Forbidden Touch - The Marriage Contract

CHAPTER 6: THE CONTRACT BETWEEN US

ANNY

“You are not leaving until I tell you the truth.”

Oliver’s body fills the doorway.

“Move,” I say.

For one tense second, neither of us does.

Then something changes in his face. He steps aside.

“You’re right,” he says. “I don’t get to keep you here.”

I grip the handle of my suitcase.

“Give me ten minutes,” he continues. “After that, if you still want to leave, my driver will take you to the airport.”

The choice is mine again.

I release the suitcase but remain beside it. “Start with Roberta.”

Oliver closes the bedroom door, leaving several feet between us.

“We were involved before our engagement,” he says. “It ended before I married you.”

“She doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Her agreement is not required.”

“Did you sleep with her after our wedding?”

His answer comes without hesitation. “No.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“No. Not today, and not at any point during our marriage.”

The certainty in his voice loosens something inside me, but it does not erase what I saw.

“Then why does she know more about my marriage than I do?”

Oliver looks toward the window. “Because Roberta is the legal director of the Adams Foundation. She handled documents she was never supposed to discuss with you.”

“What documents?”

He returns his attention to me. “Our marriage agreement is not the only contract.”

I wait.

“There is a private addendum,” he says. “Your father gave it to me the night before our wedding. My father witnessed it.”

The room seems to contract around us.

“What does it say?”

“It establishes restrictions on our marriage.”

“Stop speaking to me like one of your attorneys.”

Oliver draws a slow breath. “It controls what I am allowed to do with you.”

The message on his phone returns with cruel clarity.

Keep your hands off her.

“s*x,” I say.

His silence confirms it.

Humiliation burns through me. “My father wrote a contract controlling whether I can sleep with my own husband?”

“The restriction is placed on me, not you.”

“That distinction might matter in court. It does not matter in my bed.”

Oliver flinches.

“Why would my father demand something like that?” I ask.

“Because he received a dossier about me.”

“What kind of dossier?”

His hands close at his sides. “It accused me of hurting someone.”

The anger inside me falters, replaced by a colder emotion.

“Did you?”

Oliver meets my eyes. “No.”

One word. No hesitation.

I want to believe him. That frightens me almost as much as the accusation.

“If my father thought you were dangerous, why did he let me marry you?”

“By then, the alliance controlled too many shares in both companies. Canceling the wedding would have exposed the dossier and destabilized the Adams Group.”

I stare at him. “So he decided the marriage would be safe as long as you never touched me.”

“That was his reasoning.”

“Safe for whom?”

Oliver has no answer.

The men who arranged my future had been willing to place me beside someone they considered dangerous, provided a legal document stood between us. My safety mattered only when it did not interfere with their companies.

“Who created it?”

“I don’t know. The documents were delivered anonymously. The same initials appeared on the file.”

“J.A.”

He nods.

“And now that person is watching us.”

“The messages began three weeks ago. I still don’t know who is sending them.”

“You should have told me.”

“Yes.”

The admission takes some of the force from my next accusation.

“For four years, you let me believe I disgusted you.”

Pain moves across his face, unguarded and unmistakable.

“I thought I would prove the dossier was false within weeks,” he says. “Then weeks became months. After that, telling you meant admitting how long I had lied.”

“So you kept lying.”

“I told myself the silence protected you.” His voice lowers. “It protected me from facing what I was doing to you.”

An apology cannot return four years to me. But this is the first time Oliver has described his choices without blaming the contract, my father, or me.

“I want to see the addendum.”

“The original is in Mexico.”

“In the locked drawer.”

He touches the pocket where he keeps the brass key. “Yes.”

“Then we go back together. I read everything, and afterward I decide whether I stay.”

Oliver nods. “Agreed.”

“This is not forgiveness.”

“I know.”

“And it does not mean I trust you.”

His gaze holds mine. “I know that too.”

I cancel the commercial ticket.

Our jet leaves Buenos Aires at six and lands in Mexico City shortly after midnight. Oliver spends most of the flight working across from me. He does not ask me to take his hand or pretend the conversation repaired us.

For once, his distance feels like respect.

Maria is waiting when we enter the house.

“Mrs. Adams.” Her worried gaze moves to Oliver. “Your father is in the study.”

Oliver and I exchange a glance.

“My father?” he asks.

“No, sir. Mr. Cooper.”

The study door is open.

Felipe stands behind Oliver’s desk with a gray folder beneath one hand. The damaged family photograph rests beside it, faceup.

My father looks at my suitcase, then at Oliver.

“Roberta called me,” he says.

Oliver moves closer to my side. “This conversation is between Anny and me.”

“Not anymore.”

Felipe’s gaze settles on me.

“You were never supposed to know there was a second contract.”