Chapter Five
Sunlight broke through the black curtains of the bedroom. Clara opened one eye to assess her surroundings. Adrien’s bed was larger than a king—what it was called, she couldn’t even imagine—and the comforter felt like it was made of actual velvet clouds. She sighed, nuzzling deeper into the comfy nest, unwilling to totally wake up and end this penthouse adventure.
“Did you sleep well?” Adrien’s voice appeared at her ear, deep and calming. She grinned without meaning to.
“Better than well.” She yawned, turning to face him. They’d spooned the entire night despite the gargantuan dimensions of his bed. “I slept so well, I don’t think I can ever go back to my regular bed. You’ve ruined me for life.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I know one more way I’ll be ruining you this morning.”
“That sounds…a little frightening.”
“I promise it’s not. I want to make you breakfast.”
“And how will that ruin me?”
His finger traced the bottom swell of her breast. “Well…waffles.”
She gasped. “You will ruin me! I can’t wait.”
Nuzzling her neck, Adrien placed soft kisses behind her ear. “Shall we?”
She tossed back the covers and they both hopped out of bed. Following him to the kitchen, feet smashing pleasantly into the soft carpet of his bedroom, she stretched. Now this was one cool way to wake up after a shitty day at work.
In the expansive kitchen, Adrien reached for an apron hanging on a hidden hook. Wrapping it around his waist, he surveyed the work space. His apron read Trophy Husband. Clara suppressed a giggle.
He cast a quizzical look at her as he rummaged through cabinets, gathering the necessary ingredients. “What?”
“Your apron.”
He glanced down and then laughed. “Oh, right. This was a gift from one of my best friends.”
“Cute gift. You’re not somebody’s husband, are you?”
He scoffed. “God, no.”
The confirmation both relieved and confused her. It wasn’t like she expected anything more from him than this unexpected, sexually-satisfying night. But deep inside, the idea of him as a husband was strangely titillating and bizarre. Better to push those thoughts away. They didn’t belong in her reality.
Adrien whipped together the basic ingredients for the waffle batter with surprising dexterity. At first glance the night before, she’d never have pegged him for a man who knew his way around the kitchen…much less with such whisking skills.
“I have to say…for a man with a driver who works in some remote division of technology…I’m surprised you know how to cook.”
He glanced up at her, wisps of his pompadour from the night before falling over his eye. “I think that’s a compliment.”
“It is. And you’re right, you’re ruining me.” You’re too gorgeous, too funny, and too amazing to be real.
“And you haven’t even tried the waffles yet! At least taste them. They might be awful. I haven’t made these in years.”
She leaned against the kitchen counter, chin in palm, transfixed. “I don’t know if I should try them. I might need more of them. And then what will I do?”
He cast a playful look at her, fire in his eyes. “You might just have to move in.”
The comment was innocent enough, but it reminded her of the dismal reality awaiting her beyond the luxury of the penthouse. Like how her rent was due and there was no money to pay it. Her face fell. “I might need to.”
Shit—she hadn’t meant to say that. She cleared her throat, looking away.
“Is everything okay?”
She sighed, tears pricking at her eyes. What was she even doing with someone like him? Like he’d really be interested in a broke girl with a shitty job. He jetted around the world, had a passport, put bronze busts on display in his house. If Clara was lucky, she could afford salmon once a year from the grocery store. This was a great one-night stand and all, but it felt more like a strange breed of self-torture.
“It’s fine.” Her throat tightened.
He poured in a serving of vanilla. “You never told me why you were talking to that headmaster last night.”
She sighed. “I was trying to get a job.”
“A job?”
“Yeah. You do have one, right? Or is all of this money inherited?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could think better. She creased her brows, the snark hanging strangely in the air. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
He set down his spoon, leveling her with his gaze. “I do have a job. But I did also inherit a lot of money. I can’t control that.”
She sighed again, massaging her forehead. “I know. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just…I got my master’s degree last year. My goal is to teach biology at a private school. I want to run labs and help young students appreciate and understand science. Have a little office in the building, attend graduation ceremonies every year. But the school of my dreams isn’t hiring. In fact, it seems nowhere is hiring right now.”
Adrien snagged her hand as she turned away. “I’m sorry to hear that. So that’s why you snuck into the party last night?”
“Yes. I organized the catering gig so that I could run into the headmaster of Manchester Private School. I’m desperate for work. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll…” She bit her tongue. This was the least sexy confession of all time; she’d do well to shut up.
Adrien was quiet for a long time as he poured the batter into a waiting waffle iron. She stared at the far wall of windows, wondering if she’d botched this thing, whatever it was, between them. Just as the silence was too great to bear, she turned to face him. He was plating a waffle, sliding it her way on the kitchen counter.
“It’s time for breakfast,” he said, his smile not betraying any awkwardness. “And this is a big deal. A lot is riding on your reaction.”
She cracked a grin. “Oh yeah? What happens if I don’t like it?”
“I don’t want to say. You should just eat it.”
Clara picked up the fork waiting for her, cutting off a small piece. Locking eyes with him, she ate it. Flavors burst in her mouth, the pleasant golden crunch immediately giving way to the most delightful waffle she’d ever had.
“Holy fuck.” She covered her mouth with her hands, swallowing, unable to break his gaze.
“I take it this is another win for my legendary waffles?”
She nodded, eagerly eating the rest. “Number one, hands down. Holy shit.”
He picked at a second waffle as she ate, a pleasant silence settling between them. After a bit, he asked, “Do you need money?”
His question sliced through the air. She winced. “Always. I’ve needed money my whole life. And I’ve never had it.”
“What if I said I could help you?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was embarrassing, and probably the final nail in the coffin for whatever sort of love affair they might have. Worse yet, if he started giving her money, it walked the fine line of prostitution. And that would never be cool. “I don’t want your money. Seriously.”
“Hang on.” He pushed his plate away from him. “I have an idea. There’s something that I need out of this, too.”
Her stomach knotted. This was already such a bad idea. “If this is going where I think it is…”
“Hear me out.” He lifted a hand. “I’m in a little predicament myself. My family is…pressuring me. Quite intensely. They want an heir from me.”
“An heir?” She scoffed. “What are you…a king?”
A strange look crossed his face. “The thing is, they want me to marry inside the community, to protect assets and secure a greater fortune for themselves. But I want out. I can’t keep going on with their life, their rules, and their requirements.”
She knitted her brow. “What are you talking about?”
He sighed. “It’s hard to explain. I’m sorry if this is confusing. If I have an heir outside of our lineage, they can no longer claim my money. I’ve made a great deal of money outside of their inheritance, and they want it for themselves. But I can’t support them. I refuse to.”
She studied the chest hair peeking outside of his apron, struggling to make sense of what he was offering. “Your lineage? So, what? You want to marry someone and have a baby with them?”
“Yes.” Relief flooded his face. “With you.”
Her eyes widened. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’ll pay you, of course. This is where the deal comes in. If you marry me and have my child, I’ll take care of you financially—forever. You won’t have to worry about money. This is the greatest service you could ever do for me. I have nowhere to turn—nobody I can trust.”
Her belly turned. This was somehow worse than what she’d expected. “This sounds crazy, Adrien. I can’t even begin to process what you’re asking me. I’m trying to start a career—not get knocked up!”
He looked distraught. “It’s a lot, I know. Just think about it. Don’t give me an answer yet.”
“What about your family? Won’t they know you’re just…subverting their fortune, or whatever?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve been distancing myself from them for years. I’ve had enough.”
“Well it certainly doesn’t look like it. You have your grandfather’s bust upstairs!”
“You don’t understand my family.” His voice sounded strained. “I come from a very…particular history. I’m practically a slave to them. But I’ve had enough. I want out. I need a wife, and I need an heir. Immediately.”
His words settled into her heavily. This sounded highly suspect…not to mention totally insane. “I can’t do that for you. Marriage is supposed to be special.”
“I said don’t answer me now.”
“Well the answer won’t change!” She searched his face for some clue, some confirmation that this was a sick joke.
“Just think about it.”
She swallowed a knot in her throat. “How does knocking some stranger up save your money? I don’t get it.”
He studied the distance, a strange expression clouding his features. “It’s hard to explain. Just know that I can’t marry who they want me to. I need someone else, someone totally outside the system.”
“This sounds like an arranged marriage.”
He laughed softly. “A very bizarre, modern arranged marriage.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Have I scared you off entirely?”
“Just about.” She turned toward the windows, curiosity and discontent swirling inside her gut. “How much money are we talking, anyway?”
“How much I’m protecting, or what I’m prepared to pay you?”
“Both.”
“Billions. In both cases.”
His words echoed between her ears. She couldn’t even fathom that amount. Hell, five hundred dollars seemed like an incomprehensible amount in her life right now. “Jesus.”
Adrien stroked her arm. “I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…I thought…”
Tears choked her, but she didn’t know where they’d come from. His proposal felt cheap somehow, despite the amount of money backing it. She’d wanted their connection to be authentic, to be special. Maybe it had been motivated by his need for a baby mama the whole time.
And that stung. His weird family had motivated their night of passion, not sexual chemistry or anything like that. Just a need for an heir and protecting assets.
“It’s wise,” he said, pressing his lips against her shoulder blade. “It’s the perfect solution for both of us.”
She glared at the far wall, struggling to get a grip on her careening mind. It would be the perfect solution financially, but it was like selling her soul to the devil somehow. What would happen with their child? What about his family? What about her own family? How could she possibly move forward with this ridiculous proposal? Especially when what she might want from Adrien, or from any husband, was more than a simple financial arrangement. If he paid her to be his wife, how could he ever love her?
He was nuts—it was that simple. And she’d never agree to something so outrageous and demeaning.
***
Clara’s silence was like a vice around his head. He scrambled to think of a solution to the horrible gaffe, but he didn’t know where to go from here.
In the moment, the proposal had seemed like such a natural course of action. She needed money, and he had it along with a specific need—the two could find a natural intersection, right? Wrong.
Her money woes had exploded like a firework, signaling to him that this was the way. The wife-and-heir conundrum had been weighing on him for months. The more time wore on, the stronger the pressure grew. His father was eager to secure the new fortune, especially since Adrien’s start-up was making money hand over fist, and their kingdom was nearly bankrupt after poor investments and legal fees from past scandals.
A well-arranged marriage would secure the money, secure the family, and help things continue as normal. But continuing as normal wasn’t the way for him. He wanted out of the drama, out of the spotlight, and out of the pressures of being part of the royal family. His move to San Francisco to forge his own path in start-ups had been the first step in the right direction—and with each passing year, his ties to Luxembourg grew looser. But his family hadn’t forgotten him, or his wallet. And they were actively arranging his marriage to Archduchess Francesca. A forgotten law from the early 1800s would allow them to marry him off despite his wishes.
Time was ticking. He had to find someone to marry, or he’d be married to Francesca.
He hadn’t even considered Clara as an option on that front until that morning. But the worst part of it all, she was hurt. Her silence spoke to him in a way that her words couldn’t.
“I can help take care of you.” He brushed his lips against her shoulder.
“And that means I should take your money and have your baby?”
He sighed into the crook of her neck. “Well…”
“This is like prostitution, you know?” She turned to face him, eyes ablaze. “I can’t be bought. And it’s sad you even tried to do that. Money can’t buy everything. And I’ll do just fine without yours.”
She stormed away, heading for the couches. He hurried after her, grabbing her wrist.
“That’s ridiculous and you know it.” He spun her to face him. “This is not prostitution—nowhere near it. It’s an agreement, at best. A natural intersection between two people who need two different things. Have you ever been to a restaurant?”
“Of course.”
“Well that’s the same sort of thing. Hungry people finding someone willing to sell them food. You don’t accuse the restaurant owners of prostitution, do you?”
She faltered. “Well, no…”
“So you see? And sometimes, the restaurant owner can make love to the patron without it being weird. They’re two different things.”
She scoffed. “Great metaphor. But I’m not buying it. I’m leaving.” She spun on her heels and hurried toward her clothes, still draped across the couch from the evening before. As she hooked on her bra and stepped into her panties, Adrien placed himself in front of her.
“I fucked up.” He held his hands out to his sides. “I’m sorry. But just think about it.”
Her mouth thinned to a frightening line. “It won’t matter. You won’t be seeing me again after today. Believe me. I’m gone.”
She slipped her pants on and tugged her shirt over her head. Grabbing her purse, she stormed over to the elevator door, pressing the down button. He rushed over to her, desperate to change her mind. “Please, Clara, just stay a bit longer. We can work this out. I really think you’ve misunderstood—”
“I haven’t misunderstood anything. I understand perfectly well. And that’s the problem. This is a sick suggestion from a sick man. Good-bye.”
The doors slid open and Clara entered the elevator, leveling him with her gaze. He couldn’t ride down the elevator in the “Trophy Husband” apron. Panic swirled with fear inside him; this was somehow worse than just flubbing a business proposal.
The doors slid shut and she disappeared from his life.