“What’s with all the talk of a bride? Who is she? It is my understanding that I am making a necklace for your mother. So I’ll need you to clarify.”
“For my bride.” He pulls off the highway into a fancy neighborhood. This time I feel my cheeks heat with annoyance.
“Major,” I snap. Even I’m surprised at my own tone.
He jerks the car over to the side of the road, throwing it into park. “Are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“No.” I throw my hands up in frustration before I unclick the seat belt. I try and open the door but can’t find the handle. “What is wrong with this car?” I half shout. “Let me out.” I’m flustered and don’t know what is wrong with me. It’s him. He does something to me and being this close to him for so long in a small space isn’t helping. “Are you getting married?” I blurt out. There it is. That is what has me out of sorts. First he was wearing a fake wedding ring and now he’s getting married? Was he going to try and make me do a ring for him too? That would be a battle that I’m willing to fight him over in court.
“Yes.” His hand lands on my thigh. I stop my search for the door handle to look at him. Our eyes meet.
I’ve never been a violent person but in this moment I want to smack his handsome face. My hands fly up in frustration. “So you lied. Again.” I know that I’m not only angry because of this lie but the fact that I’m jealous. This is why I don’t make pieces for people like Major Bennington. They’re entitled pricks and I walked straight into his little game. I turn my face to look out the window. “Get your damn hand off of my leg while you’re at it.” I take a few deep breaths in before I look back over at him.
“I didn’t lie,” he growls out. “You and I will be getting married the minute you stop being so difficult and agree to be mine forever.”
My mouth drops open in shock. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or start planning a wedding because there is no way I’ll be able to resist Major Bennington for long. Even if he is a little bit crazy.
Chapter 11
Major
“I thought this was an apartment building,” Maple gapes. Her eyes flit from the black and white marble tiles in the entry to the fresco painted ceiling featuring barely clothed cherubs frolicking among the bushes.
“Mom’s family came from railroad money,” I explain. “That’s the kind of stupid money that outlasts generations of bad marriages and spendthrifts so that you can keep houses like these in the family. If you like it, we can live here after we’re married. At last count, there were ten bedrooms, although Mom might have turned one of them into an aviary. She was talking about getting birds last time we spoke.” I tuck Maple’s hand into the crook of my elbow. “Where’s Mom?” I ask Jon, the housekeeper standing at strict attention.
“In the orangery, sir.”
Maple waits until Jon is out of sight before whispering, “He calls you sir?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. He belongs to some butler’s association and I think his wingtips get crushed if they find out he’s breached some unwritten rule of etiquette. You’ve got to live with it. It’s one of the downsides. But there are plenty of positives. Like if you have a craving for some caviar and crackers that you can only get down at the market in the meatpacking district, Jon will drive down personally and get it for you. It’s not all bad. If there are things you don’t like, you can change them after we’re married.”
“You have to stop saying that,” she hisses.
“What? That you can change things? I mean, you don’t have to. I’m not imposing any rules once we’re married other than if you look at another man I’ll kill him, but that’s not really a rule, more of a suggestion. Not me killing him. I’m absolutely doing that but as long as you don’t mind a few bodies littering the walkway behind you, I don’t mind either.” I admit this in a mild tone, but, truthfully, I’d happily murder any penis that got within a mile of her. I’d even do away with her brother if I thought she wouldn’t mind. Sadly I think she cares a lot about the uptight attorney so I’ll have to let him keep breathing. The sacrifices I make for her are already piling up. I guess that’s the meaning of true love.
“No, the marriage thing,” she wails. “We’re not getting married.”
“I suppose if you look at it from your point of view, maybe not, but from mine, we are.” I push open the doors to the orangery and escort a frustrated Maple into the glassed-in room. It’s a beautiful enough sight that Maple forgets what she was arguing about.