The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(10)

Caroline is accompanied by him.

Perry.

Perry Constantine.

I keep thinking of his name. Muddling it over. Turning it round and round because soon, this man will become my husband. Soon, my name will be Charlotte Constantine, and while that has a certain ring to it that I don’t find particularly offensive, I still don’t know this guy, and for all I know, he could be a complete creep.

Though he doesn’t look particularly creepy at the moment.

He has a scowl on his pretty face, his lips formed in a delectable pout, his blue eyes hooded, hiding secrets, I’m sure. His dark-blond hair is a riotous, slightly wavy mess and he’s wearing a white button-down shirt with black pants, and a belt with a heavy silver buckle that I can’t help but stare at. Fairly typical, if not downright boring attire for a man about to go to a nice restaurant.

But damn if he hasn’t put it all together in this messy, sexy way. The shirt fits him perfectly, as if it were custom made, and he has a few too many buttons undone, revealing at least three silver chains around his neck, maybe more. Rings glint on his fingers, silver and heavy.

Hmm. This is where it’s painful for me to admit that I’m intrigued. I figured he’d be some stiff suit and dress accordingly. Boring rich guy, like all the rest of them.

“Charlotte.” Mother slaps her butter knife across my knuckles, making me yelp and snatch my hand off the table. “Stop staring. It’s rude.”

“What’s rude is you abusing me in the middle of this restaurant.” I send her a look, hating how small she always makes me feel. Inconsequential. The least important member of the family and I should never forget it. I’m surprised they’re paying so much attention to me and putting together this wedding for me in the first place. I always thought they’d want me to elope with some no name and disappear forever. “And I can stare at my future husband for as long as I want. Shouldn’t I appear to be the doting fiancée?”

The exasperated sigh that leaves my mother almost makes me smile. “I should’ve asked your father to meet them with us. Then you wouldn’t act up.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I mutter. “He’s played a big enough part in this façade.”

“You’re to make the best of it,” she whispers harshly, her tone suddenly changing when we both realize they’re drawing close. “Oh, Caroline. It’s so lovely to finally meet you!”

I leap to my feet alongside my mother, trying to ignore the jittery nerves plaguing me when I realize Perry is standing right there. Right in front of us.

Directly in front of me.

My throat is so dry it’s difficult for me to swallow and I try to catch his gaze. Hopefully communicate with him silently that I’m just as much a pawn in this as I’m sure he is.

But he just glares down at the floor, reminding me of a sulking toddler.

“Perry.” His mother slaps him in the chest, causing him to jolt and lift his head. “This is Louisa Lancaster.”

“A pleasure,” my mother practically purrs as she offers her hand to him, making me inwardly wince.

Perry shakes her hand, almost immediately releasing it the moment their palms connect. “Nice to meet you.”

“And this is my daughter, Charlotte,” Mother says as she turns to look at me, an encouraging smile on her face, her gaze pleading for me to behave.

I nod once at Caroline, taking her hand when she extends her arm in my direction. “Hello.” I barely look her in the eye, suddenly intimidated.

“Lovely,” Caroline murmurs, loud enough for me to hear her. I’m sure that was on purpose, though I don’t understand why. “You’ll do. You’ll do just fine.”

Ignoring her strange comment, I focus all of my attention on Perry, lifting my head to find him already watching me. Anger blazes from those intense blue eyes, his hands in his pockets, his stance casual.

Deceiving.

He’s mad. Furious even. Looks like someone wants this marriage just about as much as I do.

“Perry,” I say to him, taking a step forward and rising up on tiptoe so I can brush my lips against his cheek. It’s faintly scratchy, as if he couldn’t be bothered to shave, and holy hell, the man smells divine. “It’s so good to meet you, my beloved.”

I take a step back, a little wobbly on my feet thanks to the extraordinarily high heels I’m wearing. I watch him carefully, waiting for my sarcastic comment to hit. He knew I was faking, right? By calling him beloved?

He must.

“Finally, we meet.” He smiles, revealing a fine set of straight white teeth. That smile changes his entire mood, and he looks like the happy-go-lucky partier I saw when I googled him a few nights ago. “It’s been far too long.”

Wait a second—he’s going along with my façade?

“Forever,” I say, a squeal leaving me when he sweeps me into his arms, holding me extremely close. I stiffen for a moment at the intimacy of the embrace. My hands are on his very firm chest, as if I’m about to push him away and my lower body is pressed far too close to his.

I wrench myself out of his embrace, glaring at him as I wipe my sweaty palms on the hot-pink skirt of my over-the-top, frothy-like-a-pastry dress.

His eyes are full of appreciation as they drift down, taking me in. I school my features as if his blatant staring doesn’t affect me whatsoever. That’s my normal mode of operation. Pretend everything is well and good, even when it’s not.