Did he really say that to me? What is he even doing here? “You’re in my bedroom,” I blurt out. The room feels so much smaller with him dominating the space. His all-black suit and tattoos are a stark contrast to my bright yellow walls.
When I woke up, I thought I’d been dreaming that War was in my room standing over me while I lay in my bed.
“I am.” War starts to make his way around my room. His eyes are taking it all in. I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious wondering what he’s thinking. I haven’t made many updates to my bedroom. I want to rush over and toss the stuffed animals on my dresser into the closet.
“You’re in my bedroom,” I repeat.
“We have already covered that.” War’s fingers run across the edge of my vanity. “No perfume.”
“What?” I sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
“You don’t have any perfume.” I’m not sure if that’s a statement or a question.
“I shower.” Is he saying I smell? “Do I need some? Will that be a part of the wife I’m expected to become?” I stand. “This is the dress I have.” I motion up and down myself. ‘It’s all I have, so you’ll have to deal with that.” War’s eyes trace down my body and all the way back up. I feel every second of them on me as though it’s a physical touch.
“No perfume.” He says this simply, devoid of any emotion. You’d never know I was glaring him down. It has no effect on him, but I’m not sure it would on anyone, honestly. “I like the dress. Though maybe you should put your hair up.”
“Seriously?” I run my fingers through my hair. “Is it that bad? I fell asleep.”
“It is rather distracting.” War comes toward me. I fight the urge to step back, but there is nowhere for me to go. I’m up against my bed.
“Distracting?” I manage to get out. He’s so dang close to me now.
“Yes.” I watch in shock as War wraps a piece of my hair around his finger. I’m not sure how long we stand there.
“Should we, ah”—I lick my lips—“go?”
“Yes.” He releases the piece of hair he had wrapped around his finger. I use the tie on my wrist to pull my hair up. After giving me a nod of approval, War grabs me by the wrist. His hand wraps around it tightly.
“You just came into our home?” Rude, but I suppose he does own everything here. Including me at this point.
“Yes.” Again with the one-word answers. I try to tug my wrist free from his hold when we exit the house. He stops walking.
“Can you let me go?” I tug again, but his hold only tightens. One of his fingers drifts to stroke back and forth.
“No.”
“Oh my gosh.” I roll my eyes. “You and the one-word answers. This is going to be a lovely marriage,” I mutter, realizing too late what I’ve said out loud. I should keep those thoughts to myself. They are pointless to say. War isn’t going to change for me.
“I do not wish to let go. We are engaged.” Okay, wow. That’s not one word.
“If you want to act engaged—”
“It’s not an act.”
“Right.” I shake my head. “Then maybe don’t say you don’t like my hair and I smell.”
“I never said any of those things.” His brows furrow together as he stares down at me.
“You did.” Is he trying to gaslight me?
“I don’t want you to wear perfume because I enjoy the way you already smell, and as I said, your hair is distracting to me.” He reaches out, pulling my hair loose so it spills out around me. “Distracting.” War runs his fingers through it. Now he’s closer than ever, towering over me and, well, playing with my hair? I might still be asleep and I don’t know it because this is usually how my dreams go.
“War.”
“You call me Warren,” he orders before he is once again walking. I have no choice but to go with him.
My mind races with everything that just happened. Only when we enter the house and everyone greets us and introduces themselves to me does my mind return to the present moment. The whole time, Warren keeps his hand wrapped around my wrist, often stroking his fingers back and forth in a soft caress.
There are faces I recognize beyond the Marino family. A few I don’t recall ever seeing before. My mom keeps giving me reassuring smiles. I sip on the wine Warren handed to me.
“You know you’re supposed to hold the hand, not the wrist.” Z comes to stand next to us. A pretty blonde also joins us. I can tell she belongs to a rich family that is very much a part of this world.
‘Don’t tell me how to handle my fiancée.’
‘Handle?’ I whisper.
‘He’s not great with words.’ Z shrugs. I peek over at Warren, who is glaring so hard at him I want to take a step back. Z shifts, but he doesn’t back down from toying with his brother.
“I’m Cora.” The tall blonde introduces herself with a smile. I saw her earlier giving me more than a once-over. Cora’s dress fits her like a glove. You can tell it’s expensive. I hate that it makes me feel out of place, but I am.
“Tova.” I formally introduce myself, returning the smile, but there is a coldness to her. She holds her hand out to me. “Sorry, he won’t let go.” I have a wine glass in one hand, and Warren still has his hold on my wrist. Cora laughs, but it sounds forced.
“Dinner is ready,” Warren’s mom, Rochelle, announces. “Come.” She ushers us all along. “Sit at this end, Tova. We haven’t had a chance to talk, and we have a ton of wedding planning to do.”
“Okay,” I agree. Warren pulls out a chair for me, having to let my hand go at this point. They have decorated the entire dining room. You’d think this was the wedding reception. There are breathtaking flowers that run down the center of the table. “These flowers are beautiful.”
“Do you like it?” Rochelle asks. My mom sits beside her. Dario, of course, sits to the side of his wife.
“I love them.”
“We can use this florist for the wedding. That takes care of one item.” Rochelle lets out a small laugh. “The florist got them to me quickly, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I planned to have some grabbed from the garden, but War, for some reason, told me to leave them be.”
I jerk my head toward Warren, wondering why he’d done that and if it’s also connected to him saying I have to stay out of the garden for a few days.
Rochelle and my mom fall into wedding talk. I occasionally contribute to the conversation. Warren doesn’t speak much at all. His father does, however, stand up and make a toast to the happy couple. Too bad we’re not happy at all. Warren doesn’t want to marry me, and as pissed as I am about everything, I’m more heartbroken than anything.
“Are you not hungry?” Warren asks.
‘I’m okay.’ I shrug. I want to go back home. This is all too much.
‘Not to be rude—’ Warren stands.
‘That would be a first,’ Z says loudly under his breath. Warren ignores him. I fight a laugh myself.
‘I’m going to steal my fiancée away.’ He pulls my chair out for me.
‘Right now?’ my mom asks.
‘Yes, Mom.’ I respond to her before anyone else can. I’m not sure what will happen if she tries to say that I can’t go. I’m uncertain how well that would be received. Besides, I’m marrying Warren. Being alone with him will be my life in a few short weeks. We might as well spend some time together. I mean, I’m not sure how that’s going to go, but I’d pretty much do anything rather than continue to be at this dinner.
‘All right, sweetheart.’
I take Warren’s hand and let him guide me from the dining room. The second we are free of everyone, I release a breath.
‘Was it that bad?’ Warren asks.
‘It’s a lot,’ I admit. ‘Do you go to things like that often?’ I have seen him pictured in a few local headlines going to events.
‘When I have to. It’s part of the job.’
Right, because all of this is a responsibility to him. Nothing more. That’s why he’ll marry me.
