5
Quincy
"What the… Seriously?" She throws her head back and laughs, but quickly straightens up, her expression serious. "You've got some nerve saying that to my face."
I allow a slight smile to tug at my lips. "Well, if memory serves, you didn't exactly reject the idea of marrying me when I proposed."
She scoffs, "And if you remember correctly, I couldn't say yes because I didn't know you."
"And just so you know, your father isn't against us getting married," I add, placing the tequila bottle out of her reach on the other side of the counter.
"Excuse me?" Her eyes narrow. "Bringing my father into this conversation is out of line."
"I'm a bit old-fashioned," I reply casually.
"Don't you mean ancient?" Her tone drips with sarcasm.
Ignoring her jab, I press on. "I sought his approval for our marriage."
"Excuse me?" Her eyes widen in disbelief.
"I wanted to make sure he understood my intentions were sincere before I pursued you any further," I explain. "And he gave his blessing, you know?"
She clamps her mouth shut, her expression turning stubborn. "It doesn't change anything. I'm not marrying you." Folding her arms defiantly across her chest, she stares me down.
"You will," I affirm quietly, my determination unwavering. "I promised him I'd ensure your well-being, that you'd lack nothing. I admitted it was unconventional, proposing the way I did, especially considering you're my son's ex. But I knew from the moment I saw you that we belonged together."
She gazes at me, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I'm fully aware of how awkward this is," I add gently.
Her eyebrows furrow. "And what did my father say?"
“That he was pissed-off with my son and he needed proof that I wouldn’t do the same to you. I told him I’d have married you right then, if I could've, but since that wasn’t happening, I gave him my word?—”
“Y-your word?” she sputters.
I nod. “A gentleman’s word is everything, and I promised him we’d be married as soon as you agreed to my proposal.”
“You promised—?” Color smears her cheeks. “You promised?” Her voice rises toward the end of the statement.
“I did the right thing, didn’t I?” I say it, knowing full well it’s going to anger her, and she doesn’t disappoint me.
“You dared talk about me when I was not in the room? Like I am some... Some... Bit of chattel?” she spits out.
“It was a man-to-man conversation.” That, too, is aimed at riling her up, and once more, she rises to the challenge.
“About me!” She curls her fingers into fists. “How dare the two of you decide my fate when I wasn’t in the room? What do you think this is? Regency England? I didn't realize you were that old.”
I suppress a smirk. “It was simply my way of putting your father’s fears to rest. I realized he wasn’t well, and he felt helpless that his daughter’s wedding had fallen apart. He knew you were hurt, and he couldn’t do anything about it. This was my way of handing some of the control back to him.”
“Oh.” She deflates a little. “You’re right; he was upset about what happened. What father wouldn’t be? The last thing I would've wanted was for him to witness my humiliation, but”—she points a finger at me—“how dare the two of you discuss things that could impact me, and in my absence?”
“It’s totally up to you to decide, of course.”
“Why, thank you for letting me have a say in my own future,” she snarls.
I tilt my head, pretending not to hear the scorn dripping from her tone. “You’re welcome.”
She thrusts out her chin, frustration inherent in the way she holds herself stiffly. “You’re a chauvinistic pig.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I agree.
She gazes at me, her frustration evident in the creases on her face. "I think you should go."
"Only if you come with me."
"Dream on." Again, she reaches for the tequila bottle, but I block her with my body. Judging by her flushed cheeks and intense gaze, she's had enough to drink. Any more and she'll be sick.
Has she eaten today at all? It's been a tough day for her. The stress of the wedding, Lawrence standing her up, and then my unexpected proposal. It's a lot to handle! Her emotions must be all over the place, and alcohol won't help.
She leans too far, the stool wobbles, and she starts to slip. I reach for her shoulder and steady her. She rights herself and shakes off my hand. "Don't touch me."
"Is that how you talk to your soon-to-be husband?"
She makes a gnashing sound with her teeth and looks like she’s about to throw herself at me, not that I wouldn’t welcome that. And when she purses her luscious lips, they form a moue, and all I can think of is having them wrapped around my cock. I shake my head. Nope, don’t go there. This is not about sex… Well, not only.
I admit, from the moment I saw her, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Not even the fact she was going to marry my son stopped me from wanting her. And when I realized Lawrence had stood her up, I seized the opportunity. At my age, you don’t wait for the right moment. You know that these feelings come around but once in a lifetime; so when you feel this strongly about a woman, you don’t hesitate.
You claim her, and keep her, and worship her, and take care of her, so she never wants for anything. It also means, you protect her with everything you have.
I glance around the room, making sure to look every asshole who’s looking at her in the eye. They promptly look away. Losers. None of them deserve to set their gaze on a goddess like her.
"Did you just growl?" Her eyes widen.
I don’t reply.