Chapter 287 - 287: I Wish You Could Love Me

Avery freezes with fear and slowly shakes her head. Andrew just rolls his eyes and smiles his crooked smile.

"Don't bother lying to me," he says. "I can smell his cologne all over you. And whiskey too, if I'm not mistaken. Besides, you're a mess. Your hair is tangled, your lipstick is smeared, and there's a bite mark on your shoulder."

Avery clenches her hands into fists and says, "If you knew where I was all along, why did you bother asking me?" 

"I wanted to see if you'd lie," Andrew says, sniffing his cigar again. "I'm risking my life for you, and you're sneaking around behind my back and lying to me."

"I—I," Avery stammers.

The image of the bloody doctor flashes through her mind. She wants to ask Andrew why he killed the man, but she doesn't want him to know she saw him. He's dangerous, she thinks. He may be interested in me now, but who knows how quickly that could change? I need to be more careful with him.

Andrew steps toward her and grabs her hand in his. He presses her palm against his chest, and she can feel his heartbeat quicken. He closes his eyes as if to savor the moment. Avery stands there awkwardly, too afraid to pull away.

Finally, he opens his eyes and says, "This is the last concession, I'll give you. Don't expect me to forgive you so easily in the future."

Avery looks down at her feet, trying to avoid his intense gaze. He hooks his finger under her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. He stares deep into her eyes, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. Her arm is starting to cramp, but he keeps her palm firmly on his chest.

"You promised to be mine," Andrew says. "I thought you had a clean break with Evan, but now I'm not sure. But I don't care what you feel for him or what he feels for you—you promised me six months. That's my dying wish, and if you don't honor it, there will be consequences."

Avery's palm prickles with sweat, and she asks, "What kind of consequences?"

"I won't guarantee Charles' survival," Andrew says with a cruel smirk.

Avery nods slowly—she expected him to threaten Charles. I just don't understand why he forgives me for being with Evan, she thinks. Andrew doesn't seem like a forgiving man. Is he really so willing to overlook this, or does he just not care?

"Oh Felicity," Andrew says, his voice low and rough. "I wish you could love me."

Avery wants to make a sarcastic comment, but she doesn't have the energy to fight with him. She looks down at her shoes and nods slightly. He pulls her face back up toward his. Their noses almost brush.

"Promise me?" he says. "If you can't love me, let me believe you do. Don't spend any more time with other men."

"Okay, yes, I promise," she whispers miserably.

Andrew smiles and kisses her forehead. "Good, take a shower and get his cologne off you," he says. "I made a reservation for us at the restaurant. I'll meet you there."

Avery nods again, and he leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him. As soon as he's gone, she sinks into the plush carpet and cries bitterly. She can smell both of the men on her, and it makes her feel sick. They're all the same, she thinks. They want my body, they want to show me off like a trophy, but they don't actually care about me. I'm just like the women the men bet in the casino, but Evan and Andrew are playing a much bigger game with me.

She stumbles to her feet and walks to the bathroom. She steps into the shower and turns the water as hot as it will go, and she scrubs her skin until it tingles. Then she selects a casual, white broad-legged suit. She braids her hair over her shoulder and applies some bright red lipstick.

She walks to the hall and gets into the elevator. As the door is closing, she sees Evan, Robert, and the escort walking down the hall. She presses the close door button, but Robert jogs ahead and sticks his hand between the closing doors.

"Excuse me," she says, getting out of the elevator. "I'll take the next one."

Robert glances at Evan and says, "No, no, Miss Peters, please come in."

"Really, it's all right," Avery says. "I can wait for the next one."

"I insist," Robert says, keeping his hand on the doors so they can't close.

The elevator starts to beep loudly, and Avery sighed. It seems that Robert won't move his hand until she gets on. She steps onto the elevator, trying to keep as much distance between her body and Evan's as possible.

Evan doesn't seem quite as drunk as before, but he looks past her as if she's not there. The escort sighs dramatically toss her hair and reaches for Evan's arm. Evan jerks it away, and the escort turns to glare at Avery. Avery presses herself into the corner of the elevator and waits for it to move. They only have to go two floors, but it feels like an eternity. The escort's perfume is cloying and terrible, and Evan's icy indifference is worse.

When the elevator finally arrives on the third floor, she breathes a sigh of relief. A s.e.xy female voice announces the floor number and lists the amenities available on the third floor. Then the doors slowly slide open. Avery gratefully breathes the fresh air and rushes out of the elevator before the doors have fully opened. She can feel the escort's eyes boring into her back as she rushes into the restaurant.

A waiter greets her and leads her to Andrew's table. He's sitting next to a large, floor-to-ceiling window. The window is closed to protect them from the cold sea winds, but it's nice to look out at the palm trees on the deck of the ship and the dark water below.

Andrew jumps to his feet and pulls out her chair. He looks at the people behind her and raises his eyebrows suspiciously at her. She shakes her head slowly, but he still looks upset.

"What a coincidence to run into Evan here," Andrew says. "Tell me, wife, did you take the elevator down with him?"

"Why do you think you can call me your wife?" Avery asks angrily.

"We're going to get married, and it's not strange for a husband to call his wife by her title."

"I'm just not used to it," Avery says.

"Well, you'll just have to get used to it," Andrew says, staring at her intensely. "It's normal for married couples to call each other husband and wife."

"I'm not really fond of that," Avery says. "I like it better when you call me Felicity."

"I admire your spunk, but I have the right to call you whatever I want," Andrew says, his voice getting louder. "And I want to call you my wife. After all, you're the first woman I've ever wanted to marry." 

Avery opens the menu and uses it to hide her face. She doesn't want to get into a public argument with him. She pretends to be deeply interested in the specials, but she has trouble focusing on the words on the menu. Everything seems to blur together, and she has to read each dish five times before she understands what it is.

A waiter walks over to the table carrying a tray. He places the tray on the table and offers Andrew a cup filled with some sort of red juice. A small red flag dangles from the side of the cup. 

"Good evening, Mr. Clifford," the waiter says. "Mr. Oliver sends you this pomegranate juice along with his congratulations. He hopes you'll enjoy your victory."

Andrew raises his eyebrows and glances across the room at Evan's table. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Send my thanks to Mr. Oliver," he says. "I am curious though, what did he send to Evan?"