myself to eternal, exquisite suffering.
Because my husband, my temporary, contractual, fake husband, is so devilishly, unfairly handsome, especially when he’s being a smug, arrogant bastard, that it’s completely, utterly impossible to focus on anything he’s actually saying.
“Let’s outline, in excruciating detail exactly how much you get for each year of our blissful, legally-binding marriage. The longer we manage to stay together without killing each other, naturally, the higher the final lump-sum payment. We’ll also need to include a detailed breakdown of how much you get per child. Plus, of course, a selection of prime international real estate. I want at least two kids, by the way. Maybe three.So, we should probably specify exactly how many children your beautiful, and clearly very fertile, womb is contractually required to produce for the Frez dynasty. We’ll also need to set a minimum, non-negotiable frequency for… marital duties. Weekly quotas, I think. Including, of course, a mandatory anal sex clause. There has to be a baseline for performance. Should we? Is that what you’ve planned out in your neat little spreadsheets, Diana?”
I start to get up, my face flaming, my hands clenched into fists, but Mykola blocks my escape with his long, muscular leg, trapping me in the chair. I turn to him, glaring, and sigh. A long, weary, exasperated sigh.
“You know,” I say, my voice dripping with as much sarcasm as I can muster, “you can be a really, really unbearable asshole sometimes, Mykola.”
“I work very, very hard at it, sunshine.” He grins, a flash of white, perfect teeth against his tanned skin. “There’s this one particular woman, you see. She doesn’t seem to appreciate my many and varied efforts in that department. And I’m… I’m madly, deeply, pathologically obsessed with her. Like something out of a particularly bloody, and very overwrought, Greek tragedy.”
I can’t help but smile. A real, genuine, reluctant smile. Though I defy him by turning my head away when he leans in, trying to pull me closer.
“Sometimes,” I murmur, averting my gaze, “I think you don’t really mean everything you say, Mykola.”
He grips my chin, gently but firmly, and forces me to look at him. “If I ever start talking to you completely, one hundred percent seriously, Diana,” he says, his voice a low, intense whisper, “you’ll have mecommitted. And I don’t think you’d visit me in the asylum. Not even on weekends.”
“Be sure of it,” I retort, a spark of defiance returning. “I’m a very responsible wife. I’d visit. With pastries.” I pause. “If you don’t want a contract, Mykola, then fine. We won’t have one.”
“So,” he says, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face, “you didn’t actually know how it’s properly done, did you, Diana? All that talk about practical benefits and legal protections…”
“Fine!” I throw up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t know! Are you happy now?” He grabs them instantly, his fingers lacing through mine.
“Exactly. Didn’t know. And didn’t bother to ask her long-suffering, and infinitely more knowledgeable, husband first.”
His breath is hot, intoxicating, against my ear. My face is burning even before he murmurs, his voice a suggestive growl that sends shivers chasing down my spine:
“Huh. You know, Diana… I can think of a much more… practical, and mutually beneficial, use for this very sturdy, and conveniently located, antique desk. I’ve always wanted to do it right on top of a legally binding document. It adds a certain… frisson of corporate ruthlessness to the proceedings, don’t you think?”
39
Chapter 39 Mykola
It’s damn hard to enjoy an evening of overpriced champagne and mediocre art when three of the most coveted pieces in the auction slip right through your fucking fingers, and half the room is gawking at your wife like she’s the main exhibit.
Fine.
I’ll spin a pitiful tale for Royce about the lost paintings, the ones that got away. Play the part of the disappointed but magnanimous collector. Everyone loves a story of someone else’s failure, especially when that someone isme. And that crusty old bastard Royce, I know, particularly enjoys them. But I fucking hate playing the underdog when I’m drowning in a sea of obscene, unearned privilege. It feels… dishonest.
No, I should have just bought those three abstract monstrosities outright, overpaid for them, and then“accidentally” loaned them to the Texan’s private museum for a decade. A classic Frez move.
I’ll figure out how to buy them back from the smug asshole who outbid me by my second glass of wine. Probably before.
But the relentless, predatory attention on Diana… that’s not so easy to fix. The natural curiosity from the elite, the whispers, the not-so-subtle glances… I usually don’t mind it. I thrive on it. But tonight… tonight, could they maybe just stare a little fucking less?
Diana, to her credit, carries a hint of tension, but she seems largely, blessedly unaware of the sheer scale of the interest she’s generating. Or she’s just that good at pretending. My money’s on the latter.
I murmur absolute, utter nonsense into her ear as the cocktail hour slides into full, schmoozing swing. Stupid, private jokes. Obscene, whispered promises of what I’m going to do to her later, back in our suite.
I have to bite back a grin, not even bothering to hide behind my champagne flute, when her carefully constructed mask of cool composure slips, just for a fraction of a second, against her perfect, flawless skin. A tiny, almost imperceptible blush. A slight widening of her incredible blue-gray eyes.
I’ve finally figured out how to handle her. Hallelujah!
