Maximus Blackwell's POV
I looked up into golden brown eyes opposite me. Ava Sinclair-my wife, I guess. I wasn't sure anyways but a marriage certificate to attest to it, an ID with her name on it, and the ring on her finger told a different story. It was all in place, everything except the fact that neither of us remembered-getting married.
"I am not playing along with whatever game this is," she said, her voice sharp, slicing through the tension that had mounted on me. Her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive position, her posture rigid, hands slightly shaking. "I don't know you, and I'm sure as hell I don't want to be married to you."
My jaw clenched. if it had been within my capabilities , I would have agreed with her. It wasn't exactly the way I would want to start a week, any week for that matter. And yet, there I was, seated in the penthouse suite of my mansion. looking across at a woman who shared my last name somehow.
"Believe me, Miss Sinclair." I tried to say.
"I don't want this marriage no less than you do, but I still need to understand what is going on."
I slid the marriage certificate across the tabletop between them. "This exists, and carries full weight legally in binding."
She grasped the paper, stared at it maybe a hundredth times. I watched her, marking the furrowing of her brow, the thin press of her lips.
"This makes no sense," she muttered now. "I don't remember any of this. How does something like this happen?"
Her voice was already cracking. I should have felt sympathy for her but instead, I was irritated. I wasn't in the comforting business, not to stranger who just turned out to be my wife.
"You think I remember?" I snapped. She jerked back, startled by the sudden edginess in my voice. "You think I woke up this morning, saying You know what'd be a great idea? Let's marry some woman I don't even know?" I said, stepping forward, my eyes set squarely on hers. "Ava, trust me, neither of us likes this any more than the other does. And we don't have lots of time to debate how much we would like it; meanwhile, we should have to sail across this together."
She flinched at my words but quickly masked it. "Stuck with each other? No, absolutely not. This is a mistake, a misunderstanding, or a setup. Whatever this is, it's not real, and I'm not staying here to play house with you."
I arched an eyebrow, lounging back in my chair to watch her. "You're free to go, if you'd like. But let me remind you, legally you're my wife, which means wherever you go, certain things will follow- like the media having a field day with this.".
Her expression darkened. She knew just as well as I did that I was right. Much as I disliked it, I wasn't blind to what that meant. the minute it hits the press, all hell's sure to cut loose, and we're an open book as far as the world is concerned.
"What do you want from me?" she asked finally after a while, softly.
It was for the first time since this nightmare started that I began to really hesitate. What did I want? Of course-the answers, to find out who pulled the strings from behind my back, and most important of all, why? I wanted to understand this, of all the people in this wide world, why me?.
"I want to know what happened," I said as a matter of fact. "And until we do, I suggest we keep this quiet. The last thing either of us needs is for this to become public."
She stared into my eyes for a second, her eyes narrowing. "Fine," I heard her utter grudgingly. "Still, that does not mean that I am going to remain here. I will go back to my place."
I shook my head. "That's not going to work."
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Because whoever did this clearly wanted it bad, I guess," I said to her. "The farther apart we get pulled, the merrier our nemesis." Again, I hedge. "But at this juncture it would be better for you to stay back here."
Her laughter was no more than a puff of cold air. "You can't seriously be suggesting that I actually move in with you?"
"It's not about what I expect," I said, my voice flat. "It's about what makes sense.
She opened her mouth to protest but then seemed to change her mind. She shoved her chair back and rose to her feet. "This is insane," she said pacing. "This can't be happening. It has to be some kind of dream."
I watched her silence, clamping down her meal in frustration. She wasn't the only one who was having a hard time piecing this together, either.
She finally stopped chewing and looked at me again. "Fine," she said. "I'll stay here. But only until we figure out what happened. After that, I'm gone."
"Agreed," I said, though it wasn't quite that simple.
It was as if the quiet in the room had started assuming mass and weight, settling amongst us as we began to eat our breakfast together.
"Do you remember anything at all?" I asked, the only one to break the silence.
She shook her head. "No. The last thing I remember is having dinner with…"
She trailed off; her expression changed.
"With who?" I pressed.
She hesitated for a second. "It doesn't matter," she said quickly. "It's irrelevant."
I didn't believe her, but for now, I let it drop.
Well, let's just piece together what little we know, my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down to the screen, and my stomach constricted at the name across it.
Sophia.
I hit the Silence button. My stepmother never called unless she needed something, and she was never coincidental in her timing.
Ava didn't miss the shift in my expression. "Who was that?
"No one important," I lied.
She held my gaze a mo
ment longer but knew better than to push it.
"I'll make a few calls and hit you up on anything I can find." I said getting up to leave the diner.