Page 11 of By His Vow

But Richard doesn’t bite.

“He has requested that you use this time of mourning to ignite your relationship. Kingston has been such a pillar of support to you during this time that you decide to finally explore what else could be between you.”

“He actually said that?”

“He would like for the two of you to be seen out together, for your photographs to appear online, for your names to be entwined before an engagement announcement is made.”

“This is bullshit. He wants us to have an actual relationship?” she gasps.

“It needs to look real.”

“Real? Real?” she repeats as she starts pacing. “The only real thing here is how much he’s fucked me over.”

“I can assure you, your life could be a lot worse than being married to me,” I point out.

“The state’s biggest fucking player?” she screeches. “Are you for fucking real? There are a lot of things I’d rather do than this.”

“Like lose it all?”

Instantly, she stills, her arms hanging at her sides and her expression softening as she thinks about the alternative.

“Your apartment, your home, will be gone. Your roommate tossed out on her ass. Your car, your clothes, every single cent of your money.”

“I don’t give a crap about the money, Kingston,” she argues.

“You want that cottage though, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but she can’t. Even I know how much she covets that place.

Every dream she’s ever had ends with that cottage and a new life outside of America.

But does she want it enough?

“So, a fake relationship. A fake marriage. I assume I’m going to have to live with you?” she asks, her blue eyes holding mine.

“You’d assume correctly.”

“In the guest room.”

“Are you bartering here or trying to tell me?”

Her jaw ticks with irritation and her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” she states.

I smile—I can’t help it.

“What’s so funny about that?” she snaps.

“I give it a week before you’re begging to be in my bed.”

“Over my dead body. I don’t even want to be in your house, let alone the same room as you.”

“And yet, you’ve already practically agreed,” I point out.

Her nostrils flare as she draws in a deep breath before turning back to Richard.

“You said a year. A year from now? A year from engagement? Or a year from saying,” she shudders, “I do?”