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The draft of our engagement announcement outlines how we ran into each other last year in Monaco and started seeing each other long distance. Saar decided to move back to New York to help me cope with my father’s death.

I hate that angle, but I have business partners to think about, so I agreed.

“I wanted to ask you to give me one more week before we announce it and I move in with you.”

“We both want this to be over as soon as possible. Why delay?”

She makes a frustrated sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “I need a week of freedom to get used to the idea of a jail.”

“I can guarantee that living with me is no hardship.” The soup is surprisingly good. “Fine. As long as you don’t go clubbing and get your pics all over the media.”

“Of course, sir. Is this how you won’t control me?”

“Mine and your public images are the reason for this deal, Saar.”

She sighs. “I won’t go clubbing. I need time to tell my brothers. I want them to find out from me.”

“Why do they hate me, anyway?”

She puts the spoon down and covers her face. When she looks at me, there is resolution in her eyes.

“They misinterpreted something in high school. Unfortunately, unlike my parents, Finn and Cal are overprotective, and they blame you for something…” She lets out a long breath through pursed lips, like this is causing her stress. “Something you didn’t do.”

“High school?” I snort. “Why didn’t you tell them I’m innocent?”

“Because they saw me for the first time…” Her eyes widen, and then she drops her gaze and picks up her spoon, dedicated to her soup.

When she looks up again, her eyes are pleading.

To let go of the topic? To not tease her? Again, there is a vulnerable moment she shared—definitely a slip—and I itch to comfort her and find out more.

Neither of those is my right or privilege. And why does it bother me? I don’t need drama in my life.

I decide to skip to the next topic. “Okay, I’ll tell Betsy to announce our engagement next week.”

She exhales visibly. “Thank you.”

“I got an email from the wedding planner.”

A smile ghosts her face.

“Real classy,” I deadpan. “But whatever my bride wants.”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it. Her jaw tightens, and she sags into her chair. I guess she was expecting I’d argue with her. I don’t need to bother; it’s not likethatwedding is happening.

She gives me another magazine smile. “I’m glad you approve.”

“You think I’m a Hulk? Are you having superhero fantasies about me, Saar?”

Her cheeks flush with a warm shade of pink. “You wish.”

“I actually do, The Morrigan.”

Her eyes flare with something, and while I don’t know her enough to identify it, I’m sure it’s not disdain or anger. It’s something more simple, primal.

She gives me a fake chuckle—I suppose for the onlookers. “You know what they say, darling, careful what you wish for.”

I guess this arrangement is going to be full of threats.