Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

For that reason alone, I contemplate disobeying him just to hear it again. But at the same time, I can’t ignore the warning, the severity of it.

So I slowly meet his gaze, and I wish I hadn’t, because he releases my elbow and I feel like I’m drowning in nonexistent water.

“Do you honestly believe that I chose to do this just to be there for you or because I’m a knight in shining armor? I’m not, Gwyneth. Far from it.”

“Then what are you?”

“Whatever knights in shining armor fight. And that means there’s not one noble, sacrificing bone in my body. The reason I’m marrying you isn’t because I want to protect you or King’s legacy. I’m protecting my firm. My own legacy. So the fact that you feel like a burden is needless and unnecessary. We’re using each other. Do you understand?”

My chest deflates and a strong whoosh of air escapes me. It’s not relief, though. It’s due to being so focused on the way he spoke that I kind of forgot to breathe.

Happens all the time.

But before now, I barely saw him—like once a month or something—and he hardly spoke to me. Now that I’ve seen him every day since Dad’s accident, spoken to him, been close to him, I think I’m having some sort of an overdose. A deadly one at that.

I’ll get used to it, right? If I see him constantly, I’ll totally be desensitized to his presence.

“Answer my question. Do you understand?” he repeats in that stiff tone, the strictness in it touching places within me that should remain untouched.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t. The next time you have a doubt or a thought, you come to me and say it. You don’t hide, and you sure as fuck don’t turn off your phone.”

I flinch again, and it’s crazy, but this time I think I do it because hearing him curse is as rare as seeing a flying unicorn. And it’s hot—him cursing. It’s masculine and fits his authoritativeness so well.

“My battery died,” I offer lamely, because yeah, it did, but I also let it run down on purpose.

“Make sure it never does again. The next time I call, you pick up.”

“You’re not my keeper, Nate.” I need to put that out there somehow so that I don’t still feel like a burden.

He pauses, watches me intently with that savage gaze of his—that I now know why people are afraid to make eye contact with. By using a mere look, he can make a person doubt their life. It would be safer to avoid those dark eyes and the twisted promise in them, but I don’t.

I never liked safe, anyway.

“Then what am I?”

“Huh?” I’m so completely taken aback that no other words come out.

“If I’m not your keeper, what am I?”

My dad’s best friend. But I don’t want to say that, because I hate it. I hate that it’s all he’ll ever be.

“A friend?” I try.

“I don’t do friends.”

“But you have Aspen.”

“Aspen and I work together and we’re close in age. Do you fall into that category?”

I twist my lips, wiping my clammy palm against my denim shorts.

“Do you, Gwyneth?”

Damn it and him and Aspen. And what’s with his need to have an answer to every question he poses? The dictator.

“No, I don’t. But age is only a number, you know. Just because I’m younger doesn’t mean I can’t work or be friends with you. Those things can be changed.”

“No, they can’t.”

“Yes, they can.” I plant my feet wide apart.

“Let’s say they can. That won’t be happening in the near future. So what does it make me now?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, just you. I don’t need a category to stuff you into. You’re just Nate.”

“That’s not true, though, is it?” He motions at my smartwatch and I stare at it, thinking maybe it melted by being in his presence, because that’s how it feels sometimes. Like I’m the helpless star in the sun’s orbit and my only destiny is to burn.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven, why?”

“Where were you supposed to be an hour ago, Gwyneth?”

“Oh.”

“Oh isn’t a place. Where were you supposed to be?”

“At City Hall.”

“Why?”

“To get married.”

“And were you there?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I need you to say it. Were you there?”

“No, but that’s because I came here and forgot about the time…”

“Stop.”

My insides jolt and I swear something is being rearranged near my gut, because that single word holds so much authority that it strikes me to my bones.

“Don’t do that again,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Blurt out words without thinking. Excuses are for the weak, especially if they’re not backed up by evidence or valid reasons.”

“I did have a valid reason.”

“I’m listening.”

“I told you earlier. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“And I told you that’s not the case. So that’s all cleared up.”