“Persephone, what are we doing?” I asked her softly.
“I hope we’re getting married.” She forced a smile.
I sat on the table next to her, aware of the inches between us, of the warmth of her skin and the scent of apple blossoms in her hair. “I need to ask you a question.”
“Anything,” she responded instantly, her pinky nearly grazing mine as we both grasped the edge of the table.
“If we hadn’t gotten accidentally fucked up in Vegas, would we be here?” I turned to study her face.
Her lips parted, and her brow crinkled. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.” I kept my tone gentle. “If we hadn’t woken up married…or not married, whatever, would you ever have given me a shot? Given me a first date?”
Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Would you ever have asked?”
“No,” I responded as honestly as I could.
Her face fell, and the pain I saw there ripped another seam in my heart.
“I never would have asked because I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. I knew I could never make you happy or give you the things you were accustomed to. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about social acceptance and an easy relationship.”
“I don’t need any of that,” she countered, her voice breaking at the end. “I just need you.”
I sucked in a breath.
“You see, I would have given you the first date,” she continued with a little laugh. “I did. Remember? I wanted you so desperately that I bought you at that charity auction. I couldn’t stand the thought of another woman touching you.” She shook her head. “Did you lie to me when you told me that you would have bought me, too?”
“Lie? I’ve never lied to you. I meant every word of it. Fuck, even the thought of someone putting their hands on you…kissing you…” My jaw clenched. “But I was prepared to watch you date someone else—hell, marry someone else because I knew that I could only bring you pain, and that’s all I’ve done since this thing started.”
She startled. “You’ve been tender, and kind, and protective, and everything I could ever want. You haven’t hurt me.”
“I punched out one of your oldest friends this morning and embarrassed your entire family—including you,” I reminded her.
“Oh. Right. That.” She huffed a laugh. “Well, Michael is an ass.”
“You’ve seen the online gossip since this morning. I know you have.” The shit with Michael had gone public fast, and the worst part is that every article dragged Persephone into it.
Was she saddling herself with a violent man?
Was Charleston’s belle of the ball married to a man who would eventually find himself behind bars?
Was I a domestic violence case waiting to happen?
Every headline had been worse than the last.
“I’ve seen them, and I don’t care.” She shrugged.
“You don’t care?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been tabloid gossip since I can remember, and though I’ve tried my best not to give them much fodder, Andromeda’s antics have taught our family to roll our eyes and move on.”
“Right, but marrying me—for real this time—would give them that fodder you tried so hard not to.”
“Okay.”
My stomach sank. I was going to drag her very good name through the mud. The name that got her the job as the head of the charitable foundation and opened doors into a society that I had thought only existed in movies.
“Cannon, those reporters don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve suffered for your family. Or how much of your salary you give to the women’s shelter downtown. Or that your favorite book is Wuthering Heights.”
I balked. “My favorite book is not Wuthering Heights.”
She grinned. “I know. Because you’d never stand by and watch the woman you loved marry someone else. I remember. I was just checking to see if you were listening.”
“That stuff isn’t anything the world needs to know about me. I don’t want people talking shit about you because I can’t contain my temper.”
“I’ve never cared much what strangers think about me,” she said with a whisper. “I know the truth. I know the man you really are.”
Did she? Had I shown her the best and the worst of me while we’d been married. Married. The ring on my finger mocked me. It was a fucking tease.
The silence stretched between us to the soundtrack of the band in our ballroom next door.
“We’re not really married.” The words tasted like sand.
“I know. I still can’t believe it, but I know.”
“We can call this whole thing off,” I offered slowly. “We were only doing it to make your mom happy.”
“But we ended up making ourselves happy, didn’t we?” She brushed her finger along mine.
I couldn’t lie to her. “We did. But I don’t think it’s the kind of happiness that lasts.”
The door opened, and a crack of light filled the room as Mrs. VanDoren walked in. “You two! I swear, you can’t stay away from each other!”