He turns around with that hateful fucking smirk on his face again, carrying a bottle that looks like crystal wrapped around some amber liquid, plus two glasses.
“I did what I needed to get you here. You can forgive me later, babe,” he says, so fucking sure that I will. Then he sets everything on the little black walnut coffee table between us, popping the cap.
Slowly, he fills our glasses. “The finest bourbon in Europe. Something like fifteen thousand euros a bottle. It's a very special day, and the drinks should match the mood.”
It rolls like gold over the perfectly round scoop of ice in each glass. He slides mine over to me, and I grip it tight, letting the cold numb my hands. I can't promise I won't hurl the heavy glass at his face, first chance I get.
If I'm going to hurt this royal asshole for what he's done to me, I'd might as well do it in style. Picturing him with a knot rising on his damnably handsome head almost makes me smile.
“What's wrong with you?” I say through clenched teeth. “Really. I want you to explain what's going on here, and I mean now. I'm going to call the embassy if you don't. I'll tell them you've taken me hostage.”
“Hey, no need to get ugly.” He frowns, pulling away the glass he's just taken a long sip from. “Yes, I suppose you need answers, don't you? It's only fair. How do I say this delicately?”
He turns his head. Both of us know full well that delicate isn't in this man's makeup.
“Fuck,” he says, making me blink. I still haven't gotten used to hearing a Prince drop the F-bomb like he's one of the frat boys on campus. “How do I put this?”
“What?” I ask quietly, feeling my heart slow to a patter, bringing my drink to my lips with the hope it'll steel my nerves. “What is it?”
“I need you to marry me, Erin Warwick.”
Oh.
Oh, Jesus!
Just like that, it's out. An answer that only invites a thousand more questions, if only it didn't completely stop my heart.
I shouldn't be sipping this whiskey, or bourbon, or whatever the hell it is. The sting in my throat causes me to cough, and turns the world upside down.
I can't see straight. Can't stand up. Can't even breathe.
Prince Silas' strong arms wrapping around me is the last thing I sense before I completely black out.
It hits me in the face. Just a cold, crisp bite to the nose, bringing me back to life.
Gasping for air, I jerk up in his arms, and feel the water dripping off me. No, it's more than that. He has an ice cube on my head, gently positioned in his lap, of all places.
We're on the couch. It takes him a minute to see me blink before he moves, realizing I'm awake.
“Perhaps I ought to work on softening my delivery after all,” he says. I'm too weak and confused to be bothered by the smirk on his face.
This can't be real life, can it?
“You were out for five minutes. I was going to call a medic. These blackouts must run in the blood, though I know your poor father has more reason than you do to lose it.”
I sit up, hearing the heavy ice slip off my head and hit the floor like a baseball. “Fuck you. You said you'd give me an answer, asshole. You've only left me wondering. I need to go. My flight...”
“Whoa!” Prince Silas gets up and stands in front of me. He's too big, too fast, and too damned imposing to maneuver around. “Let's talk this out. I'm only asking for three years, love. Not a whole bloody lifetime.”
“Three years of what?!”
“Marriage, of course.” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I should get that medic after all, so we're sure you didn't bang your head...”
Marriage. That word again. As ludicrous as it is heavy.
“Why – for the love of God – why would you want to marry me? This is insane,” I tell him, trying to push past him again.
It's hopeless, I know. But I'm going to faint a second time if I don't keep moving, trying to make myself believe this isn't just a twisted nightmare.
“Because I know everything about you, Erin, and I've got all the leverage in the world,” he says softly, grabbing my wrists and pulling me against his chest. “That's the funny thing about being a Prince – I have an obscene degree of control over everyone's life except my own. And let me tell you, I have my issues. You're the answer to about ninety-nine of them.”
“You're insane,” I tell him, finding my new favorite word. My eyes scan the table for that glass.
Just my luck that I spilled what was left of my drink when I blacked out. Otherwise, I'd have thrown it in his face and followed it up with a resounding slap, right across that five o'clock shadow he wears, dangerously close to my skin.
I'm sweating, flushed with heat. It's not just the alcohol or the fainting spell.
Wait. No.
This is already fucked up enough. You can't be turned on right now, I tell myself, shaking my head.
“Yes, yes, I know what it sounds like,” Prince Asshole says, thankfully mistaking my gesture. “Believe me, Miss Warwick, it's nothing but business. I'm making you an offer. Proposal, I should say, but getting down on one knee and shoving a million dollar ring on your finger is only going to send mixed messages.”
“Let. Go.” He releases me, and I stumble back, throwing one hand out when he approaches, thinking I'm going to fall over again. “I need some fresh air.”
He gently leads me over to a huge private balcony door. A soft ocean breeze caresses my face the instant the door opens. We step outside, and I've never been so grateful for sweet oxygen.
“I know your father's very sick,” he say softly, helping me over to a big lounging chair. “I also happen to know your family doesn't have the resources to give him the chance he deserves. I can do that. As a show of good faith, that's the reason he's off to Mexico on one of my planes – they can do marvelous things there doctors aren't allowed to do in our slow, but civilized countries. He needs the very best, something experimental.”
My head is still reeling. It takes me a full minute with him hovering over me, eyeballing me, before I can bring myself to speak.
“And that's what you'll give me if I...marry you?” God. It scorches my tongue just to say it.
“Certainly, that's the major benefit. I'm also offering you a two million dollar stipend and all expenses paid for, while we're together. Far more than any glorified actress has ever earned. You'll sign a prenup overseen by the best lawyers in the kingdom, of course, and I may ask you to do something when our time comes to an end that turns your name in this country to fucking mud.”
“Oh.” My hands clench the edges of the chair, tightening in disbelief. “So, not only am I supposed to marry you, but you're asking me to piss off several million people?”
“Only for the tabloids.” Prince Silas frowns, waves his hand, as if it's no worse than asking me to do the dishes. “I can't have you going down like my late mother, you see. The people would never understand that divorce, if they love you. Especially after all the years my father had his flings behind her beloved back.”
It makes a sick kind of sense, knowing the history I've read about his family.