Sealed with a Contract

Asher’s POV

“Contract marriage,” she whispered.

I could see right through her forced bravado. It was cute to watch her. She couldn’t even hold my gaze, looking as nervous as hell.

I smiled at her. “Of course.” Heaven knows how long I’ve waited for her and how painful it was to watch her waste herself loving someone who didn’t deserve her. I had my eyes on Ivy Whitfield for as long as I could remember. We were always stuck at the same society functions, dictated by the families we were born into. The first time I saw her, I was star-struck. We were just teenagers then. She had walked up to me, hands on her hips, and told me, “I wasn’t shit.” Apparently, I was already infamous among the ladies.

“Deal...” I extended my hand to her. She hesitated.

I wasn’t sure if she remembered, but ever since that day, I teased her relentlessly. I had always wanted her attention. I had always wanted her, and today she had played right into my hands easily. Of course, I tweaked a few things here and there, but I was still a little shocked she’d actually said yes to my proposal.

She placed her palm on mine. My smile grew as I looked into her ocean-blue eyes. This was the most physical interaction we’d ever had. “I don’t know, Ivy. Isn’t it kind of awkward sealing a marriage proposal with a handshake? I can think of a few better ways we could seal this…”

Her eyes widened.

I stifled a laugh at her startled expression. She looked like a frightened kitten. The red eyes from crying and smudged mascara couldn’t hide her beauty. Her long dark hair fell in soft waves down her back, her blue eyes were like the sea on a summer morning, and those plump red lips of hers were always in a pout. I stole a glance at them…

“I’d say a kiss would be more appropriate for the occasion, don’t you think?”

She yanked her hand away and turned to leave, but I caught her, pulling her back.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Home.”

“To cry your eyes out again? I won’t allow it.” My tone was firm. “Not for that dim-wit, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying!” she groaned, clearly frustrated.

“You should’ve thought about that before agreeing to marry me,” I teased.

She paused, as if reconsidering.

I pulled her close, slipping my arm around her waist. She gasped, clearly stunned by the sudden movement.

I grinned down at her. “You’re not drunk, are you?” I asked, studying her face. “You won’t wake up tomorrow and think you can change your mind. We’re getting married.”

She squirmed in my grasp. “Just let me go, Asher… let me go…”

I sucked in a breath. “That’s not helping at all,” I said in a hushed whisper. “Not at all.”

Her confusion was short-lived; realization hit, and she immediately looked away, embarrassed. I chuckled at her reaction.

“Let me go!” she insisted.

“I’m quite comfortable here,” I replied smoothly. “Besides, I’m dropping you home.” I held her hand and began walking toward the car park.

“I drove myself here,” she retorted.

“Someone will pick up your car tomorrow,” I said, opening the door and gesturing for her to get in. “You’re my fiancée now; it’s only right I take responsibility.”

She let out a sigh before reluctantly getting in.

I closed the door and joined her in the car. “Now, about the terms of this contract. What are we agreeing on?”

“A marriage for three years…” she started.

“Five,” I cut in, glancing at her. “Five years will seem more convincing to my family. It’s important no one else knows about this.”

“I don’t think I can tolerate you for five years,” she shot back, crossing her arms.

I threw my head back and laughed hard. “You’ll come around. You might even fall in love with me.”

She scoffed. “Like that’s ever going to happen,” she muttered under her breath.

“Five years it is!” I declared triumphantly, waiting for her to protest. None came. Too easy. “Where would you like to live?” I asked.

“In the city.”

I nodded. “You’ll move into my house…”

Her expression said it all—she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Wait, do we have to live together?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

I chuckled and clicked my tongue. “Yes, Ivy. Real married couples live together, eat together, talk to each other… have sex.”

Her face turned bright red. “No sex,” she said firmly.

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin as I watched her flushed cheeks. “Ivy, usually married couples…”

“We are not a usual couple,” she interrupted.

“We have to act the part. It has to be believable, remember?”

“No one’s going to know if we’re having sex or not,” she argued.

“Oh, they will, Ivy. They will…”

She groaned in frustration.

“Now, those are the kinds of sounds you should save for the bedroom,” I teased.

She slumped against the headrest, exasperated. “You’re infuriating.”

I chortled in amusement. Oh, I was going to thoroughly enjoy this.