Chapter 4–Just One Year

Natasha’s POV

I glared at him. If looks could kill, this man would have been dead by now.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to call me that.”

His smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, like he was enjoying every second of my irritation.

“I don’t remember asking for permission, cariño.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll throw myself off this yacht.”

He chuckled softly. “That’s cute, but I’d hate to ruin such a wonderful evening just to play lifeguard when you and I both know you’re not jumping anywhere.”

He gestured toward the other side of the yacht. “Come. We should sit. This conversation might take a while.”

I hesitated for half a second before following him.

It wasn’t until I walked across the deck that I became fully aware of just how quiet the yacht was. The whole place felt like he had planned every detail.

We reached a dining area set up near the back of the yacht. A small table, candles, two glasses, and a bottle of wine already waiting. The setup was intimate, almost romantic—which gave me the ick.

He pulled out a chair for me.

I looked at the chair, then at him before sitting.

He took the seat opposite me, pouring wine into both glasses.

I leaned back a bit, studying him carefully now. I had so many questions tonight, and I wasn’t leaving without getting an answer.

“I’m assuming you have questions,” he said, as if he had been reading my mind.

“You knew who I was that night, didn’t you?” I asked.

He didn’t look surprised. He simply picked up his glass, taking a slow sip before answering.

“Yes.”

I shook my head. “Of course you did. You’re Tristan Castillo. How could you not know?”

“And you’re Natasha Whitmore. Daughter of Marcus and Mari—”

“Let’s skip the introduction. Why do you want to marry me?” I cut him off mid-sentence.

He didn’t answer immediately. He just watched me, like he was deciding how much to say.

“That’s a very direct question.”

“I’m a very direct person.”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the glass gently. “Your father’s company is in trouble. You know that.”

“Yes. That still doesn’t explain why you chose me.”

The silence stretched between us.

I watched as the breeze moved a few strands of hair across his face. He used his palm to brush them away.

“I mean, you could have anyone,” I continued. “You’re rich, powerful. You're fucking Tristan Castillo, who apparently owns yachts and enjoys dramatic meetings. There are tons of women out there.”

He didn’t smile this time.

He looked down at the table for a moment before speaking.

“My grandmother is sick,” he said calmly.

I wasn’t expecting that answer.

“She practically raised me and my sister when my mom passed away,” he continued. “And she wants to see me married. Apparently, she has a year left to live, and it would make her happy to see me finally settle down. She thinks it means I’ll finally slow down and have a life outside work.”

His voice was emotionless, but something about the way he said it made the words feel heavier than he was letting on.

“I have no interest in getting married for love,” he added. “But this arrangement solves several problems at once. Your father’s company is saved. My abuela is happy. And I will get a wife who isn’t boring.”

“Well, damn. That might be the most unromantic proposal I’ve seen,” I said.

“I never said I was a romantic man.”

I shook my head, looking away from him. My gaze wandered toward the dark water. The wind was stronger now, and I suddenly realized I was cold.

The anger that I had felt since the meeting with my father eased. This was a lot to take in at once. His grandmother was dying. My father’s company was on the brink of bankruptcy. And I was just some pawn in a game that had nothing to do with me.

“So you want me to marry you because it’s convenient for everyone?” I asked, still looking at the dark water.

Behind me, I heard movement.

Before I could turn around, I felt something warm settle over my shoulders.

“Just one year,” Tristan said as he draped his jacket over me, his hands briefly brushing against my arms as he adjusted it. “Your father’s company is back on its feet, and abuela gets what she wants before… well.”

“You’re cold.”

I turned my head slightly, and he was right there.

“I’m fine,” I said, although my voice wasn't as steady as I wanted it to be.

I stood up, almost losing my balance.

He steadied me.

Now I was standing inches from him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

The air between us thickened. He didn’t move away, and neither did I.

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes.

Suddenly, my heart beat faster, and I was sure he heard it.

“Think about it,” he whispered.

My eyes briefly dropped to his mouth.

And the silence between us suddenly felt dangerous.

He leaned in first—slow, deliberate—giving me just enough time to step back, but I didn’t.

His lips brushed mine, soft, almost testing—

His phone rang.

The sound broke the moment.

I pulled away first, catching my breath.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

I couldn’t hear what the other person was saying, but I could tell it was urgent from the way he looked.

“Calm down, Patricia. I’m on my way.”

The call ended abruptly.

He turned to me. “I’m sorry, Natasha, but we will have to call it a night. The driver who picked you up will drop you home.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s my abuela.”

“What about her?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, his voice sharp. “You just get home safe.”

He dialed a number. “Daniel, get the car ready. We have to leave immediately.”

He looked at me. “I’ll call you.”

“You don’t even have my number.”

His lips curved into a smile as he raised my hand to his mouth. “I have my ways. Buenas noches, amor.”

I simply stood there, watching him as he walked away.

This night wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and that might be the problem.