by Nia Arthurs
It’s a great time, but it’s also a school night so, before long, everyone leaves.
Brogan and I accompany them down to the lobby, waving as my family disperses.
As soon as the last vehicle is gone, I collapse against the wall. “That went better than expected.”
“I can’t believe they bought it.” He runs a hand through his red hair. Glancing at me, he asks, “Tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“I’ll get the guest room ready.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I’m glad he has one. Even if he didn’t, I’d hit the couch. It’s best if I keep my distance from Brogan.
That kiss tonight…
It can never happen when we’re alone.
Ever.
Just then, his phone chirps.
Brogan fishes it out of his pocket. Glances at the screen. Goes pale.
“What?”
“It’s my mom.”
“And?”
“She wants me to come outside and bring in her bags.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain, baby,” a cheery voice says.
I spin and find a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long red hair and green eyes smiling brightly at me.
“Mom?” Brogan croaks.
“I’m here to meet my son’s new wife.” She hooks a finger over her shoulder and gives Brogan a casual order. “My bags are in the taxi, honey.” Then she grabs both my hands. “Oh you’re beautiful.”
“T-thanks.”
She leans forward. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking the guest room tonight.” A girlish squeal flows past her thin, non-existent lips. “Oh, this’ll be so much fun.”
Her words sink in like daggers through my brain.
Not fun.
This’ll be torture.
Because if Brogan’s mom stays over—
A weird humming starts in my veins and spreads through my entire body.
I’ll have to share a room with my husband.
Seventeen
Brogan
Mom didn’t bring bags for a one-night stay. I huff when I see the two giant suitcases stuffed in the back of the taxi.
This isn’t a visit.
This is an invasion.
The driver hands me Mom’s luggage.
I tip him for his time and lumber back into the lobby.
The guards rush to my aid. “Mr. Harrington, sir. Let me get that for you.”
I lift the fingers not tangled in the bohemian-weave duffels and gesture for them to stay back. “I’ve got it.”
A sweep of the lobby reveals that Mom and Elizabeth have disappeared.
“Your mother already returned to the suite,” the first guard says, confirming my hunch. “Your wife accompanied her.”
My wife?
At first, I give him a weird look.
I haven’t had a wife in years.
Then I remember Elizabeth.
Damn.
That’ll take some getting used to.
I nod my thanks.
Plod to the elevator.
Drop Mom’s bags on the floor as the door closes.
Stretching one hand against the chrome wall, I catch my breath and glare at my reflection.
I had no intentions of Mom finding out about this marriage.
The fact that she did means only one thing.
“Levy,” I grind out his name.
I should have known he and Mom would have kept in touch. Especially after he denounced Gran this morning.
I wish he’d keep my marriage out of his mouth. What was supposed to be a quiet seven days is fast becoming a crazy roller coaster ride that twists when I least expect it.
For once, I’d like things to slow down.
Go my way.
Just once.
With a sigh, I pick up Mom’s bags and head into the suite.
There’s not one beer can or speck of dirt in sight. My lips tilt up as I think of how the Garcia women insisted on tidying up the place before they left.
My suggestion that they relax and leave the mess for the cleaner earned me a stiff scolding from Elizabeth. Apparently, her family has ‘always been this way’ and ‘if I want to be helpful, I should take out the trash’.
I smile again.
It’s funny.
Elizabeth complains about their nosiness, but she thrives in that big, noisy, loving family.
Tonight, observing her, I saw it plain as day.
Her face lit up.
Her eyes gleamed.
And her smile…
If I wasn’t so messed up, I’d do anything to see that smile again.
It’s clear she knows where she belongs.
It’s clear she loves her family and, from the way she plays with the kids and gives them all patient, loving attention, she’d be a great mom.
So why hasn’t some guy snapped her up yet?
It just doesn’t make sense.
She’s beautiful, smart, kind and accomplished. Sure, she might have a stubborn streak a mile long and enough sass to irritate even the most patient saint, but those aren’t exactly deal breakers.
My demons are a lot more intense than hers.
And my scars are more obvious than hers too.
Whatever her reasons, I hope the Make It Marriage women will match her with someone worth her time after our divorce. She deserves it.
My chest twinges when I think of some other man kissing her.
Touching her.
Seeing her smile.
I push the feeling away and lock it up in a chest buried deep beneath the rubble of my past.
“A Vegas wedding?” Mom is saying as I enter the kitchen. “How exciting.”
“It was okay,” Elizabeth says with a tired smile.
I frown as I observe her face. She looks tuckered out. Understandably so. After working all day, moving into my place and entertaining her family, she’s trying to keep up with my mom who seems to have no intentions of turning in right now.
“I’ve always wanted to have a wedding in Vegas,” Mom says, “but after Brogan’s father passed, I just… couldn’t find anyone I loved that much again.”
“How did he die?”
“Heart failure. Brogan was devastated. He adored his father. They were best friends.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He doesn’t talk much about them. About anything really. He keeps all his pain to himself. He got that from his father too.”
“Ehem.”
Both women glance up.
Elizabeth’s eyes are thoughtful while Mom’s beam in welcome.
“I put your bags in the guest room,” I tell Mom.
Glancing over at Elizabeth, I raise both eyebrows meaningfully.
Mom destroyed our sleeping arrangements.
I’m not sure if sharing a room with Elizabeth is a good thing or not. Having her next to me in bed without touching her…
It’s going to be a challenge.
“Brogan, come and join us. We were just discussing your wedding day.”
I cross the room and sit beside Elizabeth.
My thigh brushes hers.
She scoots aside, putting more room between us.
I study her from the corner of my eye.
She’s got her slender hands pulled into her lap.
Head down-turned.
Thighs pressed together.
Mom laughs. “Elizabeth, please don’t be shy in front of me. I’m no prude.”
Elizabeth offers a pained smile.
“Mom, how long do you plan on staying?”
“As long as my son will allow.” She bats her thick eyelashes. “You won’t kick me out on the street, will you?”
“What do you mean? What happened to your apartment?”
“Nothing. I just wanted a change of pace.”
I give her a suspicious look.
Her cheerful laughter rings through the room. “Brogan, would you stop scowling? You look so much better when you smi
le.” She taps Elizabeth’s hand. “Doesn’t he, honey?”
“Mom,” I sigh, “if you need money—”
“You know I don’t live life based on money. I go where the wind takes me.” She lifts a hand and does an elegant wave. Her green eyes brim with that blasted optimism that carried her through my divorce and my stint in the hospital. “And tonight, it brought me here. To my son and his beautiful wife.”
Elizabeth yawns.
Mom stops and watches her.
A horrified look crosses Elizabeth’s face. “I’m so sorry. You’re not boring me. I’ve just had a long day.”
“No, no. It’s fine. Why don’t you get ready for bed? Brogan will keep me company. We’re both night owls.”
“I’ll stay up a little longer,” Elizabeth says, her jaw cracking with another yawn.
I nod to the sofa. “Why don’t we move to the living room? It’ll be more comfortable.”
“Good idea.”
We settle into the couch. Mom takes the end so Elizabeth has no choice but to fall in beside me. Though she tries valiantly to keep her eyes open, less than five minutes later, she dozes off.
I tap her shoulder. “Elizabeth, go to bed.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles, forcing her eyes open. “We were talking about your parents’ wedding and how your dad fainted at the altar.” She pops one eye open to taunt me, “See? I’m listening.”
Mom smirks.
Despite her bravado, Elizabeth’s head starts darting around again.
Suddenly, it lands on my shoulder.
I stiffen.
She nuzzles me, her cheek pressing against my neck.
Her soft breath hits my skin.
Slender fingers curl in the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Mom leans back. “I think she’s out for good.”
I nod.
Shift around so she doesn’t strain her neck.
I watch Elizabeth’s face.
It’s so… pretty.
Arched eyebrows.
Impossibly thick eyelashes.
Golden-brown skin.
Small nose.
Pink lips.
She’s a lot less annoying when she’s sleeping and her mouth is closed.
Mom offers a thumbs-up and whispers, “She’s nothing like Lana.”
“Mom, please—”
“I never liked her.” Mom scrunches her nose. “And that was before I found out your grandmother set you two up.” She gives me a stern look. “I understand why you kept that from me. I would have never agreed if I’d known.”
“Do we really have to go down this road tonight?”
“I’m just saying. She suits you.” Mom slants me a teasing grin. “I’ve never seen you smile so much.”
“I don’t smile,” I argue gruffly.
“You do when you look at her.”
“I should take her to bed,” I say, placing my hands on Elizabeth’s waist as I try to figure out how I’ll carry her without waking her.
“Have you told her yet?”
I freeze.
Glance at Mom.
“Told her what?”
“How you got burned.”
I look away. Place my hands under Elizabeth’s knees.
She stirs but doesn’t wake.
“Have you told her about Steph?”
I wrap one arm around Elizabeth’s back and gently lift her up.
“Or Lana?”
My heart gives that familiar pinch.
Balancing Elizabeth in my arms, I hold her close.
She cuddles against me.
Presses her cheek against my chest.
Sighs contentedly.
I feel her warmth somewhere deeper than my skin.
Down to my soul.
Mom scoots to the edge of the seat. “Brogan, you need to tell her.”
I clench my jaw.
Reject the heat that’s trying to thaw my frozen heart.
“Goodnight, Mom.”
“How do you expect her to trust you if you don’t trust her?”
I stop, my back to my mother. “I don’t trust anybody.”
Mom frowns.
I charge ahead, racing away from her concerned eyes and the restless feeling in my heart.
Eighteen
Elizabeth
Sunlight prances across my face.
Birds twitter outside my window.
I stretch.
My hands knock against a plush black headboard.
Confused, I roll to the side.
Roll some more.
Wait, why does my bed have so much room?
I open my eyes.
Huge vanity dresser.
Walk-in closet.
Open door leading to a fabulous bathroom.
This isn’t my apartment!
I surge up, panic coursing through my veins until I remember that I moved into Brogan’s place last night.
My legs tangle in the sheets.
I glance down. I’m still wearing my tank top and shorts. Usually, I wear an over-sized T-shirt to bed and not much else.
How did I get in here?
The last thing I remember is sitting in the couch, trying to keep my eyes open while Gwen chatted with Brogan and me.
Then...?
I tap my fingers against my thighs.
Faint memories return to me.
A big hand against my back.
Pale fingers digging into my knees.
A grunt.
A sigh.
Suspension.
Being cradled close.
A manly fragrance.
Brogan’s.
I gasp.
I was in Brogan’s arms last night.
He carried me to bed.
But where is he?
I hear a light snore. Easing over to my left, I peer over the side of the bed and spot him lying on the floor. His mattress is a thin quilt. A blanket is thrown over his body. One pale arm rests against his forehead while the other is sprawled out at his side.
I creep closer to the edge of the bed, just… watching him.
The sun picks up the golden highlights in his beard.
Light freckles fall across his pale skin.
My gaze follows the line of his neck. Down to his broad shoulders.
Why didn’t he sleep on the bed with me? I mean, it’s not like I want him to be up here, but the floor is brutal and the bed is huge. His back will probably kill him when he wakes up.
What do you care? He’s not your real husband.
True.
You’re attracted to him.
Also true.
What do you think will happen if you invite him on the bed with you?
That little voice in my head has great points. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for Brogan. He didn’t sign up for us to share a room. I’m the one who barged in on him with my family last night and pretty much shoved him into a corner.
If we’re being fair, I should be the one who suffers on the floor, not him.
Rolling over to the other side of the bed, I carefully drop my toes on the cold tiles.
Brogan murmurs in his sleep.
Wincing, I ease off the bed completely and tiptoe out the door.
Something clangs.
Sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.
I head there and smile when I see Gwen humming as she places a pan on the stove. She glances over and notices me. An answering grin grows on her ruddy face.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” I take a seat around the island counter.
Gwen turns her attention back to the pan. “Sleep well?”
“Great. Fantastic. The bed was...” I feel a twinge of guilt for hogging up the bed while Gwen’s precious son took the floor.
“Was what?”
“Nothing.” Clearing my throat, I peer at the stove. “What are you making?”
“Pancakes. Brogan’s favorite.” She winks. “But, of course, you knew that.”
“Right.”
/> She slides a pancake into a plate. “I bet you know my son very well.”
“Oh… yeah,” I say hesitantly.
Gwen lights up and I know it was a mistake to pretend Brogan and I are that close. “So you know about Steph.”
Steph.
Steph?
Going out on a limb, I say, “The little girl.”
“Right!” She laughs. “Yes. Brogan adores her. He adores children in general. I hope you want a big family.”
“Oh, I do.” My dream is to have a house filled with pattering feet and joyful, merry chaos. But finding a man who could be a good husband and a good father has been nearly impossible for me.
Gwen stirs something in the pan. “My son’s an extremely warm and caring person, so it didn’t matter to him that Steph is his niece through marriage. He just took her in and loved her like his own.”
“I heard she’s really sick,” I say, shamelessly fishing for more information.
“She was born with a heart defect. Poor thing. She’s been in and out of the hospital her entire life.”
“That must be so hard.”
“It is, but she’s a bold little thing. A bad heart can’t slow her down.” Gwen sighs happily. “I can’t wait to see her.” She stops stirring to look at me. “I just had the most fantastic idea.”
“You did?”
She flips a pancake. “Why don’t you and I visit Steph later?”
“Visit who?” A voice rumbles.
I look around and find Brogan entering the kitchen. His hair is mussed and his mouth is open in a big yawn. For some reason, my body flushes with excitement when his eyes slam into mine.
I answer lightly, “We’re going to visit Steph.”
Brogan goes completely still.
I give him a roll with it smile. “Your mother suggested it.”
“It’ll be so fun.” Gwen bounces on her toes. “Steph doesn’t know you got married yet, does she?”
“No,” Brogan growls, “and I have no intentions of her finding out.”
“Well, she will when we see her later,” Gwen says dismissively.
Furious blue eyes blast my way.
I hold his stare.
So… maybe prying into Brogan’s personal life was a bad idea, but I’m curious and his mom is a well of information. The longer she stays here, the more I’ll find out by default.
One way or the other, I’m going to uncover every little inch of him.
I don’t know when that became a need of mine, unraveling my husband. But now it’s jumped to number one on my list of priorities.