He nodded, dragging his thumb along the outline of her lips. They were so pouty he wanted to kiss them every second of every day. “Trust me, they noticed when I came up here with a bottle of wine. If I don’t leave tonight, we can expect negative speculation.”
She blinked. “Are you a celebrity?”
He shrugged. He’d been in the news since birth, practically, but never at Brad Pitt or Matt Damon levels. “Maybe to some.”
“Wow.” She smoothed her hands over his chest, tugging at the wiry hairs there. He usually didn’t like it when women obsessed over his chest hair, but with her, it was different. She could do almost anything and it would be just fine. “I had no idea my future husband was so important.”
Her words jarred something inside him, a mixture between sadness and anxiety. Was it so wrong to want to hear those words from her lips? Knowing that she meant it jokingly stung somehow, though it made no sense. Annabelle was the type of woman he would marry—by choice.
“You’ll show up in the papers,” he said, running a hand over the dip of her waist. “Give it time.”
“So now that we’ve screwed a couple of times, does this mean my dowry goes up?” She cocked a mischievous grin.
He laughed. “Your pretend dowry, sure. We can set it wherever you want.”
“I don’t get one?”
“It doesn’t work quite like that anymore. This country stopped the dowry practice ages ago.”
She frowned, tugging on a few single chest hairs. “Don’t you think the whole arranged marriage practice should be stopped? It’s pretty backwards in this day and age.”
“I agree—it’s quite outdated. But at the same time, it works for some people. I don’t know. Not everyone looks at marriages as love contracts. They weren’t always that way, at least. My uncle and aunt were arranged, and one of my cousins was also arranged with a man she originally hated. Now they’re inseparable.”
“Two anecdotes don’t make a strong case,” she pointed out.
“Not all of them turn out that way, of course. But I think most parents just want the best for their children.” He sighed. “I know that’s what my father wants with this marriage. For me to be happy.”
“I wish I could say the same about my dad. Unfortunately, it’s more about him than me.” She paused, dragging her fingers in a circle around his belly button. “And really, I’m not worried about being happy. It’s just that I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t my choice. It’s so like him—to make me an offer and hide the strings.”
“How did he rope you into this one?”
Annabelle creased her brow. “He offered to pay for my mother’s medical bills if I would come close the deal here. Of course I couldn’t refuse. My mother’s bills are sky high.”
Imaad buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the soft fragrance there. “Has he done something like this before?”
She laughed bitterly. “Too many times to count.”
“So, you’ve been in other arranged marriages prior to this?” He grinned down at her.
She paused, as if the joke took a second to sink in. She relaxed in his arms. “I have to say this is my first. And definitely his worst secret scheme.”
Imaad wanted to add something, to tell her this might not be as bad as they thought, that with time—and probably not much of it—their marriage would be as happy as any love match. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She’d strike it down in a heartbeat.
“Interesting that our fathers are so similar. My father schemes for my best interests, but they’re so closely aligned to his own traditionalist values it sometimes feels like punishment.”
“So, being married to me will be a punishment?” Her eyes glittered with mischief.
“I think only time will tell that,” he responded, smoothing his lips over hers.
“I’ll be the best temporary wife you’ve ever had,” she said, hooking her arms around his neck. “And that won’t be hard, since you’ve never had one before.”
The word “temporary” seared through him, but he stilled himself before he could react. As she giggled, he nuzzled her neck, which elicited more giggles. They rolled around on the bed for a few minutes, kissing and laughing, until their romp brought him head-on with the bedside clock.
“Shit. I really should go.” He looked down at her, distracted by the lush slope of her breasts.
“Just stay,” she whined.
“I can’t.” He pressed his lips against hers and then rolled off her. “It hurts, but I have to leave.”