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“I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not him. I will never be him. That’s the point.”
Her gaze faltered and she plucked at her sleeve, self-conscious. I covered her fretful hand with mine.
“We’re supposed to be doing this a bit differently, remember?” I said, softer this time.
Beth glanced up and nodded, hesitantly.
I continued. “I have no intention of following in Lionel’s fucking footsteps. Is that clear?”
She nodded again. I squeezed her hand.
“I was going to say,” I added. “Shopping together is playing it safe. You’re with a bad boy, remember? Fight dirty.”
“What did you have in mind then?”
I cupped Beth’s chin in my hand, grazing my thumb over her lower lip.
“Go to a bar. Have a few drinks. Do some dancing.”
Her breath hitched. “Oh.”
“You look like you just realized you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart.”
“No, it’s just…I haven’t been dancing before. Not like that anyway. I’ve attended a few galas and things, but it was choreographed, and all we did was waltz. And then my dress was so heavy that I could barely move anyway and…”
Beth broke off, sucking in a gulp of air. But there was a gleam in her eyes like she was excited at the prospect of breaking free of her comfort zone, trying something completely different that she would have never been allowed to do under her mother’s hawkish stare.
“There definitely won’t be any waltzing,” I said.
She bit the inside of her cheek, tracing the ink on my forearm.
“I might need some help picking out what to wear.”
She flicked her gaze up, looking at me through her lashes. Now it was my turn for my breath to catch. This girl was truly going to test the limits of my self-control.
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
Chapter Five
Beth
Axel and I stayed at the diner until after lunch, lost in conversation. Most of the time, we discussed our strategy for dodging my mother’s arranged partners. But now and then, we slipped into other things—more personal things.
I’d never felt this comfortable with someone before. To talk so openly until I was spilling my whole story from start to finish—the diet plans and relentless exercise regimens my mother always kept me on, like a mini-model bootcamp; the private tutor my mother hired so I never went to school and I was under her roof, and her control, at all times.
Axel listened without interruption. There were no cutting remarks, no subtle hints that I should be appreciative of my mother’s efforts to provide for me. His eyes remained steady, and every once in a while, he would press his shoulder to mine, as if he was wordlessly saying I could rely on him.
At some point while I was talking, I took in the sight of his beautiful profile—his firm jawline, gleaming chestnut hair with the perfect little waves combed back into place, and the dimple that flashed in his cheek when he pressed his lips together or when he smiled, and I wondered…am I dreaming?
I had stumbled across Axel in a dark parking lot. In the middle of the night. Even though I was a stranger and he didn’t know me, he’d agreed to help, carving out a considerable chunk of time from his personal life.
A prickle of uneasiness settled at the back of my neck and crept upward. Even though Axel had mentioned—more than once—that he wouldn’t take advantage of me…isn’t that what everyone else had done in my life?
Mom wanted to use my career to her benefit.
Lionel wanted me as his trophy wife.
