Page 10 of Princess of Pride
“My innocence is intact.”’ I give him a snarky grin. “My hymen, not so much. That cherry is long gone. My gyno confirmed it. I rode horses into my teen years and have been using tampons since my first period. Unscented and organic, in case you’re wondering that too. Would you like the results of my last pap smear?”
His gaze tightens. “You have a smart mouth.” Those piercing eyes sweep over my features and land on my lips, staying there for so long I start counting the seconds.
One Chanel bag, two Chanel bags, three Chanel bags, four, five, six, seven, eight. What the hell? When his gaze returns to mine, a shrewd glint shines within them.
Sweat forms on the back of my neck. Did I get this man wrong? Is he into me? No. He’s just weird.
“If you agree to this marriage and sign on the dotted line, it’s final. No divorce. No sharing anything personal you discover about my life. No backing out if you decide you’re not happy. This is a permanent alliance between your family and mine. A blood oath some might say.” His English accent comes out strong with his last sentence.
I think he’s trying to scare me about his secret. I already guessed it and am fine with being married to a man who won’t seek sex from me. It also removes the delusion of love. I never aspired to live like my mother in an open marriage, but it’s what I’m going to get. I won’t have to worry about falling for my husband and then hating him later for his transgressions. I’ll have lovers and book boyfriends. It’s all a girl can hope for in my situation.
I shrug, making light of his blood oath speech. “It’s nothing I don’t already know.”
“So easily you agree to sign your life away.” A note of anger rings in his voice.
“It was always my fate.” One I chose to ignore until today. My hands fall to my sides, and I slump. “This way at least I get a say in how it goes, and I don’t have to worry about awkward sex.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Awkward sex?”
“You know, when you’re not attracted to the other person, but you have to do it to continue the bloodline.”
“And you think I don’t want that?” He takes a step toward me, all tall and bare chested, smelling like the woods after a storm.
I tense and back up to the counter, hoisting myself onto the stone surface as if that were my plan, when really, I’m putting distance between us. “You don’t want to have sex with me.” I state the obvious.
His jaw tightens. “Iwillexpect a Spencer blood heir.”
I raise my palms defensively. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t get one.” That’s one of the major reasons for this arrangement. “We’ll just have to figure out a different way to get there. Like…?” I rack my brain then blurt, “Artificial insemination. My egg, your sperm, surrogate uterus. Done.”
His fists clench at his sides. “You expect me toborrow a stranger’s uterus for my own child? No heir of mine will be born from a surrogate when my wife is healthy and perfectly capable of conceiving and delivering our child. I’m surprised you’d give up something that special so easily.”
His words bother me in a way I don’t expect. A protective side of me emerges for a baby that’s nothing more than an idea in the future. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about what being pregnant would be like after I stayed with my sister. I learned a lot about what to expect and shared in Pippa’s excitement over meeting her little boy and holding him for the first time.
He must mistake my silence for disagreement because he says, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing your perfect figure?”
Perfect? I stare at him dumbfounded.
“A pregnant body is one of the most beautiful forms to behold,” he continues. “It should never be shamed.”
Wow. I didn’t expect that and delivered with so much passion. Then again, a gay man can appreciate a pregnant body better than a straight man because he’s not attracted to women to begin with. As for my figure changing, my only fear is that my boobs could get bigger.
“It was just an idea,” I say, voice low and humbled. “An alternative. In a situation like ours, I assumed it’s how it’s done.”
His eyes narrow and he cocks his head, rubbing the scruff on his chin again.
My gaze trails to his tattoos and sculpted abs. “Are you gay?” I say without thinking. My eyes widen. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
His brows lift for a moment then the tease of a grin pinches one corner of his mouth. “If I were, would you change your mind about the marriage?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “As I explained, I’m good at keeping secrets, and I’m fine with a platonic relationship with you. More than fine.”
“Why is that?” He inches closer.
“Simply put, I can relax around you and not worry about you not liking me.”
His eyes narrow with thought for a moment, then he nods as if to himself. “I see.” He shuffles back a few steps and leans his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed, his biceps flexing nicely.
Stop staring, I scold myself, but it’s no use. I’ve never seen so much beautifully toned skin on display up close and for this long. The few times I went to the campus gym to walk on the treadmill with my friend, I only got visuals from a distance.
