The thought of Parker with any guy—douchey Cam or some sleazy stranger—makes me my ears ring.

“So unless you’re planning to marry me,” she says, pausing to swallow her food. “Keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.”

Our eyes meet.

Parker drops the fork into the box and shuts it. Her eyes remain locked on mine while she twists at the waist, lowering it to the counter and sliding closer to me.

“Parker…” I’m not sure if I’m sounding the alarm because of her increasing proximity or whatever outrageous idea is about to come out of her mouth.

Both for me are dangerous.

“One year,” Parker whispers. “We get married for a year. And then we’ll get it annulled. A Divorce. Whatever.”

Now she has me looking around the room, like I’m waiting for a bunch of people to pop out with cameras and tell me this is a joke. It’s just no one happens to know there’s nothing funny about calling Parker my wife.

“Parker, you and me getting married is the same kind of absurdity as them forcing you to marry anyone else.”

She takes one step closer, swarming me in the scent of her shampoo floating from her hair. “It’s different.”

Parker is right. It’s different because I happen to be in love with her. Maybe that’s the only thing absurd about this, but it’s the truth. I loved her then, in high school. I don’t want to just keep loving her—I want her to know it too.

But going from trying to weasel my way back into her life to do that straight to marriage? That’s absurd.

“Fitzy, it would be different because I’m choosing you.”

Holding my hand out, I stop her. “It’s fraud.”

“People get married for all different reasons,” she says. “I’d offer you money, but I know you don’t need it. So no one is getting a payout here.”

“Yeah. No one but you.”

Parker frowns. “Not in the way you think. I really don’t care about the money. And you said it at the club, Fitz. You’d never say no to me. Not for anything. Even after all this time.”

That was when I thought I could help Parker without putting my heart on the fucking line. Because that’s where it gets me—in a guillotine set to slice open my chest.

“I can’t. I won’t marry you,” I tell her. Not like this. No way in hell.

She leans back, holding her arms out to her side. Her face has hardened, her voice carrying an edge. “What? Am I not wife enough for you, Captain America?”

I know she wants to bite me with her words. But the thing Parker might not know about me is that now, I bite back.