Chapter 8

Clarice sat in the car, her chest heaving. The silence was heavy.

She turned to Colton. She gestured to his leg, a silent question in her eyes: Are you okay?

Colton shifted slightly. "The spasm is gone. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. That kind of severe spasm indicated serious nerve damage. But he wasn't going to tell her that.

She felt a pang of guilt, not for the lie, but for the exposure. She had been careless. She typed a quick message.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you without asking.

Colton pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was silk, monogrammed with a 'B'. He handed it to her, though she wasn't crying.

"Husbands and wives don't apologize," he said. "And... thank you."

Clarice sniffled, taking the handkerchief. She looked at him, confused. This man was a labyrinth of contradictions.

"Where to, sir?" Ford asked from the front. "Straight to the estate?"

"No," Colton said. "She's hungry."

Clarice's stomach growled loudly, betraying her. She blushed.

"And then," Colton said, looking at the expensive dress Sterling had provided, a dress that still somehow looked out of place on her tense frame. "We need to go shopping. Tomorrow. You cannot meet my grandmother's entire social circle looking like you're wearing a costume."

Clarice looked down at herself. She typed: I can't afford new clothes.

"Fifth Avenue," Colton commanded.

"Fifth Avenue?" she typed, her eyes wide. "Colton, no. I can't accept that."

"It's not for you," Colton said coolly. "It's for the role. My wife must look the part. Consider it a business expense."

Clarice hesitated. She hated this, hated being a doll to be dressed up. But he was right. It was part of the contract.

She gave a reluctant nod.

Colton's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it discreetly.

Sterling: Gavin Mercer is calling your grandmother's assistant. He knows about the marriage. He's trying to get an invitation to the gala.

Colton typed a reply with one hand, without looking.

Block it. Add his name to the Bentley Media blacklist. Make sure he can't get a job as a janitor in this city.

He put the phone away. He looked at Clarice, who was staring out the window at the passing city lights, looking like a refugee in a war she didn't know she was fighting.

"Don't worry," he said. "I handle all threats to my assets."