Maeve was clearheaded and financially independent. What she hated most was getting tangled up with men over money.
From the day they met, she'd barely spent a cent of Andres's.
She didn't want a future where they separated and still had financial knots tying them together.
Andres hadn't expected her to react so sharply.
"Maeve," he said, "I think you're getting me wrong."
She shot back, "Then explain it. What do you mean—'what's mine is mine, and what's yours is mine too'?"
"There's nothing to explain," Andres said. "I meant exactly what I said."
Maeve gave a mocking little laugh. "If you meant it literally, transfer me a million right now."
Andres didn't even blink. He sent the money.
When Maeve's phone chimed with the deposit notification, she stared at the screen, stunned. "You actually did it?"
Andres's voice stayed even. "I provide. You don't have to keep score with me."
Maeve's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my bank account?"
Andres smiled slightly. "If I care enough, I can find out. And we're married."
The way he kept saying that—married—made Maeve uncomfortable in a way she couldn't quite name.
"Tell me your account number," she said. "I'll send it back."
Instead, Andres pulled her onto his lap.
Maeve tried to push away, but his arms locked around her with quiet strength.
"Money I give you doesn't come back," he murmured.
Then, as if he'd decided there was no point hiding behind jokes anymore, he spoke in a low, steady voice.
"I've been thinking a lot lately. About why our families wanted this marriage. Maybe they had reasons. Maybe they weren't entirely wrong."
"I'm not good at expressing feelings. I don't even know what kind of partner is actually right for me."
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