Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,42

I hesitated, considering something for the first time. “What if I’m just jumping from the frying pan into the fire, aligning myself with another monster?”

“I assure you, I’m not. Camden is…” The muscle in his jaw ticked as he assessed his words before speaking. “Less than savory in this world.”

I scoffed. “Yeah. So, back to my question. What do you get?”

His tongue slid across his lips, and I became dazed with the simple action. “For one, I don’t like Camden. I can admit taking you from him has its own appeal.” He shrugged, unapologetic. But then he sat taller and ran a hand through his hair like that was the simplest of reasons. Prickling awareness tickled down my spine and whispered that maybe he got more out of this than he was admitting. However, it quickly dashed away when he shrugged again, his shoulders softening. “Also, it’s convenient. My grandfather is ill, and my only living family. It could do him good to see me with someone—he’s asked for it enough. I want to make him happy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“It still seems like not enough reason to marry someone,” I said slowly. I didn’t want to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t believe someone like Nico would marry a woman out of the kindness of his heart.

He worked his jaw back and forth, taking a deep breath. “There are many events, and having a wife at my side makes me look more stable.”

“And there’s no other woman you could offer to marry to be by your side?”

He smirked, looking down to where he twisted his wine glass by the base. “I’m sure there are, but having one who understands the business adds a tally in your column.”

“Lucky me.”

“Also, as you know, this industry can be small, despite being so large. I can admit that having a Mariano as my wife would open K. Rush to a lot more opportunities.”

“Fair enough.”

The conversation dwindled again, and we entered into another pseudo staring contest. Again, I caved first.

I could have won, but the longer I looked, the more heat flooded my veins, and I didn’t want to confront the way he made me feel. He was my boss, the asshole who doubted me at every turn. The one who questioned my morals and work ethic. The one who tried to take my ideas from me.

“So, what’s next?”

He got up and walked to the kitchen island, pulling a stack of papers. “I had a contract drawn up. Kind of like a prenup.”

“Okay. That’s good.” Rules were good. It kept us in line. It made it clear where we stood.

“We stay married for at least five years. If it suits us to stay together longer at the end of five years, we can discuss it then. If at any point in the five years you feel unsafe, you may leave.”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He nodded and kept going. “In that time, no children will be brought into the situation. When it ends, we will leave with the assets we brought into the marriage. If we acquire anything together in those five years, we will do our best to split it evenly.”

“This all seems straight forward.”

“One last thing. We will both remain faithful to each other. There will be no affairs, quiet or otherwise.”

I scoffed, giving him my most dubious stare when all he did was raise an arrogant brow. Nicholas oozed sex. Not wanting to touch that subject with a ten-foot pole, I returned to scanning other portions of the contract. “What’s this? The marriage needs to be consummated?” I shrieked. My eyes shot up, waiting for him to elaborate because surely it didn’t mean what I thought.

“I want this marriage to be true in every sense of the word. We may be going into this because of the convenience for both of us, but I want us to be partners. This is five years of our lives with a commitment to one another—a commitment that will only be solidified if we’re both…satisfied. You will be my wife.”

“You don’t own me,” I stated, but the words came out weak. Something about him calling me his wife hit me harder than anything else that had been discussed. It brought reality crashing through my thin bubble, masking this with a veneer of business. What stole my breath the most was how much I liked hearing him say it.

“I never said I owned you. Your choices are your own. You’re free to work and