Hale on Earth (Arrangement Series Book 2)

by Francesca Penn

  She jumps up without argument, collects my empty plate and cup, places them in the dishwasher, the power walks towards her room “to change.” She looked perfectly fine. I’m beginning to believe she doesn’t own lounge clothes.

  A few minutes later, she returns in one of her flirty extra girly ass maxi dresses and I’m mad at the amount of cleavage I can see. This is why she sleeps on an air mattress. I follow her outside, mesmerized by how her ass moves in that dress until her dad’s words jump back in my head. Six months. Normal lives.

  Karessa didn’t want to go to any of the jewelry shops owned by her parents. Instead, we ended up in a boutique shop that specializes in unique pieces. I don’t give a shit if the band I never wanted and won’t have six months from now is unique, but I gave her ten minutes. Then I picked the rose gold set on display.

  Her mouth moves like she wants to protest, but she smiles graciously at the woman and looks at the display on her left for a moment. I see little but different pieces of flower jewelry but nothing wedding related. When her dad releases her accounts and car next week, she can shop until she drops, but for now, I’m ready to go.

  All I did was pick our sizes and grabbed two bands, yet that was enough wedding participation I wanted.

  “I’ve arranged for Markos to pick you up tomorrow and drive you around on errands until the wedding.”

  “Markos as in some of the muscle for the Bishops?”

  “Yup. That’s him.”

  “So he’ll be like my personal security guard?”

  Yes. “I don’t care how you see him. Just do what you need to do.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” She grills my profile as I drive back to my house.

  “Yeah. To be quiet. A simple thank you would suffice.”

  She isn’t quiet. She curses me out all the way home, but at least she isn’t asking questions.

  Chapter 7

  Oran

  I’m lying in bed thinking about the rehearsal dinner and how my life will change tomorrow. I don’t want a wife, yet I’m saddled with one, anyway. Tomorrow, Karessa will be Mrs. Hale, a fixture in my home - my sanctuary - all because my dad is greedy. Rolling onto my back, my navy sheets slide across my skin as I fight the memory of how Karessa looked tonight. She may not be happy, but that cocktail dress stopping mid-thigh in my favorite color playing off her reddish-brown skin tone made me anxious. I hate that they have forced her into my life, but I also wanted to drag her off to the nearest secluded nook, and rip off her dress to see what it’s hiding.

  I rub my fingers together, remembering how her hair gliding across her bare shoulder distracted me most of the night. As if my thoughts conjured her, Karessa appears at my door, her nightgown flowing just past her knees giving her an ethereal glow from the hallway light. I’d almost forgotten I’d allowed her to move in.

  “Are you lost, Trophy? You may not be good at geography, but you’re in the wrong place.”

  The way her head tilts just slightly shows she just rolled her eyes. The lip smack that follows confirms my theory. Without responding, she climbs into my bed, pushes me from the middle, then lies down in the spot I just vacated.

  “I can’t sleep,” she announces like it explains her lying in my bed.

  “How the fuck is that my problem,” I grit, mad that my dick likes her here.

  “Because, asshole, this time tomorrow you’ll be my husband. Plus, my dad has banned my sisters from speaking to me until after the wedding, so whether you like it or not, you’re the only one I can talk to right now.”

  “And you have something so important to say that you had to push your way into my bed at two something in the morning?” I challenge her while trying not to inhale the soft jasmine scent wafting off her body. “It’s not safe to climb in men’s beds. They might expect something.”

  “Keep up, jackass. I’ll be-”

  I’m on her before she can finish her thought. My desire to touch her returns full force. Splitting her thighs with one of mine, I press my body against hers, sinking us further in the mattress.

  “Get off!” She whines, her little fists not impacting my body.

  “Don’t hit me. I’m not Jagger,” I snap as I roughly secure them above her head.

  Her thrashing has her nipples beading against the thin material of her nightgown and teasing my chest. Her pussy rubbing my thigh has my hard dick pressing against her hip.

  Lowering my head, my low beard scrapes her cheek as my teeth sink into the soft skin at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

  Karessa emits a sound between a whimper and a moan. Could it be? Does my princess like it rough? I don’t have time to ponder that right now.

  “What did I tell you about your tone and name calling?” She shudders when the tip of my tongue teases the shell of her ear. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson right now and see how much you can handle before you break.”

  “It’s not a lesson I signed up to take,” she whispers.

  My fingertips skim her collarbone, trailing a path until her body arcs in surprise when I pinch her hard nipple.

  “Like you said, tomorrow night is our wedding night. What’s a day?” I tease her while considering breaking my no sex rule. Aren’t there worse things than being married to Karessa?

  Her eyes flash in the near dark as she bucks her hips and rubs her pussy along my thigh.

  “Go ahead,” she challenges. “Take something that wasn’t offered to you. Prove to me what kind of monster you really are.” Well, that’s a mood killer. “Get it over with. Maybe you’ll get me pregnant and we’ll only have to do this once.”

  I roll off her, back to my original position.

  “Calm down. How can I impregnate a woman I would never willingly fuck? I wouldn’t touch you with your doctors insemination tools. Have a baby with you? Why? So they can have your big ass forehead?”

  She frowns at me as she absently rubs her forehead.

  “Look, after tomorrow, I’ll be Mrs. Hale - damn, saying that burned my throat a little - and we have to be some sort of team. So how about you shut up and let me rant because you’re literally the only person I can talk to right now. Can we just focus on our dads being gambling assholes?”

  Her situation does kind of suck. I can speak to whoever I feel like calling, not that I’d call anyone other than Jagger, even then I boot him off the phone quickly. She has a point about our dads. I’d love to chin check both motherfuckers right now.

  “You have five minutes. Real husbands don’t listen either.”

  Her growl sounds more like a pur and it’s sexier than I’d like to admit. Silence stretches between us long enough for me to wonder if she’d given up on trying to communicate with me. Later, she takes a breath and begins sharing her thoughts.

  “This is a big undertaking. I’m not the kind of girl who had a scrapbook planning the perfect wedding. It’s just one day and - let’s face it - it’s more for the guest than the couple. I did, however, imagine I’d be in love and my groom would love me. Not be some big brute who doesn’t give two shits about my existence, calls me inanimate objects, and pushes me around.”

  I smile in the dark. I don’t know why I’m amused, but I am.

  “I see what you’re trying to do. Move on or I’ll kick your ass out.”

  Karessa rolls onto her side, facing me in the low light. I can feel her studying my profile, trying to get into my head. It will not work. I don’t have space for her in my life, married or not. It will be in name only.

  “Have you seen that movie War of the Roses? Do you really want that to be us? Going to war every day?”

  “Good point. You should surrender now and save yourself the trouble. I already told you to move on to the rest.”

  “And I told you not to interrupt my rant. You gave me five minutes, let me talk,” she rages far gentler than I’m used to. It’s one of the many things I’ve noticed about her. She’s poised and gentle even when she’s trying to be edgy. “I’m just sa
ying,” she continues. “Wouldn’t it be nice to marry someone you knew in and out and not some stranger?”

  “I never planned on getting married.”

  “Well, I think it’d be nice for my husband to know that cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers…” That explains why she was staring at that ring and necklace last week. “Know what’s my favorite comfort food to offer me when I’m having a bad day, and would want to hold me when I’m down.” I don’t need light to know she’s crying again. I hate how her soft sniffles make my chest contract. When she speaks again, her voice sounds a little broken. “I just knew we’d have a favorite show we’d wait for each other to watch or discover one to binge together. I was looking forward to those moments.”

  She’s on her back again, joining me in watching the ceiling.

  “I like I said, I didn’t have a scrapbook to plan the perfect wedding,” she repeats. “But, I’d hoped like hell I’d have a good marriage.”

  “One minute left,” I tell her, not liking the softness of my voice.

  “Out of all things wedding,” she says as if I didn’t speak. “I’d imagined buying half of the lingerie store and happily trying on set after set until I found the perfect one for my wedding night…”

  “You could have done that.” Now it’s my turn to shift to my side and look at her profile. “I could give you a wedding night. It just wouldn’t be anything you’re imagining. I’m not in love with you. We wouldn’t make love. We’d fuck, and I’m not gentle.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” her snark makes me grin through the emotions I don’t want to face. She sits up, giving me her back as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m not expecting you to provide any solutions. I’m aware you have nothing to give me. I just wanted to rant.”

  With that, she practically floats out of my room on her way back to her air mattress in my trophy room. I almost invite her to stay. Almost. It is best that she knows her place with me. I’m not husband material. I won’t fill her head with bullshit I don’t believe. This isn’t a union either of us wanted, so there’s no point blurring the lines.

  Chapter 8

  Karessa

  This is it. There aren’t any last-minute hail Mary’s, or some magical on screen boyfriend to come save me. My dad really made a deal with the devil, sign my name on the dotted line, and banish me to Hell.

  Straightening my spine, I drop the contents out of my makeup bag and begin working to make all traces of me crying myself to sleep disappear. It’s weird that I’d felt a little better after five minutes in his bed soaking up his heat. It was a sign that I need a hug.

  I push it out of my head. I can’t be splotchy on the millions of photos I’ve subjected myself to during the wedding. I don’t know what I was thinking doing a full traditional wedding. While I’ve created the wedding I want, I don’t have the groom I’d like. He wasn’t there when I woke up. Instead, Jagger - partially dressed in the all black motif I’d picked for the men - smiled gently and empathically and ushered me to his Aston Martin where he burnt off like a bat in hell. I’d briefly wondered if Ainslee gets car sick riding with him.

  Moving my attention back to the mirror, I finish applying my makeup. I didn’t want to glam team. I don’t need anyone to witness my oscillating emotions. Esme pops in, her light brown eyes are as big as her heart. We are similar in shading and she’s just an inch under my five-eight stature but I look more like our dad and she our mother, our baby sister is a good mixture of both.

  She wraps her arms around my almost bare shoulders and gives me the squeezes I needed. I feel a little better and want to cry again at the same time. She helps me secure my pearl choker in place as she gives me her version of a pep talk.

  “I hate that you have to get married but at least he’s some grumpy man candy. If he is abusive, just call and give me a code like Autobots Unite and we’ll kill him together.”

  I laugh at the odd reassurance. But Esme curls bounce when she nods.

  “I’m serious. We’ll fuck him up and I’ve watched enough real murder shows to land him on Unsolved Mysteries. Just. Say. The. Word.”

  “I see you’ve been at the Bishops again,” I tease.

  She punches her fist. “They needed more muscle since you’ve been running around with Markos all week.”

  “And how do you know?”

  She blushes and shrugs. “I may have texted him to see what he was doing.”

  “No, ma’am,” is all I say when someone knocks on my door.

  There aren’t many people who’ll be allowed in the room since I’m not wearing anything but the lingerie to go under my dress. I love the way the La Perla set feels on my body. My Ambra balconette bra, which is a bronze color and looks like a soft orange shade on my skin - will need to come off once it’s time to pull on my dress with the sweetheart bodice. My matching panties are Brazilian cut since I’m not fond of thongs and don’t want a full brief. Pulling my suspender belt in place and securing my champagne thigh-high stockings in place, I call out.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.” Oran’s voice washes me in trepidation, hope, and desire.

  Esme peeks out of the door. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

  I hear Oran snort before he responds. “Does that count for arranged marriages?”

  “Fuck if I know,” Esme retorts. “It’s just something they say.”

  “Is she already dressed?”

  “No.”

  “Is the dress visible?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Well, move then, Sprite. You’re burning daylight.”

  Esme gasps but sadly, I realize I’m becoming accustomed to Oran’s abrasive behavior when I crack a smile at his antics with my sister.

  “I’m glad y’all are getting married today because Superman needs to get laid,” she tells me as she low-key elbows him in the side on the way out.

  “You must be so proud,” he tells me with a smirk. “She’s feisty.”

  We both sober when we realize we’re smiling at each other through the mirror.

  “I thought you were running and in another country by now,” I joke.

  Adjusting my pearls hides the slight tremble of my hand. He’s studying me, but I don’t know why.

  “I got you something.”

  His statement pulls my attention to his hand, but it’s empty. Oran steps behind me, his touch is delicate, sending shivers down my body, as he removes my pearls.

  “It’s a LeClaire tradition for the bride to wear pearls on her wedding day.”

  He quirks his brow but doesn’t acknowledge my statement.

  “Did you know that Cherry Blossoms have a ridiculously short lifespan?” he starts off. “Now, I know why it’s a big deal when they bloom.” His gaze is soft when our eyes meet in the mirror. “I thought it’d be better for you to have something that doesn’t die.”

  A rose gold necklace glitters as he removes it from his pocket. Righting it, he slides it around my neck. The tapered chain widens the closer it gets to my bosom. Matching rose gold and diamond balls on each side lead to a cluster of delicate five petal Cherry blossoms made of rose gold. Those blossoms lead to a singular pearl. It’s much more beautiful than the one I was looking at in the store.

  I run the pads of my fingers of the intricate design. “Oh, Oran. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” I can’t speak above a whisper lest it’s my imagination playing a cruel joke on me.

  “I don’t think the Hale’s have a wedding tradition. But it should be to give the bride a trinket on her wedding day.” He produces the complimentary earrings - a five petal cherry blossom attaches at the ear then drops into a pearl. “I thought it would be best to get the set.”

  My ears tear up and I can’t believe it’s for a good reason. He gives me another soft smile before returning to himself.

  “Don’t get all emotional. I just needed to shine my trophy,” he stops before he opens the door. “And don’t trip down the
aisle. That’s embarrassing for everyone involved.”

  He disappears shortly after.

  Okay, there’s the man I’m used to seeing.

  Chapter 9

  Oran

  “Don’t put your bride in a headlock,” Jagger says when he comes into my dressing room. “Unless…” He shakes his head. “No. It’s not dignified.” He rocks on his feet with his hands on his hips for a beat like he will let the subject drop then hits with a megawatt smile. “I’m bullshitting. Put her fine ass in a headlock if she gets out of line,” he jokes.

  I think about Karessa, poised and polished, and the notion of needing to put her in a headlock seems absolutely ridiculous. Now, I know for a fact he’s joking.

  My smile slips when I catch Jagger staring at me. “What?” I say, my tone slightly defensive and I tuck in my shirt then refasten my pants.

  “You like her. Did you bite her ass like I told you?”

  “No, and I don’t like her like that. I just don’t hate her. It’s hard to hate her. She’s so damn nice all the time. Even her fits are posh.”

  “Oh, man you’re going to kiss the bride.”

  “Jagger…”

  “You will tongue her down like you want her to have your babies.” Jagger nudges me out of the way and runs his fingers through his cognac locks, making sure he looks good on my wedding day. I’m sick that I just thought of it as my wedding day. “Look, if you’re trying to get her pregnant, let me know so I can knock up that little asshole I had to marry last month.”

  “You’d get Ainslee pregnant?”

  Jagger smirks. “Only to piss her off and fuck up her life. I’m just saying if we have to have children, it would be cool if the next set of Hales and Hanlons are close to the same age. I’m sure I can get drunk or take some anti-nausea medicine to make it happen.”

  “You two haven’t fucked yet?” I ask as I cross to the hanger and retrieve my jacket. I wonder again if it’s a good thing that Karessa put us in all black from head to toe.