“Marry me instead.”

The words ricocheted around the room, finally hitting me square in the chest, where each syllable felt like a smack.

I licked my lips, forced myself to speak through the haze. “You want to get married.”

Whit kept a steady gaze on me, blue eyes searing and red rimmed, and said with no hesitation, “Yes.”

“To me,” I said, needing clarification. Some light to cut through the fog. I pushed away from him, and he let me go. I eyed him uneasily as I rounded the bed, needing something tangible in between us. The distance cleared my head from the scent of whiskey curling around him, smoky and rich.

Again his reply came sure and quick. “Yes.”

“Married,” I repeated, because clarification was still in order. He had been drinking and, by the look of it, not one tidy glass. “In a church.”

“If need be.”

“It’d have to be,” I said. The idea sounded normal and sane. Unlike our conversation. Getting married in a church was something I would have done—seemingly in another life. The one I’d been groomed to live in Buenos Aires. I would marry the handsome Ernesto, a young caballero my aunt approved of, and presumably live as her neighbor, where she could keep an eye on me for the rest of my life. There would be no trips to Cairo. My days of drawing temple walls in my sketchbook would be over. Instead, my time would revolve around someone else and, eventually, my children. I could see that future as if I were already living it. My heart raced in protest, and I had to remind myself I was here in Egypt.

Exactly where I wanted to be.

Whit arched a brow. “Is that a yes?”

I blinked. “You need an answer right this moment?”

Whit swept his arm across my luxurious hotel bed, currently covered in skirts with ruffled hems and jackets with brass buttons. To my horror, several pairs of stockings were strewn over a plump pillow, next to my favorite chemise, which was practically threadbare. He followed my gaze and then, with admirable restraint, didn’t remark about my underthings.

“I don’t necessarily need one right now, but I’d prefer one, yes,” Whit drawled. “For a little thing like my peace of mind.”