"It is," she tips up her chin, "that’s why I am getting married."
"You’re not serious." My heart begins to thud, my throat closes, and I lean forward in my chair. "You can’t marry someone else."
"Is that your command?"
"And if it is?"
Her lips purse. "That’s where you always go wrong, Ari. You think you can tell me what to do, and I’ll obey?"
"You will," I snap. "You must. You know you want to, Sparks."
Her chin wobbles, then she glances away. "I’ve spent my life being torn apart by my heritage. I knew my family were part of the Bratva. I wanted no part of it, yet everywhere I turned, they were there. There was no escaping their influence, you know?"
"Is that why you didn’t protest when I asked you to move to London?"
"That was part of it," she nods, "but not only."
My pulse rate speeds up. "What else?" I clear my throat, "What else prompted you to accept?"
"You mean, other than the fact that you and the rest of the Seven were clearly my biggest clients?" She pulls off her sunglasses and places them on the table. When she finally meets my gaze, the full impact of those golden eyes hits me in the chest.
Shit, what is wrong with me. Why hadn’t I been up front with her about my affiliation with her family? What had I been worried about? My ego? Her judgement? Had I actually thought that I could coerce her into becoming my wife? This sassy, gorgeous, full-of-spirit woman who is my other half.
The breath whooshes out of me. Shit, that’s what it is. I’d always known it and yet I hadn’t accepted it… Not really. Not until this moment, when she holds my gaze and says, "I was falling for you, Ari. I’d felt the chemistry between us, you know that. Hell, then I got to know you, your past, your fetishes, and all of it cemented what I felt for you. But you spoiled it all."
My heart stutters. I want to open my mouth and talk to her, but I can’t. All I can do is stare as she tips up her chin and says, "I can’t forgive you or my family, for colluding against me."
"And I won’t apologize for what I did."What the hell are you saying? Why can’t you simply swallow your bloody ego and tell her how you really feel, you wanker?
She pales, then nods, "And I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you."
"Fine," I growl.
"Fine." She grabs her sunglasses and plonks them back on her nose. She rises to her feet, reaches for her handbag, only to knock it off the table. I swoop down, grab it at the same time she does. Our fingertips brush and a shudder runs up my spine.
There’s still time. Stop her. Stop her from leaving. Just apologize, you asshole.
She tugs on her bag and I release it.
She rises to her feet, tugs the strap over her shoulder, then grabs her shopping bags and brushes past me.
"Sparks." I call out to her, and she pauses.
She glances over her shoulder and through the lenses of her sunglasses her gaze widens. "What?" She swallows. "What is it."
"You’ll make a wonderful bride."
Her lips firm, "Is that all you have to say to me?"
I blink. "Is there something else?"
"Yes," she snaps, "yes there is." She flounces over to me, plops her bags on the chair she vacated, then looks me up and down while shaking her head. In disgust? In disbelief? Before I can figure it out, she leans over, grabs the jug of water and upturns it on my head.
Around me, I hear gasps from the other tables.
"What the—?" I growl. "The hell is wrong with you?"
"The hell is wrong with you?" she hisses back. "You completely blind, neanderthal of a bastard."
