Bride: The Deceit Duet Book One Read online

  “Mr. Prince is out back,” I’m told by the gray-haired butler.

  “Thank you,” I tell him as he opens the door for me.

  I step out onto an expansive concrete patio filled with more furniture than my house. Gabriel, looking very human in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, stands in the center of the lawn looking up at the clear blue sky.

  I place the manila folder containing both contracts on a table. “Hello,” I call out, gathering my nerve to cross the patio to stand at the edge.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Watch out,” he warns, just as something loud and metal whizzes within inches of my face.

  “What the...” I exclaim, ducking and throwing my arms to protect my head.

  He grins as the object crashes next to his leather clad feet. “Sorry,” he says with too much amusement to really be sorry. “A new toy. It’s a Fold Dragon Drone, top of the line.”

  I lower my arms, knowing he’s trying to impress me with his expensive toys. All I can think is how Tennyson would have that contraption broken within minutes. “Ah.”

  “It has twelve propellers.”

  I nod. “Still haven’t learned to fly one, I see.”

  His white teeth flash against the dark stubble on his jaw. “I think it’s just you.”

  To my dismay, I want to smile back at his playful remark. Instead, I erect the shield that’s going to protect me through this arrangement. “I have a contract for you to sign as well.”

  He stalks closer to me, unphased by my words, and the breeze rumples his hair, completing his casual look. “Ah, and what exactly is in this contract?”

  His eyes sweep down my pink tank and jean shorts to my sandaled feet and back up again. Needing distance, I turn away from the force of him and cross to the table where my demands lie. Once I have them in my hand, I dig in my purse and pull out the only pen I have—a Pusheen the cat pen that Tennyson loves.

  I hold it out, along with the papers. “Just sign and date it.”

  “I’d like to read over it.” He leans down to whisper in my ear as he takes them from me, “I’d be a fool not to.”

  A shiver starts at my toes and rockets up my body, nearly curling my spine. My eyes meet his, and I can’t help but think, the only fool here is me for agreeing to this.

  Six

  Gabriel

  * * *

  A contract? I almost want to laugh at her, but instead, I take a seat at the wrought-iron table. Normally, when handed a contract, I call Patrick, my attorney, and let him read through it before I even lay eyes on it. Patrick is smart. Patrick is wise. And he never lets me sign anything until he and his firm give it their utmost attention.

  But, Clementine has piqued my interest. And no one ever piques my interests when it comes to contracts. I smile at her handwritten contract as she takes a seat next to me.

  My eyes zero in on the words written there:

  There will be no sex.

  I read the vague line over and over. “Ever?” I ask her.

  She straightens her posture. “No, never.”

  “With anyone? Ever again, for the rest of my life?”

  “Well, no. I guess not.” She touches her bottom lip with the pad of her finger.

  I scan to the next item and laugh after I read the words written there:

  Gabriel Prince will not come onto Clementine Bright during the course of the marriage.

  “What?” she asks, her eyes narrowing on me. “These are good terms and I won’t be lenient on them.”

  I set the paper down. “Can I ask you something?”

  She composes herself before answering. “Ok,” she says, slowly.

  “Everything in this contract is assuming I would try to seduce you.” I lean back in my seat, capping her kitty cat pen and placing it on the table. “What if you try to seduce me?”

  Now it’s time for her to laugh. “As if.”

  “What?” I scoot closer to her, touching a stray strand of her long hair, letting it run through my fingers. “Imagine you’re all alone one night. You’re feeling naughty and you’re in that place somewhere between sleep and awake, and your hand roams over your body.”

  She swallows, and I take notice of her smooth skin, wanting to touch it.

  “Your fingers trace over your panties. And it’s been a long time.”

  She takes one slow blink and then opens her eyes, focusing on mine.

  “A really long time since you’ve been touched. Your fingers dip beneath the band of your panties.” I don’t stop with this scenario because it’s a power play. Who breaks first?

  Who calls the bluff? It won’t be me. She wants to write a sex contract with it all geared to me being the one who would break first, then this is what she gets.

  I live on control.

  I never sway once I’ve made a decision about something.

  Who does she think she is?

  She doesn’t know the rules to this game.

  And one thing I would never do is sign a contract for her. Sex or not.

  I never planned on having sex with my wife, and I still don’t. But, I would love to bring her to her knees and let her beg for it.

  She thinks I would be the one to want her? No, I’ll make sure she wants me.

  “Imagine yourself running your hands between your thighs. Wishing you had a man’s hands on you. Hands like these.” I let go of her hair, opening my palm and stretching my fingers out.

  She shakes her head. “No,” she breathes out.

  “It’s been a long time. And one night you’ll come begging…” I can’t even finish my words before her eyes meet mine.

  There’s a fire burning deep within her. And it’s not sexual.

  No, it’s much worse.

  “I would never beg.”

  “You sure about that?” I ask her again.

  She scoots her chair further away from me, her hands grabbing the contract. “How am I sure you won’t try something on me?”

  I let my eyes run over her tight body, but I don’t let the smell of jasmine and memories suck me down into a depth with her where I won’t be able to climb back out.

  “When I slide deep inside you and fuck you until you can’t remember asking me to sign this silly contract,” I stand, “you’ll beg me for it.”

  She bounds out of her chair, clenching her teeth as tightly as she holds the contract in her hand. “That’ll never happen.” She brushes past me as she leaves.

  I grab my phone, taking command over the drone once again. It lifts from the ground as I fly it over the backyard.

  “Was that Clementine?” Ronin asks.

  I set my phone down, letting the drone plummet to the ground. “Don’t let your mind wander over her.”

  He leans against the jamb of the double french doors and crosses his arms. “Why’s that?”

  I walk closer to him. “She’s going to be my wife.”

  He laughs. “I feel sorry for her.”

  My brother’s trying to goad me, trying to push the buttons that once used to make me flame white-hot with anger back in the past. But, now I just chuckle. Yes, a slow chuckle. “Why? Because she’ll have a better life than the one she has now? Because I’ll be able to give her the life no other man can? Is that why you feel sorry?” My eyes never sway from his as I walk over to him.

  “You’ll ruin her.”

  “Like you ruined her sister?”

  Ronin slams me against the wall of the house, his hand gripping the fabric of my shirt. “You don’t know anything.”

  I shove back, gripping my hand around his neck, squeezing just enough to let him know who’s boss. “Things have changed, older brother.” I give him a push before letting go and he stumbles back a few steps.

  “I see that.” His eyes never break contact. “She’s a good person. She has a son.”

  Now my anger’s set loose. “Obviously, Grandfather had his reasons.”

  He scoffs. “Still doing what he says. When are you going to break free from him and
do things for yourself?”

  He has no clue. I turn away from Ronin, trying to wrap my head around this whole marriage to come. I need to announce the engagement soon, and with Clementine not cooperating this is taking longer than I originally thought.

  I turn back to Ronin. “I need a favor.”

  Seven

  Clementine

  * * *

  Papers. Words. All strewn together to create my future. Tennyson’s future. I breathe out a sigh of misery.

  Gabriel Prince doesn’t care if I’m miserable. The man has no feelings. He’s too busy being gorgeous. And controlling. He’s just a god-like statue of broodiness bending people like me to his will.

  “Mommy,” Tennyson’s light voice says from behind me.

  I turn around to see Tennyson in his Batman pajamas holding his yellow blanket close to his chest. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a monster in my room.”

  I push the papers aside, knowing all too well about evil doings. “Let’s go check it out.” I grab Tennyson’s hand and lead him back down the hall to his room. “Where is he?” I ask, flicking on the bedside lamp.

  He points to the closet while still holding strong to his yellow blankie. This yellow blanket has been his crutch since he was a baby, and I don’t have any plans of taking it away anytime soon. Let him grow up to always have his blankie with him. If he needs it, then I will make sure it always stays around. “He’s in there.”

  I open the closet door, knowing full well the umbrella hanging against his shoe rack is the monster in question. I turn on the light to the closet. “Is this your big bad monster?” I ask, pulling the umbrella down and showing it to him.

  “Can you lay with me?” He rubs his tired eyes with the palm of his hands.

  “Ok.”

  I pull back his covers and we both climb in. I sing him a soft lullaby and his eyes drift closed. His light brown hair falls in his eyes, and I push the strands off his forehead.

  We lay in silence once my song has ended, and his breathing is soft and slow. He’s asleep.

  A knock at the door startles me a few minutes later, or I think it’s a few minutes later.

  I move through the hallway, trying my best to smooth down my hair from the sleep I was gently pulled under.

  “One second,” I say to the door, staring at the mirror before checking the peephole.

  Ronin.

  I open the door. “Why are you here so late?”

  “It’s not even ten pm yet.”

  Well, it feels late. “Come on in,” I say, remembering my manners. I shake off the last bit of sleep as I open the door wider for him to step through.

  “I’ve come by to...”

  I hold up my hand. “I’m sure I know why you’re here. You can tell him I have his papers and we can go ahead with this ridiculous marriage thing.”

  He laughs, his smile spreading from cheek to cheek. “I’m sure Gabriel will be pleased to hear that.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t really care all too much about pleasing him.”

  He rubs the back of his neck as he moves into the living room. “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you? You’re not the one forced into this stupid…” Ugh, I can’t even get the words out. And I shouldn’t be taking this resentment out on Ronin. Even though he’s bred from the same cloth, it isn’t his fault I’m where I am now.

  “No, listen. I get it. That’s why I came over.” He pauses before continuing, “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” He steps closer, real concern lacing the edges of his eyes.

  I shoo the notion away that anything could ever be anything but alright. “I’m fine.”

  He stares at me. “Are you really, though?”

  I sigh. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

  This earns me a soft chuckle from Ronin. “It’s been a long time since I saw you. I guess the last time was when I picked up Savannah…” He stops talking.

  Tears well in my eyes at the mere implication of Savannah’s absence. It’s been years, but it still feels like yesterday.

  He changes the subject. “I see you have a son now. How’d that happen?”

  I smile, knowing full well he’s not asking about the actual biological way that children are made. “Just one of those things,” I say with a shrug.

  “Listen, I know you don’t want to marry Gabriel. He can be…”

  “Daunting?” I finish for him.

  He cracks a sly grin. “I was going to say demanding, but sure, daunting works too. I know he can be all the things you will probably hate. And I know my grandfather is a sick fuck. But, think of the money, Clem. Think about your future.”

  I’ve already thought about it over and over. And I know I am going to say yes. I just keep hoping somehow something will change. A Hail Mary. A new plan where we can get out of this mess.

  I thought this was the 21st century. I didn’t think things like arranged marriages happened anymore. And screw Joseph Prince for having the upper hand over my future.

  “I’ve already signed the contract,” I say.

  He taps his hand on the counter. “Oh, ok. I should get going.” He jabs a thumb toward the door.

  I thank him for coming over as I walk him to the door. We both step outside onto the porch, and I pull my sweater together in the front to warm me. “Bye, Ronin. I’ll see you at the wedding, I guess.”

  His eyes do this strange sweep of me. “If you ever need anything…” He lets the words linger in the night air, because he knows just as well as I do, that with Gabriel, I’ll want for nothing.

  Except. “I could probably use a friend.”

  His eyes lighten. “No truer words have ever been spoken.”

  “And maybe, if I ever need it…” I chew on my bottom lip before finishing, “a getaway plan.”

  He winks. “You got it.” His eyes linger on my face again. “You look so much like her,” he whispers. And then he does the most unexpected thing. He leans in, cupping my cheeks with his hands.

  My heart beats an unsteady rhythm as his cool, dark eyes meet mine. And then his lips touch mine and I don’t know what to do.

  His tongue pushes my lips apart, and he deepens the kiss. His hands are now in my hair, pulling the strands closer to him. His tongue runs along mine and I reach my hands up his chest to push him away.

  I break the kiss, stunned.

  “I’m not her, Ronin.”

  Pain, that looks so much like mine, stares back at me. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  And with that, Ronin leaves my house.

  Eight

  Gabriel

  * * *

  “Everything’s all set?” I ask the lawyers assembled in my office as they read over the final paperwork that will chain Clementine to me for the next year.

  “Yes, sir,” Patrick tells me. “The marriage contract is ironclad.”

  “Good. That will be all.”

  After they’re gone, I stare at her dainty signature on the papers. I suspect even if I had chosen my own bride, the details would have remained the same. A simple prenup with an added addendum for all the monies Clementine will have once we separate.

  It’s crazy that we already know the date of our divorce before we even say our vows.

  Beside the expensive legal documents sits her single page of self-made demands. I pick it up and skim over her contract, reading through her sexual no-no’s and wonder if she’d be this way with anyone she’d marry.

  I doubt it.

  She has a spark inside her that could start an inferno, if I’m not careful. I see it flare every time I’m around her. It almost amuses me, in a sick way, when I see her getting all riled up at something I say. When you’ve bent enough people to your will, it’s like discovering a rare tech gadget when you come across someone who won’t.

  It makes me want to keep pissing her off. It makes me want to show her all the things she’s missing out on—my tongue, my fingers, my dick.

  But, thi
s isn’t a game. I need a wife, not a playmate. Clementine won’t be my bride because I want to fuck her.

  So, I pick up my Meisterstück platinum-coated pen, trying not to smile when I remember her cat pen, and sign on her dotted line.

  Instead of having my personal assistant make sure she receives it—because what’s the fun in that—I grab my cell, scroll through my contacts and bring up her name.

  “Come meet your husband,” I text her.

  “I’m at work,” is her swift reply.

  Her work ethic is admirable, but I can’t wait until she won’t need her job and can meet me on a whim when I so demand it. An extensive background check into Clementine revealed all the basic details of her work resume. Her cake making job—although cute—could never pay her what she’ll be getting from me. She could work all her life and never come close to what she’s being offered.

  “What time will you be off?” I answer her back.

  “Soon.”

  Soon? That’s not a timeline I can deal with. My hands immediately gravitate to my temples, and I press the pads of my fingers into the throbbing skin. Not even married yet and already my soon-to-be wife stresses me out.

  I call for my driver. “Stefan, bring the car around.”

  I stand and shrug on my Westmancott suit jacket before securing the paper that’s so important to her into a manila envelope.

  The sun dips below the horizon just a touch when I step onto the front porch of the estate and watch the black Bentley Mulsanne drive up the cobblestone circular drive. Stefan parks, steps out, and then opens the back door for me.

  I slide into the leather backseat, placing my phone on the center console. “Take me to Let Them Eat Cake.”

  His blue eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t question. “Yes, sir.”

  He pulls away from the oversized mansion.

  My grandfather had great taste. I have better. I like the finer things life has to offer. Some may call me pretentious, but I don’t like to put a label on things.

  When we arrive, of course, she’s not there. Everything has to be as difficult as possible when it comes to her.