He Loves Me? He Loves Me Not?
1318 Words
"No."
Sophie's voice seemed to echo in the room, yet it took Nicholas a few moments to digest the meaning of the word.
His smile trembled, blue eyes flashing gold for a brief moment but he expertly masked his shock.
"No?" The tall man repeated with a lift of his perfectly shaped brow. "You do understand that marrying me would be the zenith of all eighty-five or so years of your life? Why would you let an opportunity like this pass you by?."
"Love," Sophie answered easily. "Werewolves mate for my life, and if I did end up with one, it would be because he loved me so much I wouldn't even second guess saying yes to forever."
Nicholas' nose scrunched up in disgust as his eyes judged her, but then the electric blues changed to sudden understanding as if he had finally figured out the single color Rubix cube that was Sophie.
"Love," he began in a soft voice as if speaking to a child, "is biology's subtle way of getting animals to reproduce." He paused with a heavy look, like her professors used to when they wanted their words to sink in. "You may not understand it now but when you become a more mature woman..."
"I'm twenty-three..." she informed him, her eyes narrowing but Nicholas continued, undeterred.
"You will understand that there are far more important things in a relationship than love or romance."
Sophie usually wouldn't care about what logic he used to excuse being an emotionally stunted
*sshole, but something about the absurdity of that morning—being proposed to by a stranger, made her curious.
"Like what?"
Nicholas' smiled, believing he was getting through to her. "Being a part of something much bigger than yourself."
He cradled her hand, soft and slender in his much larger own, and his thumb caressed the back of her hand.
Her breath hitched at the sensuality he injected into such a common gesture. Suddenly, she was aware of how close they were.
Like a hunter watching the hare inch closer to the trap, Nicholas's voice flowed low and calculating.
"Be my wife, and you will mother a generation of wolves who will redefine the meaning of greatness. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life, Sophie, and all I ask in return is that you be obedient and give me heirs."
His last words broke the spell his deep voice had put her under. Spooked, she yanked her hand out of his hold, earning her a startled frown from him.
“Is everything all right?”
"A loveless marriage and being an obedient broodmare. Boy, you sure know how to charm a girl."
Sophie turned away from him with a huff and marched over to the fridge to put together the spiked chocolate milk she had been dreaming of before he ruined her morning.
"Does giving me heirs upset you that much?"
"Children!" She snapped, slamming the door closed with a little too much force and turning to face him.
She felt a spike of irrational anger towards Nicholas for how he talked about children, home, and family. Three very beautiful and fragile things were reduced to a chore by him.
What gave him the right?
Nicholas pursed his lips but conceded. "I will need children, as many as the Goddess gives us because that is my duty and hopefully yours if you say yes."
For the first time that morning, Sophie could see the air of desperation that clung to him, and it made her realize that whatever drove him back to her was a lot deeper than he was letting on.
The realization that he didn't even trust her enough to tell her why he wanted to marry her, alongside a butt-load of other reasons, was what gave her strength in her decision.
"I'm sorry. Mr Blumenthal, but my answer is no."
Sophie watched as Nicholas seemed to draw into himself, his face growing blank.
“All right," he agreed with a nod and closed the distance between them with long strides.
He came to a stop in front of her standing so much closer than before, close enough that Soohie caught hints of the cocoa-scented body wash from that night.
"I understand this must be a lot to ask, so I'll leave it here for now," he flushed out a sleek black card and held it out to her. "However, if you change your mind or for any reason want to talk, call me."
Carefully, she plucked the card out of his hand and after giving him a weary look, turned it over to read.
'Nicholas Caspian Blumenthal, ' it said, alongside his phone number in gold lettering and some other writing that was of no concern to her.
In what world do I marry a man with his own business card, Sophie thought to herself with silent amusement.
She glanced back up at him, with another refusal on the tip of her tongue that was interrupted by a soft squeak when he suddenly pressed his lips against hers.
She tried to pull away but Nicholas chased after her, his lips not once leaving hers, until her back met the cool surface of the fridge door.
Nicholas had the warmth all werewolves possessed, and when he snuck his hand beneath her shirt to settle on her waist; his skin felt so much hotter than it should.
She made a soft noise as his hand flexed against her waist, fingers dancing against her bare skin, and the heat in her cheeks went south.
His tongue licked at her bottom lip, demanding entrance. Sophie cautiously parted her lips and her tongue snaked out to shyly lick at his lips.
Nicholas dove in, every bit the conqueror shifters prided themselves in being, and Sophie's hands wandered to the broad expanse of his shoulders, her legs spreading to encourage him to draw closer.
His hands began to travel downwards, and just when they got to the waistband of her pants, they stopped.
She made a confused sound when he suddenly pulled back and watched with wide eyes, her face flushed as he smoothed out his clothes, looking very unlike a man who just had his tongue down her throat only a second ago.
The arrogant prick.
"Call me." He commanded, with a small tap against the card still in her hand then turned around and exited the kitchen.
A few seconds later, she heard the front door open and close, signaling his exit.
Her face grew hot with mortification—and a delicious humiliation that made warmth bloom in her belly that she refused to think about.
She couldn't possibly–
Not for that man.
It was the breakup. Stephen had f****d up her head and her libido.
That was what had her lusting after that egocentric f**k with big beautiful hands and if the rumors about men's hands were true, an even bigger c–
“Eww. No!” Sophie shuddered in disgust, tossing the card down on the countertop before she gave into the temptation to call the gold number and ask if he was down to check out how fluffy her bed was.
But could you blame her?
Nicholas was as attractive as he was smug and it didn't help that he had an air of suave confidence bordering on arrogance. So much more enticing to the part of her that thirsted for the darkest parts of men.
"I wouldn't be me if I don't go and fall for the worst egg in the damn crate," she muttered, decisively ignoring the card as she went about making her drink.
Stephen was a harsh and much-needed lesson, and she was determined to pour all the energy she had once given to love into her art.
As far as Sophie was concerned, Nicholas Caspian Blumenthal was a closed chapter in her life.
- Writer
