HONOR ME

FOUR

SKYLER

Pamela and the others had little choice but to agree. Reluctantly, they left the room, giving André and me a few minutes alone.

The door clicked shut.

Silence settled between us.

I turned toward André. His brows were knitted together as he carefully read through the contract, his expression growing darker with every line.

After a moment, he scoffed.

“Both parties can't initiate a divorce?” He looked up, disbelief written all over his face. “The f**k? The second I get my share, I'm dumping your ass.”

I folded my arms.

“At least you're getting something out of this. I have absolutely nothing to gain.”

He looked at me.

“My family is paying your bills and covering the insurance for your house, your car, your business—”

“Which I don't need,” I cut in sharply. “Don't tell me you actually think I'm poor.”

He studied me for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

“My mother is never satisfied,” I admitted.

For the first time since we'd met, André didn't have a sarcastic remark ready. Instead, he remained silent, watching me.

I leaned forward.

“Promise me something.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“What?”

“The moment you receive your share—or whatever the hell they're promising you—you divorce me immediately.”

A slow smirk spread across his face as he leaned in, close enough to annoy me.

“You didn't have to ask.” His grin widened. “I've got that s**t tattooed on my ass.”

I groaned.

“Can you be any less cocky?”

“No.”

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly hurt before pushing myself out of my chair.

“Unbelievable.”

I walked to the door and opened it.

“You can all come back in.”

Pamela was the first to enter, practically rushing inside. Her eyes darted between André and me, desperate to know what we'd decided.

“We have a few terms,” André said, closing the contract and sliding it across the table.

Pamela smiled politely.

“I'm all ears, Mr. Larsen.”

André handed his copy of the contract to Pamela.

"Clause Two." He leaned back in his chair. "Neither party can file for divorce."

"Mr. Larsen, the clause was included because—"

"Alfonso," André interrupted, his voice calm but commanding. "Know your boundaries. You're the lawyer. Let the people getting married negotiate their own contract."

The room fell silent.

I bit the inside of my cheek, desperately trying not to laugh.

"We'd like that clause removed," I said politely. "Nothing more, nothing less."

André glanced at me, clearly amused by the contrast between my calm tone and the smug smile on my face.

Alfonso nodded as he scribbled a note.

"Anything else, ma'am?"

"For now?" I smiled sweetly. "No. But I'll be sure to let you know if I think of anything."

I pushed my chair back and stood.

"Shall we?"

André looked around the room before rising to his feet.

"Of course, baby."

He rested a hand against the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.

I forced a smile at Mother before walking out with him.

The second the door closed behind us, I shrugged his hand away.

"Get your hands off me."

He chuckled.

"Easy, sweetheart. We're supposed to look convincing."

"I said don't touch me."

He leaned closer, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

"And what am I supposed to call my future wife? 'Miss McCarthy?'"

"You can start by not calling me *baby*."

He laughed under his breath.

"Noted... baby."

I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"I know your type."

His smile faltered for the first time.

"Oh?"

He planted his hands on his hips, one eyebrow arching with genuine curiosity.

"And what's my type?"

"The kind who thinks every woman falls at his feet."

His grin returned.

"They usually do."

I rolled my eyes.

"I saw you with Patricia von Hesse."

That caught his attention.

"Like I said," I continued, "I did my homework."

His expression became unreadable.

He glanced down the hallway before slowly licking the inside of his cheek, as if deciding how much he wanted to reveal.

"Let's meet back here at midnight," André suggested.

Of course. He was probably off to flirt, drink, or disappear into another party.

Whatever.

I rolled my eyes and made my way to the bar instead.

Maybe he wasn't quite as insufferable as I'd expected.

The thought caught me off guard.

I glanced over my shoulder, searching the crowd for him, but he had already disappeared into the sea of guests.

"Good evening, ma'am. What can I get you?" the bartender asked with a friendly smile.

I turned my attention to him and returned the smile.

"A scotch, please."

"You've got it."

He flashed me a quick wink before reaching for a bottle and beginning to prepare my drink.

ANDRÉ

A man had needs.

Despite the cold, composed image I presented to the world, I enjoyed a good party.

Dustin used to live by one ridiculous philosophy:

> *If she's got a p***y, she's fuckable.*

That was him in a nutshell. He didn't have a type. Tall, short, fair, dark, brunette, blonde, Latina, curvy, skinny, busty, flat, beautiful or plain—it didn't matter to him. As long as she was a woman, she'd catch his attention.

"Why are you so distracted, André?"

The woman sitting beside me snapped me out of my thoughts.

She followed my gaze before looking back at me.

"Why do you keep staring at Pamela McCarthy's daughter? She's not even that hot."

I blinked, forcing myself back to reality, and finished the rest of my vodka in one swallow.

"Excuse me."

I rose from my seat and headed for the restroom.

*What the f**k is wrong with me?*

Why the hell was I staring at Skyler?

Goddamn it.

I turned on the tap and cupped my hands beneath the running water. The cool stream splashed against my palms before I rinsed my face, letting the water wash away the haze clouding my mind.

I exhaled slowly.

Much better.

There was no way in hell I was falling for Skyler McCarthy.

This marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement. We were supposed to tolerate each other long enough to get what we wanted—then walk away.

"Once this s**t is over," I muttered to my reflection, "we're signing the divorce papers."

I shut off the tap and stared at my reflection for a moment.

Skyler McCarthy was just a business arrangement. A signature on a piece of paper. Nothing more.

I walked out of the restroom, adjusting my suit jacket as I entered the hallway.

"Already planning your escape?"

I stopped.

Of course.

Richard Larsen.

My father stood near the entrance of the ballroom, watching me with that same calculating look he wore whenever he thought he had figured something out.

I sighed.

"What the f**k do you want?"

His eyebrow lifted.

"Straight to the attitude. Interesting."

"I'm not in the mood, Father."

"Clearly."

He glanced toward the ballroom where the guests were still celebrating.

"You were very eager to remove that clause."

I already knew where this was going.

"The divorce clause?"

"Yes."

I shrugged.

"Because it's stupid."

Richard tilted his head.

"Is it?"

I looked at him.

"Yes. I'm not spending the rest of my life married to someone because two families decided it was convenient."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The certainty."

I scoffed.

"Don't start with your psychological games."

"My games?" He stepped closer. "You walked into that room determined to make sure you had a way out. You didn't even consider the possibility that things could change."

"Because they won't."

Richard studied me.

"You sound exactly like I did at your age."

I laughed.

"That's supposed to scare me?"

"It should."

I rolled my eyes.

"Skyler and I are not some love story waiting to happen. Once I get my shares, this marriage is over."

The silence that followed was heavier than I expected.

Richard's expression hardened.

"And if you don't?"

I frowned.

"What?"

"If you decide to break your agreement. If you embarrass this family. If you walk away from the responsibilities attached to those shares..."

He paused.

"You'll forfeit what's left."

I stared at him.

A slow smile spread across my face.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a reminder."

I stepped closer.

"You really think you can control me forever?"

Richard's eyes narrowed.

"I think you forget who gave you the opportunity to stand where you are."

"And I think you forget I'm not a f*****g child anymore."

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then Richard gave a quiet laugh.

"You seem to have grown wings."

I smirked.

"Maybe I finally grew tired of asking for permission to fly."

I walked past him.

"Game on, old man."

I didn't wait for his response.

Instead, I headed straight for the bar.

"Moscow Mule," I ordered.

I leaned against the counter, scanning the room without even realizing what I was doing.

I wasn't looking for anyone.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Then my eyes found her.

Skyler.

And somehow, in a room full of people, she was the only person I noticed.