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He nods. “And you can bring the flowers then.”
Dinner under the scrutinous eye of the perfect married couple is the last thing my teen bride and I need. A positive to finally being engaged? “At least your wife won’t be trying to fix me up anymore.”
His dark eyes narrow.
I’ve said the wrong thing. Attempting to fix my mistake, I try, “I mean, I know she means well and all?—"
“Let’s go to my office.” He cuts me off, turning sharply on the heel of his black polished boot. “We have a lot to discuss.”
My mind wanders as we wind through the halls of the house. Jesus, this meeting is off to a dastardly start. Where did that word even come from?
I’m sure Emilia and Liam would agree with Ophelia’s assessment of me as insufferable.
We reach his office, which is now primarily used as a cigar and brandy lounge. Emilia often redecorates this room, whichtoday has navy walls framed with thick white crown molding, paintings of the snow-capped mountains behind the aqua lake, and wood and leather furnishings.
Two plush chairs are angled toward the fireplace. It’s a dreary day, and the room is chilly. The windows frame the gray skies outside. With a flick of Liam’s wrist, the gas logs in the fireplace glow, warming the space.
He wears the latest Bachman watch on his wrist. It has a broad silver face and a casual black and brown braided leather band. Only captains and above have that kind of tech. I still have to turn on my fireplace the old-fashioned way.
Liam points to one of the chairs. “Sit.”
I sit.
Slowly, he sinks into his own, crossing one long leg over the other. The time it takes him to arrange his tall body is painful. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he brings his fingertips together, matching each pair one at a time, uniting the pads of his fingertips.
Pinky finger. Middle finger. Pointer finger. Thumb. The ring fingers come together. Finally. Clicking together like magnets. The platinum wedding band on his left hand gleams in the firelight.
I hadn’t realized Liam has a flair for dramatics.
Finally, he asks, “Where’s your ring?” So, the man is capable of speaking.
With everything that’s transpired since I stepped into her bedroom last night, I forgot about the wedding ceremony I canceled.
Unfortunately, he’s going to want an answer.
CHAPTER 13
Ophelia
“He didn’t even say goodbye.”The words slip from me. I bite my bottom lip, ashamed I said them out loud.
“He may be a grump,” Gian says, “but he’s a good man.”
I think of my family being lied to. They’re imagining me off seeing the world on the Bachman dime. What a joke. I’m here. Captive. Paying my debt off one earth-shattering orgasm at a time.
“No,” I murmur. “He’s not.”
“Good men in this world are hard to come by. I’m fiercely loyal to the entire Bachman family. But Harrison has me tied to him in a way I can’t explain. After what he did for me…”
Gian’s voice trails off. He moves to the sink, ending that line of the conversation. What did Haze do for Gian? I can feel it’s not right to ask. Instead, I listen as he continues.
“Bachmans live by their codes.” Gian turns on the tap to fill the sink. “And you may not like those codes, but they’re right in their own right. A man who lives and dies by his morals is good.” Gian glances at me. “Even if what you think he does is bad.”
“Me and the law agree he’s bad,” I say. I stand from the stool, ready to take over cleaning the kitchen. “Here. Let me do that.”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head at me, then points to the doorway. “You are going to read about humans' impact on biodiversity so we can rewrite your essay.”
“This kitchen is so gorgeous. It’d be fun to clean.” I stare at the pile of dishes, itching to take the work from him. He’s already done the baking.