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I realize it’s an overreaction, but this feels like a betrayal. He went to my father behind my back to talk about me—and my life—like I’m a child. It’s enraging.
“I would have invited you to come along, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in going. Besides, the conversation needed to be man-to-man.”
Man-to-man? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “Stop right there with your misogynist bullshit.”
“I’m not a misogynist. But I am a realist, and the only way I was going to get your father to listen to me was to put him on familiar footing, where he’d be comfortable. Now sit your cute little ass in that seat, and let’s talk.”
I stare at the high-backed stool for what feels like an eternity, unsure of whether to sit or stand in protest. All I can think about is him threatening to call my father at the club, as though I wasn’t a twenty-three-year-old woman.
The thought of him conspiring with my father is too much. Maybe that’s not what he was doing. Maybe he was in London for a different reason and stopped in to see Dad. A different reason? Like he wanted a proper cup of tea and a decent scone? I don’t think so.
His motivation might be suspect, but I decide to rein in my emotions, because I sound like a shrew, or worse, the kind of emotional woman that men dismiss easily.
I slide onto the stool, carefully, my heart still pumping hard. “Sit your cute little ass in that seat and let’s talk might not be the best way to convince someone you’re not a misogynist. Just saying.”
The corner of his mouth curls, and I know he’s taken my little quip as the apology it’s meant to be. He’s not off the hook for cavorting with my father behind my back, but I need to pull myself together if I’m going to hold my own with him.
“What did you and my father discuss?” The first thing that pops into my mind is that he’s had enough and is shipping me back. It’s not as suave as disappearing on me, but it would be highly effective. And after the last few days with him, it would sting more than falling face-first into a nettle bush.
“I told him that I want you under my protection if, and only if, you agreed to it.”
I’m not sure if I should be annoyed or pleased or flying around in a murderous rage. He went to my father about assuming my protection. I’m dumbfounded. It’s the equivalent of walking into a lion’s den and demanding to share dinner. And not just any lion, but the king of the jungle.
“No cute comebacks?” He drums his fingers on the creamy stone countertop, like he’s unsure of how I might respond. It’s endearing from a man who always seems confident about the outcome. “What are you thinking, Lexie?”
I take a sip of tea, buying a little more time to grapple with my thoughts. “I’m thinking that going to my father like that was more reckless than anything I’ve ever done. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
His eyes are that irresistible startling blue as he snickers. “There might have been once or twice when I thought the end was near.”
I don’t doubt it. As the shock wanes, I remember what it was he proposed to my father.
“You and my father deciding my fate, without a drop of input from me. How nice. I get to move from my father’s stifling protection to yours.” I don’t buy for one second that either of them is actually going to leave the final decision to me. Murderous rage is edging out annoyed, and pleased is at least a lap behind. “Lovely.”
He finishes the water and slams the glass on the counter with such force I’m surprised it didn’t shatter. I’ve tried his patience. You’ve tried mine, too, darling.
“Why don’t you actually listen for a minute? I have no intention of smothering you. You’ll have the same kind of freedom that I had.”
“I noticed you said had, not have.” I doubt it was a mistake.
“Very few people have the kind of freedom I have, Lexie. You know that,” he adds quietly, the impatience lessening a drop.
It’s true. He has the kind of freedom enjoyed only by powerful men. It’s been that way since the beginning of time, and regardless of how much we pretend to have evolved, it’s no less true today. But I’m not powerless, either, and I won’t bow to his wishes so easily. I deserve to have a life—one that I live according to my wishes and desires.
“You clearly didn’t go to my father without a cogent plan. You’re not a fool. I want all the ugly details before I make a decision.” I square my shoulders. “Tell me everything.”
His expression softens. He thinks he’s won. Maybe he has.
“You’ll be assigned guards, and you will negotiate directly with them. You’re free to come and go as you please, as long as you and your guards come to an understanding.”
Guards provide security, but they’re also babysitters who tattle. At least mine have always been.
“And if we can’t agree?”
“Then you’ll come to me. Or they will.”
His expression is earnest and sober. I have no reason not to trust him—about this.
“You’ll have privacy. They won’t be reporting every hiccup. The guards who work for me are trained professionals, and they’ll respect your autonomy.” He pauses, his gaze sharpening. “But if you slip them, Lexie, I will find you, and I will put your ass on a plane and personally deliver you to your father. If you think he’s been smothering in the past, wait until that happens.”
