them to the kitchen sink.
Returning, he brought along a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ââLook, babe, who cares how much money our parents throw at this wedding? Itâs how we were raised. Our parents have more money than they know what to do with, so whatâs the harm?ââ
She shook her head. Either he hadnât heard a word sheâd said or he simply didnât care. Or worse, he didnât understand.
Wealth is all he knows . . . itâs all I know. Of course he doesnât understand .
ââIâm tired of this life,ââ she said softly.
He leaned forward, frowning. ââI donât think I heard you. You said what?ââ
She was so frustrated, it was all she could do to measure her words, to keep from simply bursting. ââI have no intention of living the way my parentsâor yoursâdo. Look around here . . . at my apartment. This is the real me. I crave secondhand furniture and flea market treasures. Old stuff. Things with class but inexpensive, worn, and scuffed up . . . things that exude character.ââ She paused. ââI thought you knew.ââ
Michael grimaced. ââIsnât this merely a phase, your latest artistic flair? I didnât think you were serious.ââ Casually he unwound the wire fastener from the bottle. ââYou want the look of poverty, well fine. Thatâs cool.ââ
She sighed. He doesnât get it .
ââWhat does it matter about the wedding?ââ he continued. ââWhy not go along with the plans? You know your parents always get their way. Like they did with you and me.ââ
His words slammed into her heart. ââWhat are you talking about?ââ
He gripped the bottle and pulled up, grimacing slightly. ââYou know. The long-range plan.ââ He popped the cork for effect.
She blew out a breath. ââWhat?ââ
Their eyes met, and Michael flashed a smile. ââSurely you remember how we met.ââ
A blind date . ââMy dad ran into your dad. . . .ââ She struggled to remember. Where? ââAnd they began talking, and one thing led to another, and then . . .ââ
He chuckled. ââWell, yeah, but thereâs way more to it.ââ
ââMore to what?ââ
ââOh, come on, Louisa. You canât tell me you didnât know.ââ
She was unable to breathe. Itâs so warm in here .
He poured champagne into her glass first, then his own. He set the bottle to the side and raised his glass, proposing a toast, waiting for her. But she could only stare at him, too flustered to reach for her glass.
ââNothing changes the fact that we belong together, Louisa. Does it really matter how it happened?ââ He gestured toward her champagne. ââI say we make a toast to the futureâyours and mine, as well as to my partnership with your fatherâs law firm . . . eventually, but certain.ââ
She glared at him. ââSo thatâs what this is? An arrangement?ââ
ââLouisa, donât play the drama queen.ââ
ââI thought we had something special.ââ
ââWe do. Someone simply got the ball rolling, thatâs all.ââ
She searched his eyes for some hint of insincerity, some indication he was teasing her. But he was incredibly earnest and more than eager to make the toast.
He winked at her, as though hoping to humor her. ââTo the Berkeley-Stratford merger.ââ
Her mind whirled. Surely we werenât merely pawns in our fathersâ hands!
He was smiling at her, attempting to charm her, still holding his glass high. ââOur future is secure and rather limitless. Wonât our children be perfect?ââ
She had not fallen for him for any of those reasons. She