Page 8

It was a little embarrassing that my father could read my interest so plainly. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing some piece of the puzzle. Even if I was intrigued by the possibility of being married to a man like him—powerful, confident, with a jaw that could cut glass—what did Stefan stand to gain? Our fathers’ interests were more than clear…but what about my fiancé’s?

“I still don’t understand what he’s getting out of this.”

“Oh, Tori,” Michelle said, shaking her head. “You know how men are about shiny objects. But just think—this is someone who can take care of you. Give you security.”

“What more could you ask for?” my father added. “He’ll be able to give you everything you want.”

“You have no idea what I want!” I said, shocking myself. I never talked back to him.

But I still had dreams of my own. Dreams I’d assumed I would get to pursue before settling down with someone. And now my college plans were off the table. Because my father needed me to drop everything that mattered so I could be a trophy wife to the son of his ally.

“Is this about your little underwater basket-weaving degree? You still want that? Well, guess what. Your new husband can afford it,” he said.

I pressed my lips together, gazing out the window while I collected myself. He had a point. This situation could benefit me. My father would get what he wanted, and maybe I could, too. Plus, he wasn’t wrong about Stefan being good looking. And I’d be his.

At least until I got my degree. Four years, maybe eight if I decided I wanted my doctorate.

I could stand to be married to a man as handsome as Stefan for a few years. Couldn’t I? Sharing a home, a life…a bed.

My head was swimming.

“This was always the plan, Tori,” my father said. “This man—his family—can provide you with anything you could possibly dream of. I’m offering you the chance to have a life of luxury and ease. You should be thanking me for finding you such a match.”

“It’s just…so much to think about,” I said, my temples suddenly throbbing.

“Then stop thinking!” my father ordered.

Michelle put her hand on his shoulder. “Mitch. You catch more flies with honey.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “I feel trapped.”

“Dance with him,” Michelle suggested, turning toward me. “Go back out there and take a turn around that ballroom and see how it feels to be in his arms. Then you can decide what you want to do. I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“I suggest you take your stepmother’s advice,” my father said, a warning in his voice.

I nodded my acquiescence. Michelle’s words had been kinder than his, but the implication was clear—you can dance with him, but in the end you’re going to marry him, no matter what.

I guess I did know something, after all. I knew I had no choice.