by Dani Collins
“Seriously?” Sky pulled her phone from her jeans pocket. “I’m telling Bruno—”
“No.” Trigg plucked it from her hand. “We’re doing this quickly and quietly. You can’t tell anyone.”
“But—” She scowled and tried to take back her phone.
“Sky. This is important.” He touched a finger to her collarbone. “No one can know what we’re doing.” He stuffed her phone into his back pocket. “I have to talk to Mom and make a couple of calls, then we’ll leave for Haven.” He paused on his way to the door, saying to Wren, “Pack for a few days. Bring your passport. We’ll head to the airport right after.”
*
“Should I put on my bridesmaid dress?” Sky asked as she watched Auntie Wren put on her long skirt with the flowers around the bottom.
“We don’t want to draw too much attention. Maybe your skort and a nice top?”
Sky did it, and put on a bit of makeup, but this felt completely unreal. “Will I have to call you Mom?” Sky had never, ever in a million years thought she would have to think about things like this.
“Of course not. We both know who your mom is.” Auntie Wren smiled a little, but mostly she was stiff and blank. “And it’s only temporary, to get Trigg the vote.”
Good. At least she wouldn’t wake up to see her dad in the bed beside her, playing Dutch oven with Auntie Wren.
She thought about how uptight her dad had sounded, which was way worse than even when she had first come to Blue Spruce Lodge. He’d been sarcastic and gruff then, not tired and serious as a heart attack, taking her phone. Telling her he didn’t want anyone to know he was marrying her aunt.
That seemed pretty extreme.
“Should I be worried?” she asked Auntie Wren.
“No.” Auntie Wren smiled again, this time a little more real. “Have you met your dad? He won’t let them get away with this. Even if things got dragged out and he went broke fighting them, you and I will always be fine.” Auntie Wren stopped brushing out her hair and took Sky’s shoulders. “In a worst-case scenario, I can get back my job at the dentist office, or at a different one. I have savings. Enough for a fresh start anywhere. Aunt Lydia would take us in if we were in a real bind. We have lots of options. One way or another, we’ll get through this.”
That didn’t make her feel much better. Sky stuck her feet into her sandals.
“I love Aunt Lydia, but I don’t want to live with her. Or—” she squinched up her face so Auntie Wren would know it killed her to admit this “—or go back to Utah. I like it here. And if you lick your finger and mark a point for yourself because I said that,” she warned quickly, “I will punch you.”
“None of this was my idea, if you recall,” Auntie Wren said dryly, moving back to the mirror and picking up her lipstick. “Point to Sky for getting what she wants.”
Auntie Wren was trying to tease her, to make it seem like everything was okay, but she seemed sad or stressed or like she was wishing for something, maybe.
She didn’t look the way Auntie Glory had, when she’d been getting ready to marry Onkel Rolf.
“I was trying to fix you up with Quinn,” Sky confessed. “He said he would ask you to dinner next time he comes to the lodge.”
Auntie Wren froze, then finished putting on her lipstick. “That might be awkward.”
“Do you like him?”
“Enough to go to dinner with him, but it doesn’t matter.” Auntie Wren was blanky-blank again, putting her bag of makeup and shampoo into her suitcase. “You’re my priority.”
Sky stared at the suitcase. An uncomfortable twist in her chest made her want to rub the bone in the middle. Auntie Wren hardly ever went anywhere without her. The last time she had, it had been to come here, and everything had changed after that.
Point to Sky.
She wasn’t like her aunt, always thinking things to death, but she had ears. She’d heard tons of people say over the years that Auntie Wren was too young to be raising her, or that she was making such a huge sacrifice of her own future by doing it. She had never really thought about all that Auntie Wren had done for her, mostly concentrating on what she hadn’t.
Now she thought about Auntie Wren not having a boyfriend because of her. Not being able to date Quinn because she would be married to Trigg. They seemed to get along, but she was pretty sure they didn’t love each other.
She wasn’t even sure if she loved her dad yet. Coming here had been weird at first, but in some ways, he was better than she had imagined. Not because he was rich. That was awesome, obviously, but he was rich in relatives. He was funny and popular. He liked her. And made her feel like he expected great things from her, but not like one of those movie dads who were jerks about it. He made her think she could do great things, which made her believe she could, too.
So she thought she should be happy that her aunt and dad were getting married, but she didn’t know what to think. That’s why she wanted to talk to Bruno. Sometimes when Sky suggested something, Auntie Wren would say, That looks good on paper. It doesn’t play as well in real life.
Sky had a feeling that’s what this marriage was going to be. Something on a piece of paper that would turn out to be a bad idea.
And she didn’t know what that would mean for her.
*
Wren kept reminding herself this was temporary. It was the quickest, least knotty solution. But she still wished she could breathe into a paper bag.
Nate met them at the courthouse to stand up as Trigg’s best man and to drive Vivien and Sky back to the lodge after the ceremony. They had to wait twenty minutes for another couple to get married, but within the hour, they were saying, “I do.”
“Do you have rings?” the judge asked.
“Oh.” Vivien hurried to open her purse. “Here we are.” She handed a gorgeous engagement and wedding band set to Trigg. “Oskar gave those to me. I know you’ll treasure them as much as I always have. And pass them along to Sky when the time comes,” Vivien added in a pert tone.
Oh, Vivien. Wren was so close to hysteria, she nearly laughed aloud. But Trigg was threading the rings onto her weak finger and her voice dried up. They fit perfectly and she wished, just for a heartbeat or two, that this was real.
The judge pronounced them husband and wife. Trigg touched his mouth to hers in a chaste kiss, but a spark seemed to shoot between them, making her lips sting as though branded. Something flashed in his eyes and they both hesitated to draw away. She could swear she heard his heart beating as hard as her own.
Then they both stepped back and forced smiles. Hers had to be flustered. They signed as instructed and a few minutes later, Trigg was handing her the copies they would take to Germany, asking if she would carry them in her purse. For some reason, that made her feel very married.
“Wait,” Sky said as they walked out to say their goodbyes on the courthouse steps. “Was that it? I thought he was asking you if you really wanted to do it. Like, lecturing you on the importance, then we would go somewhere else for the actual wedding. That wasn’t like Glory and Rolf’s at all. You didn’t even have a bouquet!”
“It’s a formality,” Wren reminded her.
“We can do it bigger later,” Trigg said.
“I don’t want bigger,” Wren insisted. Her worst nightmare would be a production like Glory and Rolf’s. “This was fine.”
It was exactly the right tone for a loveless marriage. Anything else would have raised her expectations and she preferred to keep hers low. No room for disappointment.
She ignored the hollow sensation that resided in her chest.
Chapter Seventeen
They landed at one in the afternoon, Berlin time.
Wren had slept a little on the flight, but not well. She felt like a zombie. She texted Sky that they had landed safely and Sky wrote back that Lydia was there.
Inviting Aunt Lydia had been Sky’s idea, requested at the last second. Despite her contentious relationship with Sky in the last few years, Wren had r
arely been away from her. Wren trusted Vivien to look after her, but Lydia had been waiting for an invitation to visit and was happy to run up for the weekend and it made Wren feel better to know the two were reconnecting.
Trigg took her to an apartment he said Vivien had bought when she downsized. Rolf had given up his old place and they all used this one if they were in Berlin.
It was pristinely beautiful with a view of the Spree River, but had the stillness of a place that was rarely used. The doorman set their luggage in a room down the hall, then came back to say something in German.
“Das ist gut,” Trigg replied, dismissing him before saying, “Mom’s stylist will be here soon. Clothes have already been delivered. They’re in her room.”
“I can comb my own hair.” She dropped onto the sofa and stared dumbly at him. “What time is the meeting?”
“Four.” He toed off his shoes. “Don’t take it as criticism. Mom believes in armor and Charmaine has had years of experience as her blacksmith. Are you hungry?”
She curled on her side, closing her eyes. “Can I sleep until she gets here?”
“He,” he corrected, and picked up a plaid throw off the back of the sofa, draping it over her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Seconds later, something brushed the side of her face—a caress that felt really nice. Tender. She drew a deep breath and dragged open her eyes.
Trigg’s hot blue gaze was inches from her own and a place on her cheek held the lingering impression of warmth and dampness. He was blinking heavy eyelids as though he’d just woken up. With his jaw unshaven, he looked the way he would if they woke together after a night of lovemaking. Rakish and sexy.
“Charmaine is here. He’s setting up in Mom’s room. You want a quick shower? Wash away the travel?”
“Mmm,” she moaned in agreement and protest. “I’ll marry you for a cup of coffee.”
“Done.” He shoved to his feet and walked into the kitchen.
She showered in the spare room and pulled on a thick robe, wanting its warmth, but feeling like a sophomore seeking false reassurance by wearing the football captain’s letterman sweater.
“Charmaine,” Trigg introduced her a minute later. “My wife, Wren.”
Wife. It made her all prickly, but Charmaine quickly distracted her. He was a man with bright pink hair, rectangular purple glasses, and a diamond earring in his nostril.
“Vivien promised me the gossip scoop of the year if I threw over my regulars for you. I hate you for taking the man that I love, but I adore you for achieving what I sincerely believed no one could.” He sat her down at Vivien’s makeup table and dove his hands into her damp hair, claiming to be in love with the rich dark brown, but scolded her about split ends. “You poor orphan. You’re safe now.”
Wren kept to herself that she chopped her own bangs, only going for a real haircut a couple of times a year, the last being right before they left Utah.
“At least your manicure is passable. That gives me more time to work on this three-piece luggage set beneath your eyes.” Charmaine took her chin and turned her head to study her profile from both sides.
“I prefer a natural look,” she murmured as she noticed the tiered pallets of rainbow colors he’d set out.
“Of course, you do. You have nothing to hide. Not a single blemish. No, this is a matter of bringing out the pretty little Zuckermaus peeking from within.”
Trigg did a small spit-take with the coffee he’d brought in. “Oh, sugar mouse, that’s your new name. Worth whatever fortune Charmaine charges me.”
She reminded him with a stern look that this marriage was pretend. “Endearments will not be necessary.”
“But it’s cute. Like you.” Trigg tugged a damp tendril of her hair.
“Women don’t want to be cute. They want to be sexy and dangerous,” Charmaine rebuked. “Go.” He shooed Trigg from the room.
An hour later, her hair had been cut and styled into a sophisticated mid-length bob with bold, straight bangs that drew attention to her eyes. She had never considered them her best feature, but Charmaine had dabbed and painted and brushed a hundred different beige pigments onto her face. Her eyes were as big as lakes of slate blue and she wasn’t even wearing false eyelashes. Her cheekbones were pronounced, giving her a waifish air while her mouth was a soft pout wearing an innocent pink shine.
This wasn’t sexy and dangerous. It wasn’t armor. She looked even more defenseless and vulnerable than she usually felt. Charmaine had exposed her.
Charmaine smiled with pride. “Let’s find you something to wear.”
A rack of clothes had stood in the background all this time, each outfit covered in a thin film. She suspected the prices were in Euros, not dollars. Either way, they were exorbitant. She held up a yellow plaid skirt with a matching jacket.
“Too schoolgirl. Your husband isn’t a fetishist.”
They had heard the distant drone of Trigg’s voice several times as he made calls to unknown parties.
“See how this fits.” Charmaine unwrapped a navy-blue tube dress with a short-sleeved jacket. “Oh, please,” he said, stopping her from taking it into the bathroom. “I’ve seen hundreds of naked women. Not one has done a thing for me.”
She stepped into the pair of rose-colored cheekies he handed her before she dropped the robe, then tried on a strapless pink bra. It fit, so she held up her arms. Charmaine drew the dress into place, smoothing a hand at her hip and straightening a seam, eyeing her critically from several angles before pronouncing, “Lovely.”
The short-sleeved jacket had ivory piping down the edges and across the faux-pockets. It closed with a series of hooks at her belly button, forming a wide belt that emphasized her waist. The edges were cut to remain open, revealing the severe line of the dress cutting across the tops of her breasts. The outfit bordered on conservative, yet accentuated her figure very stylishly, making it clear she was a woman embarking into a man’s world.
“I would kill for a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of gloves.” He helped her step into a pair of shiny navy-blue pumps, then stepped back. “But I think this is more disarming. May I take our photo?”
*
Trigg had never felt so possessive of a woman in his life. Not like this. It wasn’t because Wren looked more beautiful and more fragile than he’d ever seen her—although, the way her pupils were dilated definitely provoked the protector in him.
It was more than that. It was the fact that she had married him at all, to help him battle back an attack on his entire family. It was the way she turned his mother’s rings on her finger and said, “I hate confrontation.” It was the solemn smile she had worn when Trigg had stepped into her photo with Charmaine.
“Give us an hour before you post that,” Trigg had requested. “Just before four o’clock would be perfect. And let’s be mysterious. Call her Mrs. Johansson for now. Do you mind?” he asked Wren.
“Is it Christmas already?” Charmaine had asked with avid delight. “If I could be a fly on that boardroom wall…”
‘That boardroom’ went tomb-like when he and Wren walked in. Wikinger offered flex-weeks so plenty of staff worked Saturdays. They knew something was up if the board was coming in for an unexpected meeting. They didn’t call out their usual greetings as Trigg led Wren from the elevator toward the executive offices.
Wren’s hand was icy in his, fingernails digging into his skin. She was scared and that had his adrenaline ramping even higher, wanting to tuck her in to his side while he kept his sword arm free.
Rolf’s executive assistant, a gorgeous and heavily pregnant redhead, was the only one who smiled when she saw him.
“What a lovely surprise.” She came across to kiss his cheek, the stern look in her eye warning him to fix this. Rolf had plucked her out of a low-paying clerical position weeks after he became president and considered her worth her late-term pregnancy weight in gold. She was fiercely loyal to him. “I wasn’t able to travel so I missed the wedding. The p
hotos were stunning. Hello. I’m Adelina.” She shook Wren’s hand.
“Wren,” Trigg provided, hearing “Die Tante,” grumbled in a corner of the room.
The board was a pile of grandfathered hold-outs from his father’s era. Rolf had played a game of politics in nominating the same men term after term, buying their loyalty to some extent. It had worked until he had pushed the resort project eighteen months ago. Now all bets were off and everyone knew it.
“Rolf has spoken highly of you,” Adelina was saying to Wren, as if ensuring the room knew that detail. “Gentlemen, I think that’s everyone.” Adelina turned to the men who were standing around in pockets of allies. “If you’d like to take your seats, I’m sure the chairman would like to start. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
She left and men began pulling out chairs.
The chairman had the balls to say to Trigg, “Kind of you to come all this way to hear the results, but you’ll have to excuse us while we vote.”
“English please. Wren doesn’t speak German and we’ll be staying for these discussions.” Trigg understood why sharks smiled the way they did. The scent of blood was so intoxicating. He met each pair of eyes, then went back to Torsten’s narrowed, blistering gaze. “I believe some of you met Wren earlier this week, at my brother’s wedding. She is the aunt of my daughter. She is also—” he twisted his wrist so the rings on Wren’s left hand were showing “—my wife.”
*
Wren wasn’t one to make a stand or get in trouble. The more she had thought about this meeting, the worse she had pictured it becoming. They weren’t going to stone her to death. She knew that in her head, but her body was reacting like they were a pack of hyenas that had cornered her. She was genuinely terrified.
And every last one of them looked like her father, barrel-chested, iron-haired and glaring with judgment. At the words, my wife, there was a collective bluster of outrage.
“Bullshit,” Torsten said, standing to slap his hand on the table.
“You brought the certificate, didn’t you, Liebchen?”
Trigg’s hand splayed in the middle of her back. She warily moved to set her purse on the long table, feeling all eyes upon her. Her hands trembled as she withdrew the pages and carefully unfolded them.