Hale on Earth (Arrangement Series Book 2)

by Francesca Penn

  Despite my turmoil, a smile twitches at my lips when they shove the rings on each other’s fingers. I bite my lip to hold in a giggle when they refuse to kiss, but end up silently laughing when they fight and Jagger escorts Ainslee out in a headlock.

  For a moment, my mirth helps me forget my own troubles. Instinctively, I lock eyes with Oran’s amused ones as he follows them down the aisle, for a moment, I think just maybe we could get along better, then his amusement falls behind his usual mask and the lighter version I used to know is gone again.

  * * *

  Oran

  I’m happy to be back in the office after pretending for a day and a half that my mouth didn’t water when I spotted Karessa outside of the hotel. She looked sultry yet elegant in a sheer and tulle dress about a shade off from being my favorite color. The long tulle skirt flowed around her legs and body as the slight wind blew. Once I was closer, I could see the dress better and my reaction to it was so unexpected I’d dropped back into the asshole she’s used to seeing. I don’t have time for distractions and I don’t want a fucking wife.

  Her leaning over to open the door drew all my attention to the damn-near sheer bodice that appeared to be two panels of tulle crossing each other. The sheerest piece of tulle covered her stomach, and my desire to touch her was so great that the moment she got in my car, I burned off.

  The wedding wasn’t anything less than eventful. Once I realized Jagger and Ainslee ran away, I’d parked at the bar and talked business with some colleagues and caught up with people I rarely see - anything to ignore how Karessa floated through the ballroom like a regal queen. She looked so beautiful with her hair down and flowing, I almost left her there.

  “We hear Karessa has been staying in a hotel,” I hear the person I’ve been avoiding say

  Elmer Hale stood in my door with his salt and pepper hair, looking polished yet ruthless as usual. His retirement hasn’t stopped his meddling or his greed. Like a cartoon villain, he has a master plan that no one else sees. His desire to own all the real estate on Founders’ Island is ridiculous when the stuff we own keeps me more than busy.

  “So? I never said I was getting married. You shouldn’t be talking since you’re the man who made her homeless.” I gripe while reading over some paperwork.

  I’m not surprised when he comes in to sit, but I am surprised that a second person joins. Sitting back in my chair, I start a stare down with Dondi LeClaire.

  “Is this what you want? You want to tie your daughter to me for life knowing I’m not a nice man? How will your princess survive?”

  Movement in my peripheral means my dad is staring at LeClaire, daring him to back out. My dad tries to be a bully, but he’s not a Bishops, he will harm no one physically for financial gain, he’s game is mental warfare. And that’s how I got a fake fiancee. He found a chink in LeClaire’s armor and exploited it. Elmer doesn’t give two shits about me getting married, he wants what he can gain from the union.

  “Silence,” I say. “So whatever bullshit my dad fed you, gives you the justification to sacrifice your princess? Bankrupt her, leave her homeless and hungry, then marry her off to a man who doesn’t want to be with her?”

  Hurt flashes behind LeClaires steady gaze. He doesn’t break his regal demeanor, he still relaxes in his chair with his right ankle resting on his left knee. Dondi keeps his graying hair cut low with his waves brushed back. He is a lighter brown than Karessa, but the family resemblance is still there. He shakes his foot, his navy and khaki diamond sock peeks out from under his khaki chinos and his tented hands stretches his navy blazer. His gaze moves past his manicured fingers and back into mine. His brown eyes have tells. That’s how he lost. Silence stretches. I try to search his soul for his reason to betray his daughter. There’s something I’m missing, but I don’t like it. The LeClaires are the nice family, sometimes the spokesperson for the Island since Dondi has the best tact. I expect this from my dad and the other families, but not the LeClaires. They always looked so in love the few times I’ve seen them out, that they were my fantasy family when my dad was being an asshole.

  Dondi betraying Karessa feels like a betrayal to my younger self. There’s something in his look that tells me there’s more to the story, something he’s not planning to share with me.

  “Oran, she’s a sweet girl with a gentle soul. She’ll be a good wife,” he tells me instead.

  “You have less than three weeks to decide, either you marry her or-” My dad’s voice is firm, I don’t give a fuck.

  “Or what?” I’ve thought of everything; combined through all of it, yet I still cannot find the other shoe that’s supposed to drop. I’m tired of it. I just want him to show his hand.

  “Or I will. Our bet was for his daughter’s hand in marriage. A Hale will marry Karessa. You’re only an option because I failed to specify which. It’s a set deal there’s no going back. The wedding is in three weeks. Karessa will marry one of us.”

  “Jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me! She’s five years younger than your own child!”

  He shrugs unapologetically as if saying he wants what he wants.

  “You choose.”

  Elmer, who’s just as big as me, stands and slams his hand on my desk as he storms out.

  That sick fuck.

  A rock - no, a boulder - forms in my gut. Immediately, flashes of memories of the last year my mother was alive cut me with each turn. Everyone knows the worst-kept secret on the island. My dad is a monster to women. Once my mom was gone, all women who knew better steered clear of him. Now, I get it. I work around the knot in my too tight throat to speak.

  “So, when you made this bet? You thought he meant she was for me, and he,” I point at the chair my dad just vacated. “Is trying to take her for himself?” Dondi nods slowly as I talk it out. “That’s why he evicted her, he wanted to back her into a corner and swoop in like a gentle saviour.”

  “Yes. I pushed back. I told him he didn’t specify which Hale and she chose you.”

  “So you froze her accounts and sent her my way before he could prey on her.”

  Dondi leans forward, his eyes pleading. “I know this isn’t the best situation for you both. I was a victim of hubris, and your dad got me. My sweet pea cannot suffer at his hands.” He looks around to make sure my dad left. “I’m putting an easy out clause in the prenup. If you two put on airs as a married couple but do not consummate the marriage, I can get it annulled after six months. I would still have held up my end of the bargain.”

  “What makes you think I’m a better option?” I need to know.

  “Son, I knew who you were before Bethany’s passing. You’re nothing like your father, once you’re not wrapped up in your grief, you might find that you and Karessa are good for each other.” He stands and re-buttons his blazer. “If not. I’ll get you two back to your old lives as soon as I can navigate around your father.” He looks at me apologetically. “I really thought I would win. I would’ve never done this to my sweet pea on a whim.” He turns to leave, then looks back at me. “Please get her out of that hotel before he figures out where to find her, I really don’t want to call the Bishops on your father.” He smirks before he exits.

  He’s gone, leaving me with this shit show. I may not want to marry Karessa, but I cannot let her get eaten by a wolf.

  Chapter 5

  Karessa

  “Get your shit let’s go, Trophy,” Oran says the moment I open my hotel door.

  Me leans on my door, looking like sex and broken hearts with his red tie hanging open on his collar. He doesn’t try to tame his wild hair as he pushes past me inside the room.

  “You heard me, I cannot see my trophy all the way over here,” he announces as he studies the lace of the nightgown I left on the bed.

  “You left me here,” I point out wondering if he’s drunk.

  Oran shrugs like we’re having a normal conversation. “I changed my mind. I even found the perfect spot to display you.” He turns his dark-grey gaze on me.
“Besides, it’ll be easier to plan our wedding.”

  Leaning against the now closed door for balance, I focus on breathing properly. I didn’t realize until now that part of me was hoping and praying he’d find a way out of this.

  “I thought you refused,” I challenge him.

  “Well, I had a meeting with them today.” He’s in my space, feeding me his scent. “Turns out you were right, they own us or whatever.”

  I squint my eyes and crane my neck to look up at him. This is too easy. He changed his tune virtually overnight, Not only is he on board with this wedding, he’s moving me into his home.

  “What am I missing?” I ask him.

  “The part where I told you to pack so we can go home.”

  “Home,” I repeat, softly. It’s so weird hearing him say that.

  “Yes.” He nods impatiently. “Hurry so we can go home or I’ll start packing and throw all your shit in one bag, not giving a fuck where it lands. I also got groceries in the car, I hope you know how to cook.”

  Okay, now he sounds like himself.

  Luckily, living out of a suitcase meant it didn’t take much for me to pack. I’m still suspicious about his change of heart but want to at least have some semblance of a normal life. I look at his profile as he zones out like he’s the only person in the car. I don’t know how close to normal I can get with him.

  I’m not surprised when we get closer to the shores. Oran would be the guy who lives on the opposite side of the island where the founding families live. It perfectly matches his now reclusive nature. In the dark, his home is still stunning outside. He parks in the detached garage that holds four vehicles, all burnt orange except one that’s classic white. I’m not a car buff and cannot tell what it is in passing, but I know he has expensive taste in vehicles. We pass the lit turquoise pool and lounge area as we enter through the patio into his kitchen. I don’t know what I’d expected from his space, but the clean lines that are not too traditional and not uncomfortably modern suits him. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a minimalist.

  “How many bedrooms and bathrooms?” I ask softly, not sure about his mood.

  “Five bedrooms and seven bathrooms.”

  Oran unpacks the groceries, putting them on a huge white quartz island that doubles as the breakfast nook for the kitchen. The fabric - blue with pops of burnt orange - of his chairs and the white backdrop of the ceiling, walls, and counter of the kitchen gives me an idea for our wedding colors. Some may think I’m a glutton for punishment, but if I’m being subjected to marrying him despite my protests, I’m damn sure going to make it my own since this could be the only wedding I’ll ever have.

  Us heiresses/socialites/founders’ children all get married at the same venue, nothing less is acceptable. I think it’s a stupid rule, and at first felt it stifled my creativity. Now, I welcome the challenge of making the same space look completely different for everyone. If not, I’d happily arrange for us to get married right outside of his home on his private section of the beach. But I can bring the beach feeling to the ballroom.

  Before I know it, I’m perched in one of his chairs with my notebook - yellow for inspiration and positivity - is out and I’m jotting ideas as they fly into my head.

  “What are you doing?” His tone is more curious and less accusatory.

  “Jotting down wedding ideas.”

  Oran’s dark brows move towards his hair as he leans on the opposite side of the counter.

  “Now, that’s a turnaround. You went from spitting mad to wedding ideas?”

  “No. I went through all the stages of grief and am now at acceptance. I’m not stupid. Something much bigger than ‘heirs’ are at stake. I’m thirty-one and you’re thirty-six. They would have pulled this stunt at least six years ago if that were the case.”

  The twitch of his lips tells me he knows something I don’t. I study him for a second, trying to see around the blank mask he wears.

  “I’ve fought this almost six weeks, you’ve only known for a week yet we’re somehow on the same page.” I look around his home, loving the flow of the open floor plan. “Your livelihood is still intact, what did your dad have on you?”

  Oran stiffens and goes back to sorting his groceries. “None of your business,” he grumbles. “Let me show you where you’ll be.” I follow him into what looks like an office. More trophies and accolades in glass cases that line the wall. An oak desk with a plush black leather chair sits in the corner facing a window.

  There’s no sign of a bed or a couch present. I turn to look at him. He’s pulling a bag out of the closet. I huff once I realize what he’s doing.

  “Really?” I scoff.

  “Yes, princess. Really. My biggest trophy in the center of the rest.” He drops the mattress in the center of the floor. I’m annoyed at how he somehow makes unrolling the inflatable bed and attaching the pump sexy. “I’m blowing it up for you. It’s a high-quality product.”

  “You said you have five bedrooms.”

  He stops and looks at me with his hands on his hips.

  “All empty. So do you want to move the mattress in one of them? You have four options. This mattress, the couch, my floor, or share my bed.” The concept makes me warm as he watches me for a response. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Why didn’t you leave me at the hotel if you don’t have an extra bed?” I challenge him.

  “I do.” He pats the now inflated mattress. “Like I said, I can’t see my trophy from here if you’re there.”

  I roll my eyes more times since I’ve known Oran than I have my entire life.

  “A gentleman would take the air mattress.”

  Oran smirks at me for the first time, but it’s for him thinking my observation is silly.

  “Sucks for him.” He unbuttons his shirt. My gaze drops to the hint of chest hair beneath his undershirt. “I’m about to take a shower. Make sure my steak is medium.”

  “Wait. I don’t know my way around your kitchen. Where’s the rat poison?”

  He winks at me. “You and Ainslee must be friends.”

  Then he disappears down the hall without a word.

  Chapter 6

  Oran

  We’ve made it another couple of weeks without killing each other, but that also means low interaction. I go to work all day and leave her home to do whatever the hell she’s doing. Cataloguing the things that have appeared on my walls and other places of my home, snooping is one of her activities. Things I haven’t seen in a long time because I’d left them in boxes once I’d moved in are making an appearance. Also, I have yet to see her frazzled or unkempt, which doesn’t help my libido. Everything inside me wants to grab her and fuck up her perfection.

  Either way, her key to escaping all of this is no sex. If I can’t consummate the marriage, then there’s no point in sending mixed signals now. I haven’t heard from my dad, but I know he’s lurking. I’ve learned a long time ago not to take comfort in not hearing from him.

  The shrimp pasta she made is delicious, like everything else she has cooked since she moved in. I frown at her profile as I savor the succulence of the shrimp and the hint of spice from the marinara sauce. The damn green beans she served on the side bursts with flavor and has the perfect amount of crunch. I was hoping she’d be a terrible housewife. Wiping up the sauce with an equally delicious roll, I finish my food while I inwardly rage about her perfection.

  “Where did you order this?” I drill her, although I know the truth.

  “From my brain, the only access you’ve given me is grocery delivery. How in the hell am I supposed to order something with no money Mister-why-do-you-need-an-allowance-you have-everything-you-need-here?”

  It’s more of a temporary lockdown until she’s my wife. Unlike Dondi, I don’t take my dad’s word on a damn thing. He’s not above catching her outside and dragging her to the courthouse for an instant union. In fact, I’ve considered it a few times, but she only seems happy when she’s planning that damn wedding. Even now
, her statement was less grumpy since she’s fiddling with a seating arrangement chart.

  “Where’s the lie? You have your clothes, food, toiletries, and a place to stay with a beautiful view of the beach.”

  Her pouty lips poke out as she turns her expressive eyes at me. Today they look closer to a forest green.

  “How about freedom? You mock me about being a princess, but you lock me up in your home and act like a dragon.”

  “I can’t be the dragon and the prince. I can’t slay myself.”

  Her face lights up with mischief and I know she’s about to be a little shit. “I’d love to see you try. Let me grab you a knife - I mean sword.”

  “Har. Har. Har. Then you’d starve or be a thief using a dead man’s money.”

  “I’m very self-sufficient. I’m just a casualty of bullshit.”

  I nod at the chart. “Why do you care where people sit?”

  “It’s part of the planning. Don’t want people in awkward situations.”

  “More awkward than attending an arranged marriage ceremony?”

  “Quick question, Hell…” I’ve noticed for the weeks she’s called me that a lot. “How much do you want to be involved in helping me with this wedding?”

  I give her a look expressing my I’d-be-damned-ness as I respond. “Be happy I’m showing up.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she grumbles dryly and moves her trained eye back to the chart. “We need to buy wedding rings unless you want me to check with the grocery store.”

  She’s becoming more snarky by the day. I like it and I want to spank her. This is bullshit. We need fresh air.

  Rising, I fish my keys out of my pocket. “Well, let’s go.”