The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(23)

“Is there a theme?”

“Just bring your handsome self,” Louisa chirps.

Charlotte rolls her eyes.

“Can’t wait.” I wink at Louisa, who appears ready to faint. “See you Saturday.”

I leave them where they’re standing, whistling loudly. That wasn’t so bad. Better than I thought it would be.

Maybe this fake marriage racket won’t be so bad after all.





Chapter Eight




Charlotte


Perry Constantine is like a drug.

A dangerous one. The kind that sneaks up on you.

He’s fun and easygoing and easy to talk to. Charming and charismatic and incredibly handsome. He’s intoxicating, luring you in and breaking down your defenses until the next thing you know, you’re on a high and you don’t feel like you’re ever coming down.

At one point, I was having fun at the photography session. I could envision Perry and I together even. It wouldn’t be so bad, I kept telling myself as we bickered. He’d smile, trying to soften me and it actually worked.

Well enough that I almost admitted my affair with Seamus to him. Not that it’s much to admit, but it was enough to leave me destroyed and cause my parents to never trust me alone.

Those months in Paris ruined everything, and it was all my fault for being so trusting. I don’t like talking about it. I never talk about it.

Until Perry.

Coming that close to sharing my biggest secret rattled me. I don’t know him. I can’t trust him. How could I share something so damaging to my reputation, with Perry of all people?

Because you like him. You do.

I shove that shitty voice to the back of my mind, telling it to shut up.

I don’t like him. I don’t like anyone. Just me and my cat and Jasper. That’s all that matters to me. Nothing else.

Not Perry. Not my parents. Not even my brothers. They don’t care about me, why should I care about them?

Why should I care about anyone?

Once I return home, I take a long, hot shower, scrubbing the makeup off my face, washing the curls and hair product out of my hair. I put on my comfiest sweats and pace the bedroom, feeling antsy. Too worked up, too stressed over my unfamiliar and unwanted emotions.

Maybe I should get drunk.

After drinking two whiskey sours and doing a shot of the finest tequila Jasper could find in the house, I march into my father’s home office without knocking. He glances up, seemingly startled by my entry but I don’t let it stop me. I stride right up to his massive desk, bracing my hands on the edge of it as I stare him down.

“I want out of this.”

He frowns. “Out of what?”

My father is not a stupid man. More like he’s the smartest man I’ve ever known and that’s saying a lot, because every Lancaster man I’ve ever encountered is fiercely intelligent.

Almost to the point of it being a flaw. They think they’re above everyone, and in most cases, they are.

They’re also stubborn. Magnetic. Charming. Cunning.

Ruthless.

“My engagement.”

He leans back in his chair, contemplating me with narrowed eyes. Eyes that match mine. I remain in place, gripping the desk tighter and hoping he doesn’t notice the faint trembles coursing through me. Praying I don’t puke back up all the alcohol I hastily consumed.

Maybe this was a bad idea, barging into my father’s office and making demands. I don’t do this sort of thing. I never have. Maybe that could work to my advantage.

For once, perhaps he’ll notice me. Listen to me.

And give me what I want.

“This engagement between you and that Constantine boy is very important,” he starts, and I realize I’m in for a lecture.

With a sigh I push myself off of his desk and settle into one of the nearby overstuffed chairs, flopping onto it like a sullen child. I’m halfway tempted to throw a fit, but that would only prompt him to throw me out.

And I don’t throw fits. That’s not the Lancaster way.

“Why is it so important? What does it matter by me marrying him, Daddy?” I’m bringing out the big guns by calling him that, a term of endearment I never use.

He’s never been a sweet, loving daddy. More like a stern, elusive father who doesn’t care about his children.

Especially me.

“I don’t like him,” I continue when my father hasn’t answered me. “He’s rude. He says the most awful things, and I don’t even know him. This isn’t the dark ages. Arranged marriages aren’t a thing.”

“You’d be surprised,” he offers.

And that’s it.

That’s all he has to say about the matter.

Crossing my arms in front of me, I glare at him, wondering where all of this fierceness is coming from. I don’t talk back or sass my father. Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through my veins, firing me up. “I won’t do it.”

“You won’t do what, exactly?”

“Marry Perry Constantine.” I pause. “I hate him.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that.”

“I do.”

“You haven’t known him long enough to hate him.” He leans forward, his chair creaking with the movement. “Charlotte, I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind for your future, but it’s what’s best for both families.”