The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(59)

But my fiancé now has me intrigued.

“And when do I get to see this surprise?” I keep my voice purposely even, as if what he’s saying is no big deal, but deep down, I’m excited. No one ever thinks of me or wants to give me something. I fade into the background, your favorite wallpaper. You always claim it’s pretty, but that’s all you can say about it.

That’s me. I’m pretty, expensive wallpaper.

“After dinner.”

I watch him, how he’s sprawled in his chair, his legs spread wide in that way men sit. His suit jacket is long gone and the tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms.

My almost-husband has nice forearms. Thick with muscle and those capable, strong hands. I swear I see the hint of a…tattoo?

Wait. It’s definitely more than a hint.

That’s an actual tattoo on the inside of his right arm.

I reach for his hand, flipping his arm over so I can examine the tattoo more closely. It’s an image of three swords crossed and I trace it, glancing up at him to find he’s already watching me. “What does this represent?”

His gaze never strays from mine. “Me and my brothers.”

“I love that.” I do. I’ve never been one to find tattoos particularly sexy. They’re just…there. Most of the time with no meaning. People choose to mark their bodies forever with images or words they think are cool, then end up regretting their choices years later.

I’ve flirted with the idea of getting a tattoo in the past, but could never come up with something important enough to me to mark permanently on my body. “How many tattoos do you have?”

Perry drops his head, watching me trace his tattoo with my index finger. He doesn’t pull away or tell me to stop, so I don’t. It’s like I can’t. His skin is so warm. “A few.”

He’s purposely vague, which makes me even more curious. “I had no idea.”

His gaze returns to mine. “You haven’t seen me without a shirt on.”

No, but I’d like to.

“What’s up with the rings?” I grab his hand, studying the thick silver ring on his finger. The top is a blank circle, reminding me of a signet ring, but there’s no emblem on Perry’s.

“You don’t like them?”

“I never said that.” We stare at each other, his hand still clutched in mine, his warm thumb streaking across my own, making me shiver. “I just wonder why you wear so many of them.”

“I like them. No other male in my family wears jewelry like I do. Though I don’t wear as many when I’m at work. Winston used to give me shit, so I only wear one on each hand,” he admits. “He always would say I look like a hood.”

“Are you one?” He frowns at my question and I drop his hand, immediately missing his skin on mine. “A hood.”

He slowly shakes his head. Runs a ringed hand through his hair, making it even messier than it was before. What is it about men with messy hair and knowing blue eyes? Kissable lips and rings on their fingers?

I think of the few times he’s kissed me, his hands on me.

I want them all over me.

Maybe it’s the wine. I’ve drunk a lot. So has Perry.

How he touched me earlier at the rehearsal, when he pulled me in close and said those things about my father, his hand on my waist, my butt. His touch possessive, as if he was claiming me as his and wanted everyone to know it.

From the moment this engagement started, I didn’t like how I was passed around like an object used in someone’s game. As if I didn’t have a life or feelings. No say in what would happen to me next.

Perry touches me as if he owns me, and I’m suddenly okay with it. I actually want more of it.

I make no sense.

My father is heading toward us and Perry immediately sits up straight, scooting his seat closer to mine and slinging his arm around the back of my chair, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder. I try to relax into his touch, make it seem as if we do this sort of thing all the time, and at the last second, Perry settles his arm around my shoulders, holding me to him.

It’s as if I melt into him and he can sense it. I know he can. It’s in the way his fingers squeeze my shoulder, his thigh suddenly pressed against mine. The entire position is intimate.

As if we’re lovers.

“You two seem cozy,” my father observes.

Perry’s expression doesn’t waver. “Shouldn’t we be? We are getting married tomorrow.”

They’re both quiet, involved in some weird staredown and I wonder at the animosity crackling between them. I noticed it earlier when we were rehearsing the ceremony, but now…

It seems to have grown worse as the night progressed.

“We’re about to leave, Charlotte,” my father tells me, completely ignoring Perry. “Your mother told me to wish you both good night.”

I automatically rise to my feet, Perry’s arm falling from my shoulders as I reach for my father and give him a brief hug. It’s stiff and awkward and I pull myself out of it as quickly as possible, happy to return to my fiancé, who slips his arm around my shoulders once more.

“You’ll be staying at the hotel tonight?”

I nod.

“And you’ll be staying at the apartment?” My father turns to glare at Perry.