Arranged(70)

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “In a way, yes.” Mostly. That had been the point of it, anyway. And I did feel safe. Every part of me except my heart.

“I wanted a family,” I said in small voice, still trying to make him understand. “Dysfunctional. For convenience. But there. Present in my corner when the chips fall, as they always do.”

“I get it,” he said softly.

After a time I spoke again. “What about you? Why’d you do it?”

He took a breath so deep that both of our bodies swayed with the motion. “For all the wrong reasons, if I’m being honest. My parents were pressuring me to get married. Their nagging and . . . other things convinced me it was time.”

“Money.”

“Yes. Bribery was a big part of it. Getting my inheritance back had its appeal. Now that I see your side of it, I can admit that your reasons were far more admirable than my own.”

It was a gratifying concession on his part, to say the least. It was all well and good to say you didn’t care whether or not you had someone’s approval. It was another thing entirely to mean it. “Why the Bride Catalogue?”

“I didn’t want to drag an innocent into this. I wanted a wife who knew the score. Who knew I could never be a loving husband. Not some insufferable debutante with stars in her eyes.”

“Why is that?”

“I gave my heart away once. I’m not about to do that again.”

“So you’re still in love with Fatima.”

“I am not. I hate her for lying to me. For tricking me. I hate that I had no idea she was a fucking fortune hunter, when that’s all I’ve ever wanted to avoid.”

It was a dig at her, but of course, I felt it in my own ribs.

“For that matter,” he continued brutally, “I’m not even sure love exists, but if it does, I certainly don’t want to go through it again.”

I kept my face stoic but it was a struggle. “You’ve had every sweet, tender thing you ever felt about love turn sour,” I observed.

“It’s not even about that. It’s about the fact that you can fall in and out of it. It’s the idea that, now that I know it’s not a permanent affliction, it doesn’t mean anything to me. After I realized that, I knew it was all a lie, and that I’d never fall for it again. Once was enough for me. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, so I found someone who knew the score.”

“And here we are.”

He was silent for so long that I didn’t think he’d respond. “And here we are,” he uttered softly. “We make a strange pair, Goldigger.” His tone was rich with affection.

I smirked. “Indeed we do, Spoiled Rich Boy.”





Only a few sour notes drifted into our sphere during those brief, golden days, all of them coming from the same direction.

I got a call from an odd number. I should’ve known better than to answer, but I was on guard with Asha out of the picture and no one yet to replace her, I constantly worried I’d miss a job opportunity if I was too hard to get ahold of.

It was good timing, as I’d just finished a shoot, so I took the call. It was the last person I wanted to hear from, especially with Banks standing a scant few feet away.

“Hello?” I answered, a question in the word.

“Noura,” a warm, poisonous voice poured over the voice.

We’d only interacted once, but I knew instantly who it was. I didn’t say her name. I couldn’t bear to. My eyes were on my husband, who was sending me a questioning look as I said, “Why are you calling me?”

Her delighted laugh was mocking. “A few reasons. But mostly, I didn’t want you to forget about me. Your husband hasn’t. He never stays away from me for long. And don’t take it too personal that he’ll never grow fond of you. His heart’s just not in it. It’s always been occupied elsewhere.”

“He’s fond enough,” I said stiffly. Every word she said was a dagger to the heart. It was little consolation that that was so obviously her intention.

“Don’t let him fool you. He can fuck like a prize stallion, but he’ll always hate you for the simple reason that his father picked you out.”

I was studying my husband’s curious face as she spoke, but I was still listening critically, and I caught the fault lines in what she was trying to convey. She believed her own words. She needed to believe them. And they were wrong. I smiled. At last I had the upper hand. I didn’t hold onto it. Impulsively, I played the hand instantly. “Who told you that? Pasco didn’t pick me out.”

She sucked in a breath audibly through the phone, a ragged, desperate sound.

I’d shaken her; I knew it in my bones.

“Liar,” she hissed back.

I just shook my head. Banks had moved closer and clearly caught some of the gravity of what was happening from my end of the conversation. His brows were drawn together, storm clouds in his storm gray eyes.

“Banks chose me,” I said firmly. “His father had nothing to do with that. Don’t believe me? Ask Banks yourself.” I handed him the phone and left to change.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it. I wanted it to be. I wanted to pretend I’d never spoken to Fatima, never heard her words, never knew she existed, but Banks just had to bring it up again.