Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 20

Twenty

Talia

R ushing into the back hallway of Tusk, I lean up against a wall and breathe out. I let my eyes close for just one second, conscious always of the buzz of the dinner guests, the chime of silverware against plates, and the scraping of chairs. It’s only Thursday night, but the restaurant is jam packed, and I just need a moment, a few seconds, to rest my aching feet and quell my nausea.

The restaurant is full of all kinds of different food smells, often combining and conflicting. Just a moment ago, I inhaled a waft of seared steak as a customer cut into it. I stiffened and ran for the back room, where I am hiding out in the shadows now.

"The manager is looking for you," a blonde waitress calls down the hallway.

I suck in a breath and push off the wall, determined to see my shift through. I read online that the nausea should fade away after the first trimester. Pressing my hands against my abdomen, I try to keep that in mind as I hold my breath while I walk through the restaurant.

Danny, a restaurant manager that I don’t really know, is waiting impatiently at the hostess stand for me. He brushes a piece of fuzz off his dark lapel and checks his watch as I return.

"It’s only seven p.m. You should be manning the host station or walking around the dining room, talking to guests, and clearing plates. I don’t know how much clearer I can be."

I swallow and drop my gaze, stepping behind the hostess stand. "Of course. Sorry, I was just taking a bathroom break."

He frowns at me. "No more bathroom breaks for the rest of your shifts. Got it?"

Red as a beet, I gulp. "Of course. Should I make the rounds of the dining room, then?"

He opens his mouth to berate me, his expression already antagonistic. But stops when a short, balding man in an expensive-looking suit gets up from the bench he was waiting on and walks towards us. The customer looks between me and Danny, his expression aggrieved.

"I was supposed to be seated ten minutes ago," he complains. "My date is very hungry. How long are we supposed to wait?"

Pursing my lips, I turn toward the customer and give him a bright smile. "I’m so sorry that you have been waiting. It looks like your name is next on the list." I run my finger down the waitlist on the computer screen, remembering his name from when he first checked in at the hostess stand. "Tanner, party of two. Right?"

The man scowls at me and crosses his arms. "That’s correct. I want to be taken to my seat now, if you don’t mind."

I gesture out toward the dining room. "As you can see, the whole dining room is full right now. But a few tables are finishing up right now. Again, I apologize for the delay."

"Well, what am I going to get for waiting?" He demands.

Danny cuts me a look and intercedes, putting his hand in between the customer and me. "Mr. Tanner, if you would like a complementary cocktail, I would be more than happy to go grab them for you right now."

"That’s not my name!" The customer says, his voice becoming louder. "That’s my date’s name. My name is Alex, and I want to sit down and eat right now. I see an empty table right there, too." He points to the chefs' table, a large twelve-person booth next to the host stand.

I jump in, trying to soothe him and explain to him at the same time that we have a special party booked for that table that will be here in ten minutes. The party has a reservation with a star next to it, indicating that the chef actually knows them. So, there is no way in hell that I can seat the complaining guest there.

"I’m sorry, sir. If you could just…"

The customer’s face grows red, and he balls his fists up. "If you don’t sit me at that table right now, I will rip you apart."

"Sir, she’s just trying to..."

"I don’t care what she is trying to do!" the customer screams.

My heart beats in my chest.

I don’t understand why anyone would make this big of a scene or what he could possibly hope to gain from yelling at us. Danny moves forward, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. The man bats at Danny’s hand, causing Danny to back away suddenly.

I look between the two men, trying to figure out the odds of a fight breaking out right here and now.

At that very moment, Dare decides to stroll in the front door of my restaurant. He is looking around and taking in the scene playing out before me.

As the customer starts yelling at Danny, Dare strolls over, arching a brow at me.

He looks down at me with a little smirk on his face. "You don’t have to be here," he says coolly. "Do you want to leave with me?"

In the heat of the moment, I swear that I have never been so happy to see Dare. I nod tightly, my jaw tensing. My eyes mist up.

Dare holds his arm out to me with a cruel smile on his lips.

Taking his arm is the only natural solution here. So I do, stepping out from behind the hostess stand.

Danny’s head whips around, taking note of Dare.

"What are you doing?" He thunders. "We’re dealing with a situation here."

I swallow, my hand flying up to my throat. My other hand instinctively covers my belly—a new experience of just what being pregnant will entail.

But Dare doesn’t wait for me to speak up. Instead, he snarls toward the two men, moving forward aggressively. They step back immediately, their eyes glued to Dare’s exposed teeth. A vague look of horror splashes across Danny’s face.

Without so much as another word, Dare guides me out of the front door. As we are leaving, Dare shouts back over his shoulder.

"She quits!"

"What?" Danny shouts. But soon his voice is muffled by the front door as it closes.

Dare quickly strides just a few feet in front of me and reaches to open the door of his Porsche. He looks at me, his eyes shining with a certain kind of mischief. He tilts his head to the side, indicating that I should get in. My pulse racing, I climb in the car, and Dare shuts the door firmly on me.

Dare climbs in the car and starts the engine; he looks at me with a smirk. "You know, you’re leaving behind everything you ever knew. This town is a tiny pond. I am about to open your world and let you swim in the sea with all the big fucking sharks.”

He revs the engine, a grin exploding over his face.

"What?" I ask, perplexed. “Where are we going?”

He loosens his tie, ripping it off and throwing it behind him. "To the airport."

"The airport? Where are we really going?"

He pulls off with a screech of tires, a mischievous look in his eyes once more. "Somewhere quiet where we can practice being engaged."

For some reason, his answer makes a flush creep up my neck. I buckle my seatbelt and bite my lip, looking out the window.

We arrive at the airport in record time thanks to Dare's driving, which takes us well over the speed limit almost the entire way. He drives me to a private tarmac, where a helicopter is waiting.

He turns off the car and then gives me a once-over, from my hair to my shabby dress and my booted feet. “Before I slide the engagement ring onto your finger, I need to know for sure that you’re actually pregnant.”

My cheeks feel hot. "How am I supposed to prove that to you?"

He jerks his head toward the small airplane hangar that we are parked next to. "There is a lady doctor inside that building, waiting for you. You just have to pee in a cup for now. Later, there will be blood tests. But all I need to know is that you are carrying a Morgan in your womb."

"I don’t really feel comfortable showing anyone a test. But if it will make you feel more certain about it, then I guess I have no choice."

He gives me a chilling smile. "You really don’t. I’ll be waiting right here for you when you come out of the hangar."

Heading inside the hangar, I look around at the soaring ceilings and the small private plane that is parked in the middle of the large space.

"Are you Talia?"

I turn and see the doctor, a middle-aged woman with ebony skin and a short bob hairstyle. I nod, and she beckons me, leading me into a restroom. She offers me a cup, looking at me sympathetically. "I’m afraid I’ll have to stay while you fill the cup."

"Really?" I ask. "Is that necessary? I obviously don’t have anything with me. I can’t mess with the results."

She gives me a sympathetic smile and clicks the lock on the door handle. "The sooner you do it, the sooner it will be over. Trust me, I am not getting any more joy out of this than you are."

I look at her, judging that she is telling the truth about that at least. "Do you mind turning around?"

She turns her back on me, and I go through the process of filling the little plastic cup she gave me, my face burning the entire time.

After I’m done and I’ve washed my hands, I hand the sample off to her. She has put on gloves, and she quickly and efficiently dunks a strip into the cup of my urine. Exactly one minute later, with me fidgeting all the while, she looks at me with a smile.

Pulling off her gloves, she announces, "Congratulations. You’re pregnant."

She produces a small trash bag, into which she dumps the gloves, the test strip, and the urine.

"Thanks, I guess." I give her a little side eye as I let myself out of the restroom. She follows me, staying right behind me. When she sees Dare, she gives a thumbs-up signal.

I hadn’t realized until that moment that Dare was nervous. As he gets the signal from the doctor, the easing of the tension across his face is obvious. He beckons to me, turning to the helicopter and points to the pilot, who is sitting inside. The rotators start churning, whipping up quite a wind. It’s deafening from here, and I put my hands over my ears as I run up to Dare.

"We are not leaving in that, are we?"

He slings his arm over my shoulders, which causes me to tense up. He leans close, shouting in my ear. "Relax. This is your new life. Of all the things you have to get used to, this is one of the easiest."

"What if I don’t want to go?" I ask, looking at the helicopter.

"Are you really going to say no to me now? Literally all your money hangs in the balance. If you don’t do what I ask, I’ll find another woman. I had options for my wife. You must realize that."

Glaring at him, I pull the edges of my coat closer together, a breeze whipped up by the helicopter running right through me. "That’s an awful thing to say to the woman that you are supposed to be marrying."

He cocks a brow and grabs my arm. "Just be glad that I am picking you. You should feel lucky."

I'm not feeling lucky , I think. I clench my jaw and stare at the helicopter, my stomach already doing flips. But Dare doesn’t wait and doesn’t ask my opinion.

He just drags me toward the helicopter.

* * *

I am in my own pool of humiliation as we start to land, at last. My stomach has been upset since the lift-off point, but I was too busy replaying the scene in the hangar bathroom to even notice.

When we begin to descend, I turn to stare out the window. I’ve been so miserable this entire flight that I didn’t even really notice that we were landing on a private helipad.

We never really left the shore, but I could tell we were going up north. The shore is rockier and the ocean is frothier here, the beach leading up to a dramatic cliff. Just beyond, there is a large white mansion sitting on the beach.

When the pilot sets the chopper down, Dare springs from the helicopter, ripping off his headphones. He doesn’t even wait for me before turning and marching toward the house.

I clamber down from the helicopter, thanking the pilot, before I stop for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, fighting back the wave of sickness I feel.

If helicopters are the way that rich people get around, flitting from place to place, I don’t want to be a part of it. Shuddering at the icy wind that rolls off the ocean, I hug my coat close and hurry to follow in Dare’s footsteps.

As I finally catch up to him, he grins at me.

"So? It’s nice being in the air for such a short time, huh?"

I screw up my face and look forward, noticing the edge of a building down below the edge of the cliff. I squint at it and try to keep my expression from being bitter.

"I think I hated it more than I have ever hated any trip in my life."

He snorts. Finally, seeming to notice me hurrying to keep up with his pace, he slows his steps.

“You didn’t like the helicopter? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I was trying not to die or throw up."

"Well, you’ll have to get used to it. I probably spend more time in the helicopter than I do on my private plane."

"That must be nice. I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never flown anywhere. Not in a plane, not in a helicopter."

He stops in his tracks, confused. "Wait, what? Really?"

"Where would I even go? Harwicke is the only place I’ve ever known."

He gives a grunt of disgust. "We’ll have to fix that." He starts walking again, leaving me to wonder how one would fix that exactly.

With the mansion looming large to our left, I point out the structure on the beach below. Winding steps that look precarious lead down from the cliff to the structure.

"What’s that?"

"The boathouse," he replies. "We will go down there at some point, I imagine. I love to sail."

His comment startles me a little bit. I hadn’t thought about what he might like to do. He exists in some parallel universe that I’ve constructed. Outside of anything positive, outside of liking, loving, or cherishing anything, to hear him say that he loves doing something like sailing... It’s just an alien concept to me.

"Are you saying that you like to play with boats?" I ask.

He lets out a cold laugh. “If you want to put it that way, yes. I keep a sailboat and a yacht here."

"A yacht? You Morgans really have it all figured out, don’t you?”

He stops again, his stare icy. "The Morgans aren't big fans of boats. The boats are a holdover from the Mercers, my mom’s family. It’s the only thing I have left of her."

I blink, swallowing. Obviously, I’ve stepped on a touchy area. But before I can apologize or maybe make a joke to cut the tension, he whirls around and heads off toward the front door of the mansion.

Jesus, I have no idea why he is so sensitive about the whole thing. Maybe his mom causes a lot of drama or something. I have never met her, so I wouldn’t know.

Dare is already fully inside the house before I even reach the front door. Stopping at the threshold, I look around. Everything that I can see is made of dark wood and has plain white painted walls. It is a little less fancy than the Morgan mansion in Harwicke.

Still, as I look to my right, there is a staircase made of that same wood, and there are several framed pictures on the wall of women and couples from older, possibly happier times.

An unknown gentleman comes up to me, his hair white, his suit dark, and his expression haughty. He carries a white linen towel over his arm as though he were about to serve me a meal. He casts his gaze over me and sniffs.

"Welcome to the Cliffs," he says. His voice is nasally, his words meaningless to me.

"Thank you." I say.

"Please, come this way."

I follow him through the hallway and into a wood-paneled room. Though large, the room seems vaguely claustrophobic, and I pinpoint the fact that there are no windows in here. There is, however, a fireplace with a crackling, snapping fire.

All around it are uncomfortable looking, overstuffed leather couches. There isn’t so much as a table or a freestanding light fixture in here. The room is lit by sconces, which are doing a poor job of illuminating it.

Dare is already sprawled out on one of the couches, his coat messily cast aside. He looks at the butler and waves a hand, dismissing him. "We’re fine. Leave us."

I stand in the doorway, shivering and looking around. The butler bows his head, and I move aside to let him pass.

Dare looks at me, the firelight playing tricks on his face. I swear I see a hint of hunger in those blue-green eyes of his. But it's gone in the blink of an eye, just as quickly as I saw it.

"For fucks sake," Dare announces. "Come in, sit down."

My teeth start to chatter. The fire may be nice to look at, but whoever designed the chimneys did a poor job at making sure that the fire would actually warm the occupants of the room.

I walk in and take a seat, pulling my coat close to my body. Dare looks at me for a moment and then stands up, going over to a pile of blankets on the end of the couches. He carries them back, unfolding them before slinging each layer on top of me.

"How did you grow up on the coast just like I did, and yet you have no innate weatherproofing?"

My teeth chatter. "I don’t know," I manage.

He goes over to the door of the room and shuts it, then turns back and regards me.

"I’m going to need you to agree to a few things. And not just agree; I’m going to need you to sign a contract saying that you will do as I please."

I pull the blankets closer to me. They have a faint smell of must, like they have been lying on the couch for several years. Still, it’s better than nothing.

Between my clenched teeth, I say, “Like what?"

He gives me a wicked look and starts to pace the room, like a tiger trapped in a cage. "I’m so glad you asked. The first point is that we will have an ironclad prenup. Essentially, it will be a guarantee for me that you can never leave without facing complete financial ruin."

"That doesn’t seem fair." I spit out.

"It’s not. It’s not intended to be fair. It’s intended to have dire consequences if you break the prenup."

Huddling under the blankets, I can’t really think of how to come back to that. What do you say to a man as deranged as Dare?

"Well? What are the other things? I’m sure they’re just as ridiculous."

Dare ticks off items on his fingers like he is making a grocery list or something. “For one thing, you’ll have to try to forget all the standards that you have tried to live up to. Instead, you’ll aim to meet my impossibly high standards. You’ll have to fake it until you make it for at least a little while. But I have no doubt that you’ll get there in the end."

I squint at him, licking my teeth. "Great. That sounds totally achievable and not at all intimidating."

He cocks his head and paces around the room, wrapped up in listing items and not really paying full attention to me.

"You also need to know that by marrying me, your child becomes mine. I am his father from that point on. No matter what, hell or high water."

Surprisingly, I don’t have anything to add. That one actually seems rather sweet, in a fucked-up way.

“My fourth point is that you must keep the secret of the child’s parentage and of our fake marriage safe from anyone ever knowing the truth. That means you can’t tell your aunt, your friends, your doctor, or anyone else. If you see a therapist, I fully expect that you will lie about this one aspect of your life. No one can ever know. "

He turns, pinning me with his gaze. "I mean it."

I notice that my teeth are no longer chattering. I peel the blankets away from my upper body and exhale dramatically. "That much we can both agree on. I don’t want to tell anybody that I sold myself for my baby. So, the secret is just between us."

I glance away, my eyes narrowing on the horizon. If I were being completely honest with Dare, I would tell him that I’ve already spilled my guts to my best friend Olivia. But Olivia will never tell anyone. And I doubt that Dare is holding his own secrets close to his chest.

He resumes pacing, his back-and-forth movements nearly hypnotic by now. "Oh, I should think that you wouldn’t want anyone to know," he agrees.

I feel a flush rising in my cheeks, but I refuse to be shamed by him. After all, I’m only doing what he wants me to do.

"Is there anything else that you want me to sign my name to?"

His lips lift at the corners, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me. Instead, he just stalks back and forth, his circuit almost predetermined.

"Yes, I’m going to make a final point very explicit in the contract."

"Oh yeah?" I say, my eyes rolling. "What is that? A no-cheating rule?"

He stops dead, his head snapping toward me. The fiery look in his eyes makes me wish I hadn’t said anything. "I didn’t think I had to say that. But yes. There is no looking at other men, no flirting with other men, and no fucking around behind my back. I am the only man you’ll ever look at. Do you understand, Talia?"

I gulp, feeling the blood draining from my face. His glare is so intense; his posture is primed and ready; his hands form loose fists. I’m so caught off guard by it that I just nod.

"I was kidding," I rush to explain. "Of course, I don’t expect to sleep around. I don’t expect to sleep with anyone."

His gaze doesn’t falter for a second. Moving towards me, he kneels in front of me and grabs my hands.

"Swear it. Tell me right now."

My heart beats against my rib cage, a wildly fluttering bird yearning for freedom. My lips are dry, and I can’t look away from my future husband. For just this second, no one else exists in the entire universe. He squeezes both my wrists in his hands, and he growls at me.

"Promise me! I want to hear it!"

"I… I promise. I swear."

"You swear what?" he says, giving me a shake. "Tell me."

I lick my lips; my blood is cold as ice and yet hot as fire all at once. "I’ll never cheat on you."

"Not ever," he grits out, his voice low and rough. "Especially not with my brother."

My breath falters. "Of course not. The whole reason that I am marrying you is that I don’t like your brother at all in any way."

"Good." He hisses. "Well, that brings me to the final point."

God, what could be so serious? He’s looking at me now like he requires my consent to keep drawing breath or something. Like if I suddenly say no, he will stop living or something.

Dare’s face is cruel, callous, and cold as he offers his final edict.

"Don’t fall in love with me." He says it so seriously and with such perfect diction that I find his words confusing.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head as if to dislodge something from my ears. I must’ve misheard him.

"You can’t fall in love with me under any circumstances. It’s a terrible idea. Love is messy. It’s unpredictable. It’s challenging. And I need the opposite of that from you. I'm looking for something as simple, easy, and predictable as the tides. That is what I am paying you for, Talia. You understand, don’t you?"

The audacity of him telling me not to fall in love with him causes a bark of laughter to escape my lips. “You are insane. You know that, right?"

He growls and pulls my face closer to his. "I’m no fool. I've been led down the garden path before with a girl. And I'm not going to do it again. Do you hear me? Your kid…"

I can’t help but spit back, "Our kid. Didn't you say that he would be your child, too, once I officially sign this contract?"

His lips thin, and he gives me an imperious look. "Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I only meant that you should keep your mouth shut, darling girl."

A shudder runs through my body, radiating out from his grip on my arm to the very soles of my feet.

"I assure you that I am not going to just roll over one day and fall head over heels in love with you. Our situations coincided at the right time. But I still fundamentally hate your guts. I want my baby to have a great life. But I don’t need some fairytale wedding or fantasy romance for that to happen. I can live without either of those things as long as my baby and I have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies."

Dare’s lips curl. "Good. Because I have nothing to offer in that department. My ex-girlfriends have all accused me of being cold and unfeeling. Hell, when Daisy left, she said that she was getting a personality upgrade when she agreed to marry my brother. So, softness and kindness are not the qualities that you will find running rampant in my veins. I will be a strong father, and I will be richer than God. But don’t ever expect me to love you. That’s a bridge too far."

Don’t ever expect me to love you.

His words sting just a tiny bit. Some little voice calls out somewhere deep inside, feeling like I deserve better. But that voice is small, stupid, and damaged. I don’t need to listen to every gut impulse I have.

Lifting my chin, I glare at Dare. "Fine."

He gets so close that I can feel his breath as it leaves his mouth and fans over my lips. He stares at me, right through me, as if he can see into my soul, right down to the core of my shattered heart. My heart pounds, driving its rhythm against my chest.

"Fine," he says. "It’s settled, then."

He releases me, pushing himself away, standing back up, and smoothing his hands down the front of his dark jacket as if I somehow rumpled it. He plows his hand through his short, dark hair and gives himself a shake.

I suck in a breath, wondering if every argument with Dare would be that intense.

"What else do we need to talk about now that you brought me here for the weekend?" The words escape me without me even thinking them through.

Dare looks at his watch, his eyes narrowing. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, his mouth pulling down at the corners.

"I need to work for a while."

Pushing the blankets off my body, I stand up. Dare cuts me a look, and I open my mouth. He holds up a hand, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head.

"Don’t. You’d better get used to me saying that I must work. I’m going to be saying it well into my eighties, so you’ll have to hear it for another fifty years if you sign my fucking contract. I know that you said yes because you needed safety and security, but you also signed up to deal with my working all the time."

I shake my head, my mouth pinching.

"It’s true," he continues. "And besides that, I’ll need a lot of time alone. Despite what it may seem like, I need plenty of down time to recharge myself fully."

I walk over to the fire, putting my hands out and feeling the warmth of it. "That sounds like what men tell their wives when they steal away for the weekend to see their mistress."

Dare turns away, walking to the door and yanking it open. "Maybe I am not the kind of man who takes a mistress. Maybe I have my yacht instead. She is always waiting for me with open arms. She doesn’t need me to be anything but the man I already am."

I make a small sound of disgust. "You are a spoiled little boy. You know that? You just happen to be a billionaire, so you have yachts instead of toy ships. It’s ridiculous."

Dare waves a hand up and down his body, issuing his ultimatum. "I am as you find me. The deal still fucking stands. You can take it or leave it, but decide which path you’re on, and do it soon."

With that, he whirls, leaving the room. I’m left gawping at the open doorway, feeling the feeble warmth of the fireplace as it flickers against my skin.

Take him or leave him.

He is what he is. Even though I think he might actually be the fucking Devil.

Swallowing, I remind myself why I’m here. There is five hundred thousand dollars on the line. I yank the two halves of my coat closer, burrowing in it. To save Aunt Minnie, our bookstore, and Hope House, I can deal with the Devil.