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

Chapter 21

Twenty-One

Dare

T he sun has long since risen when I head outside, my jaw clenched, ready to pounce on anyone who so much as looks at me the wrong way. I know it’s exactly the way that Remy usually behaves. His staff is all terrified of him whenever he gets into a mood because he lashes out and fires people left and right.

Not wanting to replicate that environment, I take a long walk outside.

When I reach the edge of the cliff, just beside the pathway that begins to slope down from here to the boathouse, I stare out into the ocean. It is still extremely windy outside, with the chilly air ripping at my clothes and tussling my hair.

The sea is especially wild right now, with the sun slanting behind me, indicating that it will soon be noon. I squint out into the horizon and think about why I am here.

Though I detest Talia and everything that she represents, she alone has the key to the Morgan empire growing inside her. Remembering that is hard, especially when I can’t even talk to her without it turning into a fight and me storming out of the room. I must focus my anger.

If I want to lead the company and bring oil up from the depths of the coast here, I must think strategically rather than letting Talia turn my head. She seems to know just what buttons to push to arouse my rage.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Then I pull my cell phone from my pocket and text my assistant, Rob.

I need the team of stylists right now. Make it happen.

I take a final breath in and slip the phone back into my breast pocket without waiting for a response.

I have a tangible goal. I need to marry this woman and claim my rightful place as heir to the family fortune. I can’t let anything, or anyone get in my way.

I walk back to the house, and Talia is in the kitchen, eating a salad with sliced chicken breast and roasted chickpeas piled high on top of it. She is sitting at a long, wooden table with a metal mixing bowl and a fork, diligently eating forkfuls.

She glances at me, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I open the refrigerator myself and frown as I pull out the various makings of a sandwich. I turn back around and find her watching me carry the ingredients to a counter with a hint of surprise in her eyes.

"What?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I never thought that I would see you constructing your own meal, that’s all."

I pull two thick slices of bread out of a bag and put them down on the counter. "I would usually ask Alastair to do it, but he seems to be otherwise occupied somewhere."

"Is Alastair the butler?"

I nod. "He’s been with our family for fifteen years. He is very competent at his job."

She stabs a piece of lettuce with her fork and nods slowly. "I think that’s the first time that you have spoken highly of a servant in front of me."

I give a bark of laughter. "Are you kidding? The servants all around me are the only people who are good at their jobs. All the other corporate executives that flit around, hoping to lick Remy’s boots, are basically useless."

Done with her lunch, she stands up and gives me a considering look. "It’s interesting to know that you think that."

She picks up her bowl and carries it to the sink, leaving it there for a moment. She looks around, hesitating.

"Do you need help with something?" I asked dryly.

She huffs and crosses her arms. "I was just trying to decide if Alistair would prefer me to leave the salad there or if he would want me to put the leftovers in a Tupperware or something."

I give her a puzzled look. "What do you mean? Just throw the salad away if you are done eating it."

"What if I just want to save it for later? I don’t want to waste food."

I roll my eyes. "It’s just a little salad. Leave it on the counter. When you are hungry again, ask Alastair to make you another. Or something else. We’re not exactly conserving our chickpeas here in the Morgan family."

She looks at me, dead serious. "I don’t think that you realize how many people in the world would kill to have what you have. Just because you have plenty of food does not mean that you should throw it away. You should be more grateful than that."

Putting together my sandwich, I give her a long glance. "I think that I’m doing just fine."

Her mouth bunches, but she just shakes her head and tosses her hair over her shoulders on her way out of the kitchen. I stop her before she leaves the room.

"Wait just a second."

Her back straightens, and she stops but doesn’t turn around.

I press on. "I think we can both agree that your way of dressing does not fit into my world. A whole team of stylists is coming here to help you more fully commit to the new role you’re going to have to take on."

Talia glances back at me, a ripple of distaste crossing her pretty face. "And what role is that?"

"You’re supposed to be my flawless bride. Look at your competition. Take Daisy, for example."

A sour look pulls out her lips. "I’d rather not."

"You should consider her a good candidate for comparison, though. She might not be to your liking, but she is exactly what I need you to be. She’s poised, elegant, and always dressed for the occasion, whatever it is. Her hair, nails, and skin are perfect. Her makeup is tasteful."

She gives a cold little laugh. "Maybe you should try to woo Daisy back, then."

Putting my sandwich down, I spread my hands on the counter and look Talia in the eye. "You’re going to have to measure up—and not just to Daisy. But by the Morgan standard, that is impossibly high. You are the soon-to-be fiancée of a young, handsome billionaire. To be frank, you look like a street urchin right now."

I don’t miss the flash of hurt that echoes in her eyes. She turns away, her hands tightening into fists. Her tone when she speaks is dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m sorry that I am so displeasing to you. It must be a terrible burden to have to remake such a bumpkin like me."

I cross my arms and try to keep my temper in check.

Talia turns her head, her gaze flitting over me as if weighing my value.

"Don’t fight me on this. It’s not a battle that you want to enter. We have unlimited resources. So, use them for once, and don’t be a drama queen," I grit out.

She curls her lip and starts to leave the room once more. I watch her figure as she heads down the hallway, soon disappearing.

I know I was just telling her what needed to be said, but a small part of me wonders if I was too harsh. It is my goal to marry her, convince everyone that she is all that I have claimed she is, and ultimately to claim the prize. Morgan Drilling and the massive fortune that will be mine at the end of this long, winding road. So, what if there are a few bumps as I carry her up the hill?

Taking a deep breath, I pick up my sandwich again.

When I find her again an hour later, she is sitting in the large sunroom, staring vacantly into space while she sits on a white couch.

I glance out at the view of the ocean, the fading light throwing long shadows over the insulated double-walled glass of the sunrooms' exposed windows that make up three quarters of the room. I clear my throat and she seems only then to notice me, sitting up a little straighter on the couch.

"What, is the glam squad here already?"

I step into the room and sweep my gaze over the scene. "The glam squad will be here within the hour, I’m told."

She looks less than enthused. "Great. What do you need me for, then?"

I make a gesture with my palm. "Stand up. Let me have a look at you."

Spreading her hands on her chair, she lifts herself off the couch and does a spin, turning herself around three hundred and sixty degrees. "Does this please you, my lord?"

The sarcasm in Talia’s tone hits me like a stone wall. My lips twist as I give her an assessing gaze, my eyes traveling up and down her petite form. She’s wearing her oversized coat, some sort of ill-fitting black skirt that hangs down well below her knees, and a pair of army boots. I purse my lips and shake my head.

"To be honest? Not really. All your clothes need to be burned."

The snotty smirk on her lips is wiped away, quickly replaced by a scowl.

"They are perfectly good clothes."

"For a commoner, maybe, but you’re not a commoner anymore. That’s what I’m trying to get through your skull. When you dress yourself, you must remember that you are representing me."

I wave to my body, plucking my lapel and straightening the cuff of my Oxford shirt.

"I take great pride in the way I dress. This suit?" I pinch the collar of my jacket between my fingers. “This is a bespoke wool suit from Italy. It’s handmade and costs at least ten thousand dollars. This shirt? It’s made of Egyptian cotton and silk, making it the nicest button-up that money can buy. The same goes for my shoes. They are custom-made to fit my feet, and I have one hundred pairs of them. Looking like you belong is almost as good as actually belonging."

Talia stands up and moves towards the window, masking her expression or perhaps just gazing outside while she mulls over my words.

"So what? What is it that you want me to do?"

All the sass and the fire that she previously had vanishes in that moment. Her voice is quiet, her shoulders slightly rounded. She looks like a woman who’s been defeated.

While I need her to comply with my wishes, I didn’t want to crush her spirit entirely. Repressing a sigh, I move toward her, my arms crossing. I shift my gaze away from her body and begin making a list.

"The first thing that you need is poise. Women with their parents’ money, women that have climbed the social ladder, and women who have married up—they all possess a strong sense of self. Rather, they walk around looking like they do, whether or not they have a sense of who they are." I wave my hand. "That’s another discussion, I guess. But you need to act like you are the most important thing in the room. No, the most important thing in the world. You need to act self-possessed, and you need to demand, not ask, for everything. You must be an impressive choice for me, a billionaire. People must look at us together and think that we are a great match."

Talia crosses her arms and keeps looking out the window, walking a little further away. "As opposed to how we appear now?"

"If I saw us together now, would I be impressed? No, I would have questions. I see someone who is very careful about his appearance paired with someone who looks like an anonymous, mousy little nobody."

She raises her hands to her face, blotting at her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see that my words have upset her. At some point, though, they would need to be said. She can’t just expect to blend into my world of luxury and wealth without changing a single thing about herself. The thought is unreasonable.

She stands facing away from me, still looking out the window. Now I am certain that she is masking her emotions from me. But maybe that’s a good thing. After all, I did tell her that she had to keep her feelings from reaching her face.

I leave the room for just a few moments, grabbing an electronic tablet and a pen. When I sweep back into the room, Talia looks at me, her face a smooth mask.

Looking at the tablet, I pull up the prenuptial agreement and offer it to her. "I’ve arranged to have my lawyers draw up our agreement. You’ll need to sign on the dotted line before I can transfer any funds to you."

Looking at me with an anxious expression, she takes the tablet and pen from my hands and walks back to the window. She leans her head against the wall and begins reading.

"What is this?" She inquires, her voice low. I’m not sure whether she is talking to herself or not, but I clear my throat.

"It’s just what we have already agreed on. What we talked about earlier. Plus, the contract lays out how much money you will receive in addition to the five hundred thousand. It says that you will get one hundred thousand dollars per year, deposited into an account of your choice. It also specifies a couple of points.”

She looks up at me, and I can feel her weary gaze. "What kind of points?"

"You shouldn’t ever tell anyone who fathered our kid. That includes doctors. Also, it stipulates that if you ever want to leave me, you forfeit everything I’ve ever given you, and you lose the kid in the bargain. Plus, you will need to maintain your looks and health for the foreseeable future."

Pushing out her cheek with the tip of her tongue, Talia looks down at the tablet as she scrolls through the pages. Without looking up, she says, "You know that I’m going to gain weight while I’m pregnant, right? Or do you not allow for that in your contract?"

Her words are so sharp, and her tone is downright acerbic. For a split second, I am too surprised to respond. "Of course, it's not written in the contract because it’s not necessary. I’m not going to require you to be any certain kind of way. I just want you to be healthy and presentable for as long as possible."

Her lips thin, and she looks up, piercing me with her blue gaze. "Healthy and presentable. How nice for you."

I roll my eyes, losing patience with her little tantrum. "As soon as you sign the contract, I will wire an initial payment into an account that I’ll set up for you. I’ll start with fifty thousand now, two hundred thousand when we actually tie the knot. The final two hundred and fifty thousand will come when you deliver the baby."

Pushing herself off the wall, she says, "Is that all? Does your document ask me to give you a piece of my soul in exchange for your dirty money?"

Talia moves as if she is going to brush right past me, out of the sunroom. But I grab her wrist and haul her to face me, fury rising within my chest. I look down into her eyes and lean close, not even trying to disguise the fact that I am abjectly threatening her now.

"You forget who you’re talking to. I hold all the cards. If you want not only a better life for your baby but for your Aunt Minnie to be dug out of the financial pit that she is trapped in, you’ll sign the contract."

Her eyes go wide, and her face pales a little. She whispers, "Don’t you have doubts about this marriage? It’s a big life-changing thing."

I release her wrist from my grip and tell her no. "I’m always certain of everything I do. I made this decision, and now we are both traveling down this path together. Sign the fucking contract already."

She stares at me for a few more seconds, tucking a fiery strand of her hair behind her ear. And then she releases a breath and bows her head, signing the contract.