We stare at each other for what feels like forever, and my nerves spike with every second that passes.
The way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable. It’s with an air of fascination that makes me wonder if it was he I lost my virginity to.
Annoyingly, the thought sends a shiver of arousal through me, and the weight pulls on my core.
There’s an attraction between us I don’t want to accept, especially after last night. And this morning.
Yet, as I stare at him, I can’t help but wonder how we would have met if my father didn’t know I knew him.
How close were we?
I have so many questions, ones I feel he won’t answer,
 “Go on, Printsessa,” he urges with a cocky smile that should be as illegal as he is. “Ask me. I don’t want my bride’s head to explode with all those questions she has swirling around in there.”
Him calling me his bride makes me cringe.
“Why do you want to marry me? What sort of business benefit is there in marrying me?”
“Business benefit?” He inclines his head, and his hair drifts over his shoulder. The fading sunlight captures the lighter hints of brown in the dark mass of wild hair.
“You don’t love me, so don’t play with me. Tell me the truth. You’re marrying a woman who has no memories beyond the last two and a half years. I think I deserve some explanation.”
He looks like he’s considering it. When he sets his shoulders back, my hopes rise.
“You fit in with my plans,” he answers.
“What plans?”
“Those don’t concern you.”
“How don’t they concern me? You have access to my whole life. This is wrong. You know it is.”
“Right and wrong are shades of gray that people manipulate to take whatever form they want. This is mine.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to marry you.”
“You don’t have a choice, and if I were you, I wouldn’t create problems. Your father wasn’t joking when he told you to do as you’re told. You need to. If you don’t create problems, you won’t have a problem with me.”
He touches my cheek, and my body instantly betrays me.
The memory of his face comes into my mind, along with a kiss—the one from last night and another from before. That was the one I dreamt about.
“Where do I know you from?”
“I told you, you shouldn’t try and remember me.”
“Why? You’re the only thing I remember,” I confess, and as the words leave my lips, I regret it. I don’t think I should have told him that.
“Is that so? How unfortunate for you.” He backs away.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I guess I must have lied.”