Page 135 of Filthy Promises
“Also?”
“Also, I can’t imagine my life without her in it anymore.” The admission costs me something to say out loud. “And that terrifies me.”
“Welcome to the club.” She raises her glass in a mock toast. “To loving the wrong people.”
I clink my glass against hers. “To impossible choices.”
We finish our meal discussing the practical details of our arrangement. But beneath the strategic planning, I feel something unexpected: a sense of relief. Of possibilities opening up where before there seemed to be none.
“So we have a deal?” Anastasia asks as we prepare to leave.
I consider her extended hand. Once I shake it, there’s no going back. I’ll be engaged to this woman while secretly pursuing another.
It’s dishonest. Dishonorable, even.
But it might be the only way to have Rowan in my life.
“We have a deal,” I confirm, taking her hand.
Her grip is firm, businesslike. “I’ll inform my father we’ve come to an understanding.”
“I’ll do the same.”
She studies me for a moment longer. “For what it’s worth, Vincent, I hope your assistant knows what she has in you.”
I think about Rowan’s recent distance. Whatever is happening with her, I need to know. I need to understand why she’s pulling away.
Because the truth I’ve been fighting for so long is finally clear to me.
I’m falling in love with Rowan St. Clair.
Against every instinct of self-preservation.
Against every lesson my father taught me.
Against everything I once believed about myself.
And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.
40
ROWAN
I’m doing my favorite activity as of late—bending over the toilet in the executive bathroom yet again—when I hear the door open. My stomach heaves one final time before I can pull myself together.
“Did you hear about Akopov?” A woman’s voice echoes against the tile.
I freeze, hand halfway to the flush. I recognize that voice. Melissa from Finance.
“What about him?” Another voice—Janine from Legal.
“The announcement is coming next week. He’s officially getting engaged to that Russian heiress.”
The toilet stall suddenly feels too small. Too hot. I can’t breathe.
“Already? I thought they just started dating.”
Melissa laughs. “Dating? Please. These people don’t date—they make arrangements. My cousin works for the event planner they hired. The ring alone cost more than my student loans.”
