Page 10 of Stick to the Deal
Emotion flickers over his face before he smooths it out. “If you like. Absolute discretion is required. There can’t be even a hint of scandal.”
“Agreed. The last thing I want is to read about my husband’s mistress in the tabloids.” My teeth gnaw at the inside of my cheek as I debate. “To that end, we do not bring anyone to our homes. Shared spaces are to be respected.”
He grabs a cocktail napkin from under his drink and writes out a few lines of text. His handwriting is bold and confident with harsh slashes. “Of course. Anything else?”
I study his face, looking for any hint of insincerity. Any whisper of him not being exactly what he appears to be.
His gaze is level as it meets mine. Not an ounce of doubt. He might just be a kindred soul in this glittering world we were both born into. Diamonds are beautiful when they sparkle, but they’re hard and cold.
“Don’t go falling in love with me, Lord Ravenscourt.” I give him my best smile, the one that always gets me my way.
His lips quirk more, but still no signs of a full smile. “I think both of us are safe on that account.” He adds onto the napkin, then thick fingers slide it to me.
The Deal:
Make It Believable
Get Married Before November
Together 1 Week a Month
No Scandal
Respect Shared Spaces
Don’t Fall in Love
Across the bottom, his signature is already inked. I study the man in front of me one last time. I wait for that sinking feeling in my stomach. For my gut or head to scream this is a bad idea.
His easy posture in the chair looks calm, but a tension about his shoulders contradicts it. This is important to him. Intelligence and sincerity shine in his steely eyes. God help me, but I trust this man. I may not know him yet, but his body language is open.
With a flourish, I sign my name next to his.
His lips quirk into a wolfish smile, and he raises his drink. “To us.” The clink of the glasses is followed by the dry burn of vodka down my throat.
This isn’t a great love affair, but I never wanted that. I only wanted a partner in life, and my gut tells me I’ve found him.
Chapter 6
Mother May I
There’s a renewed spring in my step as I make my way through Heathrow. It might be the scotch, but I can’t deny that flight went better than I could have ever hoped.
With no checked baggage to claim, I’d said goodbye to my new fiancée before breezing through immigration and customs. As I exit the doors to the car line, the sight of a familiar figure with gray hair and suit clad shoulders has me changing my path.
The older man smiles as I approach. “Welcome home, sir. Was your flight satisfactory?”
My lips twitch as I think of the last few hours with Nic. “Quite.” With her quirky style and smart mouth, she is absolutely not the bride my father had in mind—which may be half of her appeal. He only set one requirement, after all. Perhaps he should have been more specific.
“Good to see you, Foster. Did father send you to make sure I didn’t skip town?” I clap him on the shoulder and wave him off as he goes to grab my bag.
Rupert Foster has been my parents’ butler for as long as I can remember. He drove me to school, picked me up for holidays. Hell, he’s probably my favorite part of visiting home. “He did seem most insistent on you coming straight to the manor,sir.”
The constant hum of voices around us escalates in pitch as the doors behind me open and a woman emerges. Lights flash and the crowd is practically titillating, and I can’t quite blame them.
She’s tall, her black-and-white heels making her even more so. The white sheath dress is conservative, hitting a couple inches below her knees with a demure walking slit, but it’s expertly cut to highlight her toned figure. Shiny black hair lies perfectly, grazing her delicate jaw. Large black sunglasses obscure her face, and burgundy lips—the only trace of color—lift in a smirk before blowing a kiss in my direction.
My body tenses as I stand frozen by my father’s car. What was that? A familiar green backpack perches on the top of the luggage trolley, pushed by the attendant closely following her.
