“Are you sure about that?”
“What other choice did you have? He put you in an impossible situation. He deserves this, anyone would tell you that.”
Hanging my head, I rest my face against my fingertips and rub my forehead. “But is it right?”
“Is it right?” Yale’s mouth parts as he rolls his eyes. “Bolt, is what he’s doing right? Are his threats to take everything out from under you right? He isn’t giving you a choice, he gave you no option. This place is yours, and you need to do whatever it takes in order to keep it that way. Do you really want him handing it over to some asshole cousin you see once every ten years?”
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “It’s not that, Yale.” Folding my hands together, I drop my chin into my chest. I don’t look up at him, keeping my eyes on my hands as I twirl my thumbs over each other. “It goes deeper than that. I’m just not sure what I want anymore.”
It isn’t my father, or this place that’s getting to me. It’s Starla. All things Starla. The scent of her hair, the feel of her in my arms, the way her lips feel against mine. Her smile. Her laugh—her everything.
I’m falling for her, and I’m falling hard.
The idea of my father not liking her, of him actually demanding me to end it, makes my chest hurt. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to find the right words for her. The ones that tell her it’s my decision, the ones that let her know it’s out of my control.
The ones that don’t hurt.
Do those words even exist?
It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to feel anything for my fake wife.
But I do. . . This isn’t real. None of this is real. So how the hell do I stop it?
“Look,” Yale says, circling the chair and sitting down. “Your father is a difficult man, he likes to have control, so this, this is going to make him flip when he meets her. You know what he thinks about people like her. And that girl—” Throwing out his hand and pointing at the empty air behind him, he keeps his eyes on me. “She checks off every box. He’s going to hate her.” Relaxing back into the chair, a smug grin fills his face. “I’d put money on it that he’ll be on his knees, begging you to divorce her before she even steps into the venue.”
Grunting, I stand and walk to the bar, pouring a shot of liquor and downing it before the liquid even has time to settle in the glass. Tapping the rim of the glass, I fold my arms over my chest and lean back.
My eyes stay on the floor, even though I know Yale is looking at me, waiting for a response. He wants me to agree, he expects me to feel the same excitement he does.
I just don’t.
Frowning, I hold out the glass as I ask, “What if you’re wrong?”
“Wrong?” His voice starts to shake as he laughs when he says, “There’s no way I’m wrong. She swears like a sailor, her clothes are second hand twice over, she doesn’t know the first thing about class. And—she was born poor.” Cocking his head into his shoulder, his brows crawl across his forehead. “What about her would he actually like?”
Her smile.
Her laugh.
She’s smart.
She’s funny.
She knows her shit when it comes to whiskey.
She doesn’t live for things, she lives for life. . . For pleasure. For herself.
How could anyone not love that woman?
I can’t say that out loud, not to him, not to anyone. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to fall for someone who would never last in my world.
Starla would never be able to handle the constant scrutiny of eyes always watching her, of expectations, and unrealistic rules. And I couldn’t babysit her every second of every day, making sure she doesn’t do something that will smear our name across the tabloids.
At least where she comes from, no one cares about what she drives, or what she wears. There’s no one hanging over her shoulder, reminding her which fork to use first and how to hold her teacup. She doesn’t need to have fancy shit to show where she stands in the pyramid. Starla is happy just being happy, that’s enough for her.
I want that.
I want that freedom.
It would feel amazing to not have to walk on eggshells. To be able to just be me and not have to think about how anything I do will reflect on my father, our family, or our business.
Our business.
My business—just focus on that, focus on the business.
I’m not doing this fake marriage to defy my father, I’m doing it to save my position in this company. That’s what I need to keep in mind. This isn’t just to prove some point or go against the grain, this is to keep what’s already mine.