Ruthless Monarch

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light, I can see that they aren’t as dark as I once imagined them to be.

No.

They are the opposite. Although I can’t tell what color they are, a striking difference exists between the color of his pupils and irises.

Light.

His eyes are light.

But what color?

I step toward the wall, clicking the switch to illuminate the space between us.

I’m not prepared for the man sitting before me. He’s leaning back in the chair.

Comfortable. It’s as if I invited him in for a drink. Like we were on a date, and I asked if he wanted to come up for a nightcap.

His presence is intimidating. But it’s his facial features that make me stop breathing.

When I saw him briefly at the club, he was gorgeous, but now in the light, I realize that word does him no justice.

He’s devastating.

His eyes are green. Strikingly so. Like the way grass looks after a rain on the first sunny day. Lush and full.

Crisp.

Dangerous.

They make you want to lose yourself in them.

Not a good scenario to be in.

Ever.

I continue to watch him. Drinking him in. Studying. Searching. Filing things into memory.

His hair is dark, almost black, but it’s his sharp jaw with the dusting of hair on his face that makes him exquisite.

Deadly. Not just physically but emotionally.

This man would chew you up and spit you out if you allow him to.

He has more than a five o’clock shadow but less than a beard. It’s the kind of scruff that feels sexy as you kiss.

Shit. Don’t think about kissing him.

He does have full lips. Dammit, they are kissable. A mouth that would worship the woman beneath him.

I can’t marry this man. I can’t.

If he wanted to, he would do unthinkable things to me, and I would probably let him.

Not a good combination in this situation.

It might sound backward, but wanting him will make this more challenging.

I’m under no false illusion that no matter what he says about having separate lives, I will have to be with him. At some point, his family business will dictate the need for him to have an heir to carry on his legacy. It wouldn’t be a chore but . . .

I shake my head and pull my gaze up to meet his stare. I can marry this stranger. I can use him to further my goal.

Make my father pay for all he’s done to me over the years.

I’ll still be the pawn in their war. But what they both don’t know is that I have no intention of being it any longer.

“I have stipulations.” I walk farther into the room until I’m standing beside the other chair.

“Oh, of course you do, Princess.” He sounds beyond amused as though he is talking to a toddler. Not outwardly funny, but as in the light of what we are talking about, he is not taking me seriously. I’m torn between seething and doing what I can to protect my life.

Is he so coldhearted that he doesn’t see how all of this hurts me, and if he does, then he is as big of a monster as my dad and just doesn’t care.

The thought has goose bumps forming on my skin. I’m abandoning one cage and willingly crawling into another.

One that very well could be more deadly.

“I want a contract,” I blurt out. If I have that, I can make him honor it. It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law probably, but it would give me a sense of security.

“You will get no such thing.” He now sounds bored with me. As if my request is so far beneath him that he won’t even humor the idea of it.

I stand my ground with my hands on my hips.

False bravado.

Inside, I’m quaking, but I throw off the vibe that I’m as tough as nails on the outside.

“You don’t even know what the contract will contain,” I answer, narrowing my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter to me, Viviana. I will not put anything in writing.”

His message comes loud and clear.

My dreams of this going easy crash and burn to the floor.

“I still have things I want from you,” I respond. The chances he’ll give me what I want are small, but I’m still going to try. Through my eavesdropping on Father’s many secret meetings over the years, he taught me how to become a master negotiator.

Ana used to say, “You can’t win a game from the sidelines,” and she was right. Although, when she said it, it had more to do with trying new things and not negotiating with a mob boss, but semantics.

He leans forward, inclines his head, and then gives me what can only be described as a life-altering smirk. Not just because he’s gorgeous but also because it reminds me of every damn fairy tale I have ever read, where the main character enters into a pact with the devil.