Chapter 4–Think About It

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. “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 crossed the deck that I became fully aware of just how quiet the yacht was. The whole place felt carefully prepared, almost too perfect for a conversation like this.

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 back 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—”

“Let’s skip the introduction. Why do you want to marry me?”

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

“Why do I want to marry you?” He frowned. “Your father should have explained that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “His company is failing… so?”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the glass gently. 

I shrugged. “What?” 

“Never mind, Miss Whitmore.”

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 Tristan Castillo, who apparently owns yachts and enjoys dramatic meetings. There are tons of women out there.”

He glanced around. “Oh… please. I might be a rich asshole, but all these aren’t for me.” He looked back at me. “Now about marrying you… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have a dying grandmother who has a year left or so and her utmost concern is to see me married—”

“So that makes me what?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Someone to fulfill her wish?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Your call. She also 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… Well, I don’t know.”

“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. 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 or less,” 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…” His gaze shifted to me. “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. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes.

Suddenly, my heart started beating fast. The silence between us felt dangerous.

He leaned in first, slow, deliberate, giving me just enough time to step back. His lips brushed my temple instead. 

“Miss Whitmore,” he murmured, “it’d be a shame if you let a judgmental asshole get under your skin this easily.”

Just as I opened my mouth to respond, his phone rang. I pulled away first.

He reached for his phone in his pocket.

I couldn’t hear what the other person was saying, but I could tell it was urgent from his expression.

“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 will drop you home.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s my grandmother.”

“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. We have to leave now. I’ll meet you.”

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. Good night, amor. And think about the proposal. Or don’t. Your choice.”

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 a problem.