And maybe he’s right.
Annabelle crossed her arms tightly, looking beyond the city, seeing the snowcapped mountains on the horizon without even appreciating them. She couldn’t, at a time like this. She needed all her focus for finding a way out of this. A way of lessening the betrayal, even slightly. You would do anything for Mom.
“What if we do it, but just get the marriage annulled after?” She turned to Imaad, feeling like a traitor for even suggesting it. Here she was, bending to her father’s will. Exactly as he planned. Exactly as he knew she would.
Imaad straightened, eyebrow perking up.
“We can keep up appearances. You know, just play the part.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Once it’s through, we’ll call it off.”
“The merger won’t happen until we’re married,” Imaad said.
“Right. And then we can divorce. Or annul. Whatever.”
A tense silence settled between them. Slowly, Imaad nodded. “Yes. I think this makes sense…somehow.”
Their gazes locked. She saw the same confusion in his eyes, the same distrust, the same damn shackles binding his wrists.
If you two are bound to do this…at least it wasn’t his choice either.
Somehow, that made it better. They could stand in solidarity. Screwed by their parents. Forced to enter into a modern-day arranged marriage. Their stories would become fodder for a Lifetime movie down the road. Once the divorce was finalized, of course.
“Great.” Ann
abelle rested her hands on her hips, looking Imaad up and down. So maybe he was a decent man after all. And fuck, he was sexier than hell. The type of broad shoulders and dark, brooding eyes that made her knees wobble.
“Yes.” Imaad cleared his throat, heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be here at nine to take you to the office.”
“Thanks.” Her words withered in his wake once the door shut behind him, and the silence in her room was a different type of tense now. She almost wished he were back. Something about him felt calming, perhaps because they were partners facing this together.
She shook her head, heading for the bathroom. Time to wash off the day. Wash off the news. And wash off that lingering desire to see what Imaad looked like under that suit.
6
Imaad paced the lobby of the hotel. He’d arrived twenty minutes early, but only because he wanted some alone time to brief her on the upcoming meeting. His father was no picnic, and the two of them could easily be at each other’s throats within minutes.
But despite sending up a message to her room, Annabelle still hadn’t shown. He sighed, heading for the small lounge, keeping an eye on the elevators while he ordered tea. Worry made sickening swirls in his body, threatening to topple him if he entertained it long enough. Annulling the marriage had never even occurred to him as a possibility until she’d mentioned it the night before. All they had to do was play along until the right time.
He tapped his finger on the black surface of the counter while he waited for his tea, gaze glued to the elevators. Come down, Annabelle. Hurry.
The doors whooshed open and a few people streamed out. No Annabelle. He received his tea and chose a seat in plain view of the elevators. He blew on the steaming liquid as he watched for another car to open.
The door slid open. He raised the mug to his lips, feeling out a sip as he surveyed the guests. There, toward the back—the shockingly blonde beauty he’d been waiting for. Dressed in high-waisted black pants that fit her so well they might as well be painted on. A cream blouse hung slightly looser, but the tempting mounds of her breasts could be seen despite the fit. He sipped too hard at his tea and burned himself, and he set the mug down, swearing.
A moment later Annabelle arrived, her lips painted ruby, her face the epitome of put-together businesswoman on her way to kick ass. She clasped her hands together, smiling down at him.
“May I join?” She grinned while she eased into the seat, something playful in her gaze that had been entirely missing the day before. “Hubby.”
He laughed, adjusting his mug on the small saucer, cock twitching in his pants. She could call him whatever she wanted if it meant he could use their fake engagement to put a hand anywhere on her body. “Please. Wifey.”
Her gaze darkened, the familiar recoil from the day before rearing up. “I need to practice this a little bit.”
“Exactly why I came to find you early.” He glanced behind them, searching out one of the few waiters. He called out to him in Farsi, indicating that Annabelle would place an order. He arrived a moment later with a menu. “We need to establish some rules.”
“Great. More men telling me how to live my life.” She thumbed through the menu, a wry look on her face.
“I have no interest in ruling your life. My only interest is making sure that my life isn’t ruled as well.”
Her mouth thinned to a line. “Fair enough. Let’s hear it.”