His Ring Is Not Enough. Maisey Yates

give me a softer face—that I needed.”

      She looked at the granite lines etched by his mouth, his eyes. Yes, he most certainly did need a hostess.

      She took a breath, putting her hard, practiced expression in place. “Well, that’s not happening now. And do you want some other man to have your wife and your business?”

      Ajax took a step toward her, dark eyes trained on hers, and she felt something inside her melt.

      “Other than Holt, Leah, what do you want?”

      “To preserve Leah’s Lollies. Holt owns a quarter of my stock. And in addition to my candy stores being linked to Holt, I am a Holt. It’s my legacy. It’s ours, not just yours.”

      “It was meant to be mine and Rachel’s.”

      “I know.”

      “And you trust me with your stocks, do you? Alexios is quite the financial genius—perhaps he would serve you better than I would. Rachel seems to think so.”

      “You’ll do right by me and my shops, Ajax. I have no doubt.”

      “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll sell my stocks off. You think they’ll be profitable enough for me?”

      “Of course I do. I sell things that are expensive and bad for you. I think I’ll be in business forever.”

      He arched a dark brow, something in his expression changing. “A sure success, then. There is very little some people love more than indulging a vice.”

      “Yes. Well, and if I may, allow me to continue my argument for marriage.”

      “Please,” he said, no emotions on display.

      “You’re right. Everything is in place. Everything. You taking the reins at Holt. The guests. The minister. The cake. There’s... I donated a lot of candy. A gift.”

      “Nice of you.”

      “Well, now I’m donating a bride. Which might be a bit more than nice.”

      “If I accept.”

      “Oh.”

      Ajax looked at Leah, the woman who, up until ten minutes ago, had been about to become his sister-in-law. Now she was talking about being his wife. Leah. He scarcely thought of her as a woman. In his mind, she was still a round sixteen-year-old girl with curly hair, braces and a sweet tooth.

      He could remember, very clearly, having a piece of candy waiting for him with his gardening tools every day when he’d first started working at the Holt Estate. And what had started as a childish game had continued as a tradition. When he’d started interning at the corporate headquarters in New York there had been a piece of candy on his desk. And when he’d branched off on his own, an entire bouquet, and yes, it could only be described as a bouquet, of chocolate had been waiting in his office.

      Yes, whenever one of her little gifts showed up, he pictured Leah, the girl. Sweet, uncomplicated Leah, who looked at him and saw someone worth smiling at. But that vision didn’t match the reality standing in front of him.

      Now she was a woman, he supposed. She was twenty-three. Some of her roundness had melted away, but not all. Her hair was still a mass of dark curls, albeit sleeker than when she’d been a teenager. And there was a hardness to her that had never been there before.

      Still, she was nothing like Rachel. Beautiful, willowy Rachel.

      Rachel, the woman he’d set his sights on so many years ago. The woman he’d spent so many years planning to marry. She had been standing there, at the end of his path, his goal, for so long that having her removed left him feeling lost. Aimless.

      She was the only woman he’d ever loved.

      And she had left him. Along with her, she would take Holt, and every piece of the plan, of his life would be broken off in chunks and scattered around his feet.

      If he let it happen. If he didn’t accept Leah’s offer.

      It was a bad day for his pride. That he needed help saving a deal he’d spent years working toward because his bride had decided to skip the wedding, burned. She’d left him to be with someone else. His biggest business rival.

      This wedding, their union, made it feel like pieces were finally fitting together. Like the pieces of his life had united into one smooth picture, the end of the plan in sight.

      Everything he wanted. Everything he’d worked for, in his grasp at last. His reward for rigid control, for never deviating from the path since he’d first put his foot down on it.

      But Rachel hadn’t seen things that way. Obviously.

      He supposed, if he thought about it, it made sense. Rachel was passionate. About life, about everything. But she’d never been passionate with him. And she’d never been bothered by his reserve with her. He’d imagined she was responding to the way he was naturally. Now he wondered.

      Still, pride wouldn’t see his plans come to fruition. They wouldn’t bring Rachel back, either. Refusing Leah was of no benefit to him. It simply wasn’t logical.

      However, he had a hard time thinking of her as a wife. As the sort of woman he would share his life with, take to events, take to bed.

      Leah was not the woman he’d imagined himself with. Not ever.

      “Well, come on, Ajax, don’t keep a girl waiting like this,” she said, a small smile curving up the edge of her lips. As though she were unruffled. As though all of this was just an interesting diversion. He wondered when she’d become so calculating. When she’d traded in that sweetness for the hard, cutting edge of a businesswoman.

      “I accept.” There was no logical reason not to. And above anything else, he was a man of logic. Emotion could never be allowed to rule. “I will make a call and have the seamstress come and fit Rachel’s dress to you.”

      Leah’s cheeks turned pink, although her expression remained stone cold. “Could you cut a foot off the hem and add the fabric around the middle?”

      She was exaggerating and yet, she had a point. Rachel was long and angular, while the top of Leah’s head came just below his shoulder. It could not be ignored; she was certainly a larger size than her sister. Though she wasn’t proportioned unattractively. Round in the appropriate places. He’d just never given it much thought.

      “What size, then? I will order you a new one.”

      “I’ll make a call,” she said, her cheeks still pink. “It will have to be off-the-rack, of course. We only have two hours, but it’s doable. All things considered, the fit of my dress will be the least scandalous thing about this wedding.”

      “You are still a Holt heiress,” he said.

      “Yes, we’re practically interchangeable. Except, clearly, for the dress size.”

      “That is not what I meant. You are not interchangeable.” He gritted his teeth. “You are not Rachel.” Rachel, who, in his mind, was the embodiment of his perfect life. He’d imagined that when he reached this day, when he reached her, standing at the head of the aisle, his struggle, his fight to stay on the path, to stay in control, would be over. That he would finally have reached a destination instead of walking endlessly.

      He’d never touched her, not beyond a casual kiss, but things between them had been understood, for the past six years. They hadn’t spent all of their time together, hadn’t acted as a couple. Rachel hadn’t wanted to feel tied down. She’d wanted to live her life. But he’d been confident that in the end she would come back to him.

      He had been wrong. And he hated being wrong.

      “I’m sorry about that. Not that I’m not her, but that she left. I am.”

      “Of course you are. Now you’re stuck with me.”

      She looked up at him, whiskey-colored eyes glittering. He didn’t know