The words settle between us, and he stares at me expectantly. And truth be told, if I wanted to save my reputation in The Society, what he’s offering me is a good deal. We could marry, live as roommates, and I could raise my babies with the full protection of IVI behind me, minus the shame. There’s only one glaring problem with that plan.

The space on my neck was reserved for one man’s crest, and it sure as hell isn’t his. And I know now with certainty, even if Judge doesn’t want to marry me, I can’t marry anyone else. Because he’s already tattooed his name across my heart. I won’t pretend otherwise.

“Thank you, Clifton.” I side-eye Solana, noting she’s listening to our conversation with an amused gleam in her eyes. “What you’re offering me is generous, all things considered. And I’m grateful. But truthfully? I’d rather be ruined in the eyes of The Society than marry someone I don’t love. So respectfully, I can’t accept your hand.”

For a moment, he looks so shocked by my refusal that he can’t seem to speak. Then there’s a brief flash of disappointment and, finally, a renewed determination.

“You’re hormonal.” He holds up his hand when I glare at him. “You have a lot on your plate. Just consider it. I don’t need an answer today.”

Before I can give him that answer without mincing words this time, he leaves. Just as soon as he does, Solana promptly bursts into a fit of laughter.

“It’s like a scene straight from a historical romance,” she chokes out. “Oh god, you have to admit it was a little funny.”

“So funny.” I roll my eyes as she wipes the tears from hers. “Now, if you’re done laughing at my suitors, can we go home?”

“Yes.” She nods, forcing her lips into a smile. “Let’s get out of here before any other dashing young fellows come calling for your hand.”

16

Judge

My cell phone, which is sitting on my desk, pings with a text from Paolo.

She’s here, and the car is ready.

My mind is a flurry of activity, of possibilities and what-ifs as I leave the office and drive home. There’s just one thing that lingers beneath the surface that I am trying hard not to think about. Mercedes’s last words to me that morning at the condo.

Maybe I don’t want you…

Every time I replay that moment, it’s like a piece of my heart is carved out. I have fucked up so completely. How could I be such an idiot? I can’t even blame her. She’s right. I am arrogant. What I want, I take. And she doesn’t deserve the scraps I am capable of giving.

But am I capable of more?