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“Stability.”

“Still sounds like money.”

I frown at him. “What answers are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” He spreads his hands, palms up, like he’s offering me something I keep refusing to take. “Companionship? Friendship? Affection?”

“She’ll have all of that.”

“With you?”

“With Shiloh. This marriage is not for me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

I point at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was thinking plenty.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“That’s obvious.”

I shift in my chair. “The marriage doesn’t need to be romantic.”

“Obviously.”

“Or physical.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“There won’t be expectations on that front. Quite the opposite.”

“And if she has expectations?”

“She won’t.”

“You know this because.”

“The service has all of my requirements.”

He laughs. Not a polite chuckle, either—a real laugh, head tipped back, the same laugh frozen in the photograph behind him.

I glare. I’m serious.”

“That’s what makes it funny.”

“There is nothing funny about this.”

“You’ve somehow managed to turn a marriage into a corporate merger.”