Chapter 7

"You knew about the twelve months."

Elowen did not even wait for the penthouse door to latch behind them. She kicked off her heels, sending them skittering across the polished foyer floor.

"You stood in that dining room and let your grandfather drop a twelve month deadline like it was the weather, Caius. You knew about this before we signed those papers."

Caius tossed his suit jacket onto the back of the leather sofa. He reached up, yanked his black tie loose with a sharp tug, and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.

"I knew Arthur wanted a bloodline successor. I did not know he was going to shorten the window from three years to twelve months until we sat down at that table."

"And you expect me to just go along with it? To give you a baby on a timer so you can keep your CEO chair?"

"I expect you to keep your voice down so the doorman does not hear you through the hallway," Caius said, walking over to the bar. He poured two fingers of scotch, his movements steady, measured, and infuriatingly calm.

"I do not care about the doorman!" Elowen stormed across the living room, stopping on the other side of the counter. "You told me we would figure out medical consultations or fake schedules to satisfy the trust. Your grandfather wants a confirmed pregnancy within a year. A real one. That means a real child, Caius."

"I am aware of what a child is, Elowen."

"I am a human being," she said, her voice shaking with raw heat. "I am not an asset you can write into a corporate budget. I am not some piece of commercial property you can renovate to fit your grandfather's quarterly goals."

Caius set the crystal tumbler down with a soft, dangerous clink. He looked up, his gray eyes darkening under the recessed lights.

"Did I say you were an asset?"

"You treat everything like a transaction! My debt, my bakery, this apartment, this entire fake marriage. And now you expect me to sign off on a baby like it is an addendum to page four of your contract."

"If I wanted a simple transaction, Elowen, I would have paid off a surrogate in Zurich and kept you out of my house entirely."

Elowen froze, the sharp words dying in her throat. "Then why bring me here?"

"Because a surrogate does not sit at the head of the table. A surrogate does not look my grandfather in the eye and refuse to flinch. A surrogate leaves a massive paper trail for Julian and Victoria's forensic accountants to tear apart in court."

"So I am just the safest bet."

"You are my wife," Caius snapped, taking two long strides around the counter.

Elowen backed away, but her hips hit the edge of the tall wooden console table behind her. Caius did not stop until he was standing directly over her, his broad shoulders cutting off the warm light from the living room chandelier.

The scent of cedarwood, rich amber liquor, and the cold night air wrapped around her senses, thick and dizzying.

"I am not going to force you into anything," Caius said, his voice dropping to a low, rough rumble that vibrated against her skin. "I told you that on night one, and I meant it. If you want out of the pregnancy clause, we figure out an alternative legal strategy to stall Arthur. But do not stand in my home and act like I am holding a gun to your head."

"It feels like a trap, Caius," she whispered, her chest heaving as she looked up into his intense, unreadable eyes. "Every time I think I understand the rules, you change them. Every time you touch me, it gets harder to remember why I am even doing this."

"Why are you doing this, Elowen?"

"For my bakery. For my life."

"Is that all?"

"Yes," she lied, her pulse hammering wildly against her ribs.

Caius reached out, his long fingers wrapping gently around the side of her throat, his thumb resting right over the frantic beat of her pulse point. The contact was scorching, sending a jolt of pure fire straight down her spine.

"You are a terrible liar, little baker."

"Caius, let me go."

"I am not holding you," he murmured, his fingers sliding up to cup the soft curve of her jaw, tilting her face higher toward his.

Elowen tried to push his chest away, but the solid wall of muscle beneath his dress shirt only made her hands tremble harder. Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes traced the line of her neck down to her collarbone.

Caius stepped closer, his voice low.

"You are not an heir-producing machine, Elowen."

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips.

"But this marriage is no longer as simple as a signature and a ring."

He paused.

"So tell me, little baker—what happens when neither of us wants to pretend anymore?”