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FYNN STARES AT me. He's not saying anything, but the shock of my request is written all over his face. Not that I'm looking at it as much as I should be.
No matter how hard I try, my gaze keeps traveling down the broad, naked expanse of his chest. It shouldn't be as stupefying as it is—I've seen it before—but that was on a public beach. A location where partial nudity was expected. Here, in the privacy of his home, it feels much different. More intimate.
"I'm sorry. I'm going to need you to repeat that." He shakes his head a little. "Because it almost sounded like you said you wanted me to marry you."
I force my eyes to stay on his face even as they try to drop again. This is a serious conversation, one that will ensure the direction of my future, and I can't screw it up by getting distracted. "That's exactly what I said. I think we should get married."
His shock morphs into confusion, the full line of his dark brows pinching together. "Married?"
I stand tall in the face of his less than positive reaction. Part of me hoped he would jump at my offer. Immediately agree. That part of me is an optimist and an idiot who didn't seem to understand I’d have to admit my initial motivations to get to this point.
Seeing Fynn’s face fall when I admitted I sought him out for my own, admittedly selfish, reasons was a gut punch. I hated telling him, but it was the truth, and if we’re going to do this he deserves the truth. I just probably shouldn't dump all of it on him at once, because then he absolutely will not marry me.
"That's right. If we get married everyone will see you as a doting and loyal husband with a happy wife who adores you." I want him to see how good this could be for him so he focuses less on what I get out of it. "It won't happen right away, but it will happen. Everyone loves a man who worships his wife."
One of Fynn’s thick brows angles. "So I don't just have to marry you, I also have to worship you?"
"Publicly, yes." I offer the answer quickly, hoping to soothe his concerns.
As Fynn studies me, a tiny bit of hope blooms in my chest. He hasn't said no outright, and I'm going to take that as a good sign.
"What about privately?" His voice drops as he moves a little closer. "Would you expect me to also worship you privately, Valerie?"
I haven't missed that he's no longer calling me Val, and I guess I deserve that. There has been some trickery on my part. Hopefully my next words will smooth that over a little. "If you're asking about marital relations, then yes. I would hope for consummation." I try to sound as indifferent as I can. Like it doesn't matter to me whether or not we have sex.
But it does.
I know I should be primarily concerned with the role deflowering will play in my plan, but that isn’t the only thing motivating me to wiggle my way into Fynn Hadaway’s bed. Between our little interlude in the ocean and the collision we experienced a few minutes ago, I’m starting to understand just how personally beneficial a physical relationship with this man might be.
I've been a good girl my whole life. Done my best to live up to my family's convoluted expectations because I felt the weight they rested on my shoulders. I convinced myself it would all work out for the best. That if I just did everything right, the chips would fall in my favor.
They didn't.
And when I was faced with the truth of what waited for me—the reality that the husband my father chose for me was neither a good man nor an asset outside of the connection our joining provided my father, the truth hit me square in the face and sent me running for the hills.
Or—more literally—the ocean.
Fynn’s mouth, which up to this point has been flattened into a hard line, quirks at one edge. "So, let me get this straight. You want to marry me, fix my reputation, and spend your nights in my bed?"
He's been listening. Another good sign. "Yes. I would assume it would also provide me a place to stay." I start with the most benign of my reasons. Unfortunately, the only one. "It would also give me a connection to Sweet Side."
Fynn’s narrowed gaze seems to see right through me. "And why do you need a tie to Sweet Side?"
I swallow hard, knowing this could be the moment that everything goes to shit. "So my family doesn't try to make me move back to Minneapolis." I hold my breath, hoping he doesn't attempt to dig deeper.
"Why would your family force you to move back to Minneapolis?" Fynn sounds more curious than suspicious.
Or maybe I'm imagining that.
"My family's business in Minneapolis is..." I fish around for the right word. "Extensive. And they want me to help ensure it expands further."
"And you don't wish to work for your family's business?"
His question pokes at a spot of me that’s still sore. "No. Not at all."
At one point I did. Even went to college believing my father would see that I had more value than simply being a daughter he could marry off for the benefit of the empire he believed should be his. But, even after graduating with honors at the top of my class, I was still nothing more than a virginal vagina to be used strategically.
Knowing now that I wasn't simply untouched because of bad luck, makes my blood boil. It’s humiliating to know my lack of physical connection was yet another area of my life where my father had exerted complete control. And somehow, I didn’t even notice.
