CRUEL MARRIAGE (Cruel #6)

1. Katherine

1

Katherine

My patent leather high heels clicked against the hardwood floor. I reached the wall, pivoted, and walked back the length of the room, wearing a path in my penthouse.

My phone buzzed. Again.

I knew precisely who was messaging me and why. I had time to get in a cab and make it to dinner. If I left now, I wouldn’t even be late. And still, I paced back the other direction.

A muscle fluttered in my jaw as I heard my phone go off one more time. I froze, forcing my body to stop its incessant movement. Then the phone started ringing. I grumbled and wrenched it off of the counter.

“What?” I snapped.

“Happy anniversary to you, too, darling,” Camden said silkily on the other line.

A facade. He didn’t care about our anniversary.

“Why do you keep messaging me?” I asked him irritably.

“There’s time for me to pick you up in the limo.”

“I already said that I’d take a cab.”

He said nothing, didn’t even sigh, gave not the slightest bit of notice that he was frustrated with my attitude.

Today was the one-year anniversary of our arranged marriage. I couldn’t act like it was anything else even if he could.

“I don’t see the need,” he finally said.

“I will meet you at the restaurant.”

“You will be there, correct?” His voice was low and guttural as if it irked him that he even had to ask.

“I just said that I would.”

Though I had thought of every available excuse to get out of it, including sneaking onto Lark’s private jet and heading down to the Caribbean a few days early. But I knew none of them would pass muster. Camden would just meet me at the resort and be furious with me. And I knew what would happen from there. What always happened when his temper flared.

Heat ran up my throat, and I touched my fingers to it.

“I’ll be there,” I said a little breathlessly.

“Good. Don’t be late,” he growled before hanging up.

“Fucker,” I snapped back at him.

I wouldn’t be late, but f**k, did I want to. No, I didn’t want to go at all. I knew what this whole f*****g pretense was about. Why he’d scheduled this dinner and forced me to stay behind while my friends darted off to sun and sand and frozen drinks with little umbrellas.

One year ago, I’d agreed to be his wife.

This year, he wanted everything else I’d signed away.

Time for me to live up to my end of the bargain.

I released a breath and forced my face back to neutral. This wasn’t who I was. I showed no fear. I was Katherine Van Pelt. Sexy, fierce, and formidable. Not even the likes of Camden Percy could make me waver.

It was just dinner.

A stupid f*****g dinner.

It didn’t mean that I had to give in to his demands. I never gave in. Well… not anymore. There had been a moment—barely even a moment, if I was honest—when I thought that this marriage could work. I’d gone to the Maldives for our honeymoon, thinking it would be the worst month of my life. We’d come back, changed.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about the past. A few months where we hadn’t wanted to kill each other didn’t mean that this was going to work as a marriage. Not how I’d thought in those days. No, this had been arranged. We had the contract and prenup to prove it. No point in thinking about what could have been. Not with the present circumstances.

Which meant that I was going to this dinner as a formality. A courtesy really.

Camden Percy didn’t care about me. Not more than anything else he’d purchased with his billion-dollar fortune. I wouldn’t forget it again.

I stuffed my phone into my black patent leather Hermès bag, double-checked my ruby-red lipstick, and headed for the door. With my armor in place, I left my apartment, ready to handle myself in this shitshow. Just like everything always was with Camden.

Traffic was a nightmare. Thank god I wasn’t stuck in Camden’s limo. Though I didn’t much prefer the taxi either. My foot tapped impatiently on the floor of the cab as I texted with Lark.

Miss you already!

Below that message was a picture of Lark, English, and Whitley in bikinis, doing shots poolside. Bitches.

Stop having fun without me!

Enjoy your anniversary dinner. We’ll see you soon.

Soon. But not soon enough. Not only did I have to endure this dinner, but I’d also already agreed to do Christmas Eve dinner with Camden’s family. I couldn’t think of something that I liked less, but Camden had insisted. So, I was going.

Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the building. Prime was located on the thirty-fifth floor with impeccable views of Manhattan and the most expensive steak in the city. Camden had taken me here on our first “date.” The rich interior and three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine hadn’t convinced me that this wasn’t a business deal any more than it would today. I was just a new sort of client for him. A new challenge.

I headed inside, bypassing the man at the front who greeted me. I already knew which table Camden had claimed. The one where we were most visible.

And there he was.

He was seated at the center table against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The panoramic view was stunning. Nearly as stunning as my husband.

He was pure control. It was outlined in every inch of his Savile Row suit. The broad sweeps of his shoulders, the tight lines of his muscular thighs, the sharp cut of the suit to his narrow waist. His hand cradled a glass of red wine with all the delicacy of a newborn baby, but I knew that his proclivities leaned toward destruction rather than comfort.

I forced myself to keep moving as his keen eyes landed on me in my skintight black Elizabeth Cunningham dress. They crawled over my long, lean legs; my slim hips and waist; and my perfectly perky, fake breasts—the best money could buy. Then finally—finally—to my face.

He was blank. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. What went on in that head of his. He was calculated and strategic in every aspect of his life. But I never actually knew what he was thinking. He never yielded an inch.

When I reached him, he stood and wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. “You made it,” he said as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I swallowed. “I said I’d be here.”

“Nice dress.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s new.”

“I like it.”

I stepped out of his grasp. What was he playing at? I couldn’t read him. I had no idea if he was just making fun of me. He’d made fun of my shopping habit enough over the last year. I didn’t need it on the night of our anniversary, too.

“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the table. “I ordered your favorite wine.”

The sommelier poured me a glass, and it was my favorite. I was surprised. He didn’t normally bother. Just let me order for myself. Usually vodka because being in his presence after the s**t from the last year was excruciating in so many ways. I wondered what the catch was.

“You’re late,” he said after the sommelier left.

“Traffic.” I raised one shoulder and glanced down at my menu. A hundred-dollar steak sounded appetizing with mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. Too many carbs. I’d be sick as a dog if I ate any of that.

“I could have picked you up.”

“We’ve already been through this,” I said, scanning the menu for the salads.

The waiter appeared then with a warm smile to take our order.

“I’ll take the twenty-two ounce forty-five-day dry-aged rib eye, medium rare, with béarnaise sauce,” Camden ordered without even looking at the menu. “Scalloped potatoes and green beans.”

“Yes, sir. Excellent,” the waiter said, taking his menu. “And you, miss?”

“Greek salad. Dressing on the side.”

I offered up the menu. Camden’s eyes smoldered.

“A salad?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I’m not that hungry.”

He looked up at the waiter. “Bring her a steak, too.”

“Yes, sir,” he said before departing.

“I don’t need you to order for me,” I growled.

“You need to eat. You look like you’ve lost more weight.”

I rolled my eyes and flung my hair over a shoulder, taking a long sip of my wine. “Most people think that’s a good thing, Camden. I’ve been working out with this trainer, who coaches dancers from New York City ballet. It’s clearly paying off.”

“Well, I’m sure your trainer will tell you that you need to eat more calories to make up for the deficit.”

“I do protein shakes,” I said dismissively.

“Katherine…”

“You know I didn’t come here for you to be an ass about my eating habits,” I said evenly.

“Fine,” he snarled.

The conversation lapsed as we waited for our food. But I helped myself to more wine. I was into my third glass, feeling the first hints of a buzz when our food showed up. I accepted the salad first and let them put the steak down next to it. It did look good, but f**k, it was so much food. No way was I going to finish that.

“Are you excited about the resort?” Camden asked.

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I’d already be there if I wasn’t here.”

Camden’s face hardened into stone. “Poor thing.”

“I’m almost used to it.”

“Could you cut the attitude for one night, Katherine?”

“Me?” I asked with a half-laugh, stabbing my fork into my salad.

“Yes, you. Do we have to fight each other through this entire dinner? Can we not just enjoy ourselves?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Camden. Can we? Have we ever?”

“We did in the Maldives.”

I pointed my fork at him. “That was different, and you know it.”

“Why does it have to be?”

“You know why,” I ground out.

“Because you ran back to Penn?” he spat.

I stopped breathing. “And you ran back to Fiona,” I challenged. “I haven’t forgotten Halloween.”

“Katherine…”

“Why don’t we just eat before the food gets cold? Save our cheery disposition for later.”

Camden ground his teeth and dug into his steak. The bloody thing looked like something he’d massacred in his rage rather than something that he should be eating. But the turn of the conversation just made me feel sicker. I didn’t touch the steak, just picked around at my salad. I’d lost my appetite.

Silence lingered as our plates were cleared.

“Dessert?” the waiter asked eagerly.

“I’ll pass,” I said.

Camden’s jaw clenched. “Just the check.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“I thought you liked their bread pudding,” Camden said.

“I can’t stomach the carbs.” I shrugged. “Next time.”

Camden paid the check while I polished off our third bottle of wine. I was feeling good now. This dinner hadn’t been half as bad as I’d thought. Not that I thought the night was going to get better from here.

I set down my empty glass and began to rise, but Camden halted me. “Wait.”

I sank back down and arched my eyebrows.

Camden reached into his suit coat and pulled out a small navy-blue box with the letters HW on the front. Harry Winston. s**t.

I froze in place, going as still as a statue.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, sliding it across the table to me.

“What’s that?”

“Open it and find out.”

I didn’t reach for it. “Why did you get me something?”

“Because we’ve been married a year,” he said evenly. “Now, open it.”

His command sent a shiver through me, and I tentatively reached out for the box. I had no idea why he was giving me this. We’d never exchanged gifts before. Not on birthdays. Not for our wedding. Not for anything. I hadn’t expected a gift. Did it come with strings?

I popped the lid. Inside was a pair of obscenely large diamond earrings. They each featured a central diamond with smaller diamonds haloing around it, and then five teardrop-shaped diamonds winged out across the bottom, like feathers. They were gorgeous and must have cost a small fortune. I should have swooned over them. Instead, my stomach constricted, and the chains of our binding cinched tighter.

“Why?” was the only word I got out.

“I saw them and thought of you.”

I shook my head. “You do nothing that isn’t out of your own self-interest. I know who I married… and why.”

His eyes hardened. “You don’t accept them?”

“I want to know what strings are attached.”

“Why must you be difficult?”

“You knew who you married, too,” I shot back.

He said nothing for a moment, as if considering and then deciding to continue. A deliberate, calculated move like everything he did. “I thought we could… discuss what comes next in our relationship.”

I swallowed. “What comes next…”

“We’ve been married a year, Katherine.”

“I know how long we’ve been married,” I said, clenching the box.

I knew what he was going to say. The one thing that he truly wanted from me out of this arrangement. More than the linking of our two powerful names. More than submission in the bedroom. More than his desire to break me completely.

“I want us to have a baby.”