He turned from the stove and spared me an irritated glance. "Don't get too excited. My parents have their garrote of influence around nearly every real estate operation in this area. I'm getting radio silence from potential landlords."
I winced, leaning against the island counter to watch him as he opened a package of chicken, rinsed it, and deposited it in the pot of water. My stomach gave a painful, twisting cramp, and I cursed my body. Why did my period have to start now of alltimes? It was hella awkward as it was sharing a space with this microchip of a personality. "So, unless it's a hotel, you're kind of stuck?"
"Seems that way. The lawyers weren't feeling optimistic, either." He threw away the chicken container and washed his hands at the sink as he talked. "My mother knows what she's doing. She's been in this business for decades. I'm not surprised that she would find a way to force me into matrimony, but she used her resources wisely."
He turned off the water, flicked his hands, and then reached over to use a towel that hung from the oven door. It fell to the floor in an unceremonious slump, and he ignored it. As he worked, I noticed that he was a little… well, messy. The chicken container was still sticking half out of the trash can, water had splattered all over the stove, and after he ripped off the seal around the salad dressing, he left the paper on the counter. Also, he'd put the chicken in the water before it had boiled. The guy was weird.
I tried to ignore his cooking habits and cocked my head. "What are you saying, Rook?"
He paused in the middle of lifting a cutting board from a cabinet, rotated slowly, and gave me an icy stare. "Do you know my name?"
My heart gave a nervous leap. Why was he looking at me so intently? "Yeah."
"Then do me a favor and don't talk to me like one of my colleagues in my house." He slapped the cutting board down on the island across from me. "It's Knox."
"Yeah, but that's a terrible name."
"I don't disagree, but it's still my name." He cut into the bunch of lettuce with sure, swift strokes. "As I was saying, I think we might be stuck."
"Stuck," I echoed.
"Either we get married," he elaborated, lifting the knife, "or we live together for two years."
My mouth opened, but no words emerged.
Rook—Knox—stared back, and his mouth twitched dangerously close to a smirk. "You're horrified."
"Appalled," I agreed.
He shrugged one shoulder and finished cutting the lettuce into uneven shreds that made my fingers itch to take the knife from him. "The contracts were weirdly airtight. You wouldn't think that a person could stipulate things like that, but American legalities are unfortunately twisted in all the wrong directions. My mother's lawyers knew it. Mother used it. Here we are."
"Can't we… appeal to her? Maybe just ask if she'll nullify the contracts?" My hands curled into balls on the counter. This couldn't be happening. Sure, the apartment was great, but not if I had to live with Dr. Cyborg.
Rook expelled a breath that was one beat away from a rueful laugh. "No. Try if you like, but no. She did this on purpose. She's not going to undo it when she's gotten exactly what she wanted."
I scowled. "She's hoping we'll pair up, right?"
Rook's eyes flitted up to mine momentarily. "Yes."
"Well, that's not happening," I said acidly.
Rook scooped up the lettuce and deposited it in a wooden salad bowl. With a whiff of amusement, he said, "Agreed. But she won't believe that until the contract ends."
"Bog witch," I muttered. I slid onto one of the bar-height, padded chairs.
Rook pressed his lips like he was fighting a smile. "Bog witch, huh?"
"Sorry, I know it's your mom, but—"
"No, it's accurate." He spared me an actual half-smile before moving away to the fridge to gather more ingredients. I'd never seen a more scattered way to make a salad in my life. Why hadn'the pulled out the tomatoes and cucumbers with the lettuce? Why was he boiling the chicken instead of pan-searing it? Was he just going to leave all those lettuce particles on the white marble countertop?
"So, wait," I kneaded between my eyebrows, trying to wrap my head around this situation. "You want me to live with you in a one-bedroom apartment for two years?" I shifted my weight on the chair, uncomfortable because I was so short that I couldn't rest my feet on anything.
"No." Rook sliced into the tomato calmly. "I want you to marry me."
I fell off the chair.
"Gemma." Rook dropped his knife and came around the island, but I held up a hand.
