Fools Rush In (Cartwright Brothers Book 2)

by Lilliana Anderson

  He chuckled, but it wasn’t because he thought I was funny. “Why don’t you want to tell him that? Is there something wrong with my family? Well, besides the obvious.”

  “You, um… aren’t Christians.”

  “Excuse me?” He seemed visibly shocked.

  “He won’t be happy that I married a man who wasn’t religious enough to get married in church. He’s very… traditional.” For years, he tried to set me up with single men who he deemed appropriate from within our church, but when none of them worked out, he shook his head and said, “There is no one for you,” before he gave up on me, relegating me to the position of his spinster daughter forever. I didn’t mind. It was easier than being forced to make conversation with men I had nothing in common with.

  “Are you upset we weren’t married in a church?”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “I don’t believe the way he does.” I prayed sometimes as a knee-jerk reaction, but I didn’t really believe anymore, especially not since my mother left and everyone we knew responded with ‘only God can save her now.’ I didn’t think she needed God to save her. She needed people to care enough to make sure she got the help she needed.

  “So you don’t care that I’m not religious?”

  “No. Just my father will. And also my brother. And my uncle. And everyone else in my family. Maybe not my niece and nephew though.”

  “You’re saying that your family will be prejudiced against me because I’m not a Christian?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Isn’t that very un-Christian of them?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just the way they think.” And it made sense to me. One of the reasons I didn’t want to marry anyone from Dad’s church was that we fundamentally believed very different things. Surely going into a marriage knowing we’d be so intrinsically different would be asking for a divorce. I wanted to marry someone like-minded, someone who understood me. And I married a thief. What does that say about me?

  He raked his hands through his hair and paced back and forth a couple of times, clearly exasperated. “So, let me get this straight,” he said when he stood still again. “You would rather tell your father you died than introduce him to me?”

  Oh dear. When he put it that way, it sounded really horrible.

  I opened and then closed my mouth, not knowing what to say. I really needed to quit talking. Sometimes honesty wasn’t the best policy.

  “Um….”

  I pressed my palms together, sweaty and a little nervous. I almost didn’t want to respond, knowing that whatever came out of my mouth, be it a truth or a lie, wasn’t going to fix the situation.

  “Well?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

  Letting out a sigh, I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my palms against my knees. Fuck it. “Yes,” I said, going with honesty.

  The muscle at the side of his jaw ticked as he stood there staring at me, his blue eyes locked on mine while God only knew what flew through his thoughts.

  “Get your things,” he said finally.

  “What?” Is he dumping me?

  “Your things, your bag, whatever shit girls grab before they walk out the door. Grab it and let’s go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re taking me to meet your father.”

  “Now?” My eyes went wide. “Noooo.”

  He wrapped a big hand around my upper arm. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  I set my jaw. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Sam drove a flashy-looking Range Rover that was a dark metallic red with a really fancy black and grey leather interior. It smelled new.

  “Is this car stolen?” I asked after about half an hour of keeping a lookout for cops.

  Sam’s grip tightened on the wheel, and I heard the leather creak beneath his fingers.

  “That would be kind of stupid, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged. The only thieves I’d ever known had come from movies and TV. Take Jimmy-Steve from Shameless as an example—he drove around in stolen cars all the time.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I thought it was stupid.” I looked at my hands, my voice a little quieter than before. I hated it when someone made me feel bad for asking questions. I had an inquisitive nature and rarely let a curiosity pass me by. Asking questions was how I learned things about people. I’d always thought it was normal but had learned later in life that most people would just pretend to understand, because asking too many questions is considered rude. That made zero sense to me but explained a lot about why humans struggle to understand each other—everyone was just pretending to know.

  Well, I wanted to be sure. So I asked.

  Sam reached over, letting out his breath before he took one of my hands. “I wasn’t calling you stupid. I—” He stopped abruptly, seeming so close to an apology that he knew he shouldn’t deliver. Then he took his eyes from the road for a moment and changed tack. “For all intents and purposes, we run a legitimate business. We don’t bring anything we take into our own lives. That’s too risky.”

  “So what, you just put it all in that storage facility to be sold off?”

  He took a moment before he responded with a simple “Pretty much.”

  “Does that mean yes? Or that you aren’t telling me because you don’t know if you can trust me?”

  He just looked at me, telling me it was the second one.

  Fine. Be that way.

  Slipping my hand out from his, I folded my arms across my chest and looked out the window. I knew I hadn’t really done anything to earn the trust of the Cartwrights in the few days I’d known them all, but the fact that I knew enough to get them all sent to prison and hadn’t once used the hotel phone or taken advantage of an unguarded moment to run meant I understood my place—if I kept quiet and behaved, I’d be just fine. I wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardise my own safety. It kind of stung that he wasn’t forthcoming, I guess I figured that since I already knew so much, the rest of it was just semantics, but whatever.

  “I can’t tell you about the business, peaches.” His voice was soft and felt nice in my ears. I closed my eyes as a surge of emotion shot up from my chest and pressed against the back of them. I didn’t understand what it meant, just that I couldn’t handle him shutting me out and then treating me with kindness. The two didn’t seem to line up in my mind.

  “It’s fine,” I responded, keeping my gaze on the passing scenery. My voice came out a little thick.

  “You’re upset with me?”

  “I’m fine.” A tickle beneath my eye told me a tear was falling. I swiped at it quickly, hoping he didn’t see. I had no clue why I was crying.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “You should be looking at the road, not me.”

  Clicking on his indicator, he pulled off the main road and stopped the Range Rover.

  “We don’t have to do this,” he said, putting the car into Park. The engine idled.

  “Do what?”

  “Visit your father. It’s obviously got you stressed, and I was being an arsehole getting my nose all out of joint over the religion thing.”

  “Yeah, well what do you think you’re going to do? Force him to like you? He’s not going to understand no matter what we do, or how long we leave it. But we’re going to have to do it eventually if you don’t want him to report me missing and get the cops involved, so we might as well get it over and done with now. We’re almost there.”

  As much as I hated my father’s scrutiny, I knew it came from a good place. He cared about his children and wanted what he thought was best for them. He just did it in a really crappy way that involved laying the guilt on thick while using his strict interpretation of the Bible to convince us that God would send us to Hell if we didn’t obey our parents. It wasn’t until Holland went through a rebellious teen phase and dragged me along with her that I even started to question my father and the things he’d been teaching me. That was when there becam
e two sides of me—my father’s Alesha, and Holland’s version of me. I was never sure which one I really was and often wondered if my true identity was still struggling to break through. Did I even have a true identity, or was I capable of only being someone else’s version? Perhaps there was no real me at all.

  Sam had said he’d liked the girl he first met running across his front yard. That I’d had spunk. Would he be horribly disappointed when he saw the me my father knew? The girl who bowed her head and watched her toes more than she looked into eyes? Was that what I was more worried about than Sam actually meeting Dad?

  “I’ll try to come up with something,” Sam said, then put the car in gear and merged back into the traffic. I didn’t like his chances. My father didn’t suffer fools gladly. He could sniff out a lie a mile off.

  When we arrived at the funeral home about half an hour later, my nerves twisted my stomach.

  “This is it?” Sam looked upward, taking in the imposing building. One would think a funeral home would more closely resemble the Addams family residence, but my uncle’s looked nothing of the sort. It was built specifically for the business in a blond brick with a dark tiled roof. The gardens were manicured with sweet-smelling flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes that lined a concrete walkway leading to the main door. If it didn’t have a massive sign out front saying ‘Eastern Funeral Services’, you’d peg the building as a community centre, or something a little more fun like an RSL club.

  “This is it.” I took a deep breath and unclipped my seat belt, preparing to face the music.

  “Wait,” Sam said, jumping out of the car and jogging around to my side. “What kind of husband doesn’t open his wife’s door?” He stood grinning as he held his hand out to help me.

  “How very chivalrous of you.” I smiled, placing one hand against his chest. Lord, I love to touch his chest.

  “Ready to go in?”

  I looked towards the building and shook my head. “No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

  Catching my face in his hands, Sam pressed a lingering kiss against my lips, causing my head to lighten and my toes to tingle—among other parts of my body. “After we do this, I promise I will never make you do something you don’t want to do again. This was really shitty of me.”

  Yes it was, but it needs to be done.

  I released a heavy breath. “Let’s just go in.”

  “Alesha.” My aunt Miranda looked up from the reception desk she often manned as we entered. “You’re back.” She smiled, but there was an accompanying annoyance in her eyes. I’d left them without a make-up artist for several days. Replacing me at short notice wouldn’t have been easy, so she was understandably pissed. “And who might this charming young man be?” She had a real smile for Sam.

  He held out his hand. “Samuel Cartwright, ma’am.” Wow, she gets the full formal introduction and everything.

  As she took his hand, I noticed my aunt blush a little. Those Cartwright boys seem to have that kind of power over most women.

  “And how do you know our Alesha, Sam?” she asked when she reluctantly took her hand back.

  “I’m her—”

  “Where’s Dad?” I jumped in before Sam could say anything more. There was no way I was breaking the news to her before I’d told my dad. It would be yet another thing he’d never forgive me for.

  “Downstairs with Trevor. We had two new clients come in today. Tragic accident. You’ll have your work cut out for you if they want a viewing.”

  “OK. Thank you.” I grabbed Sam by the hand and pulled him to the side door that opened straight onto a narrow staircase leading to the basement, where the bodies were stored and my brother and I performed our work.

  I was thankful to Sam for not making me feel bad about cutting off his conversation with Miranda. There was no way I would have been able to explain without being overheard. Sound travelled easily in this facility. “You might see a body,” I warned as we alighted the stairs.

  “Consider me well informed,” he said, following along behind me.

  “Dad?” I called out when I heard familiar voices. Trevor was talking about turning a tap, and Dad was questioning the order in which he wanted things done. Typical. My brother had performed the embalming procedure on hundreds of bodies over the years. My father had performed precisely zero, yet he still felt he knew best.

  “Leesh?” The nickname came from my brother’s mouth.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Dad said, keeping his back towards me as they came into view. “You’ll find we’re likely too busy to talk since one of our workers decided to take a last-minute trip without giving any notice.”

  “Dad had to do Mrs Hill’s make-up himself. She looked horrifying.” I met Trevor’s laughing eyes and he gave me a sympathetic smile. Despite his perfection in my father’s eyes, I didn’t hold anything against him and actually got along with my brother quite well. It had felt like we only had each other growing up, so there was no space for sibling rivalry.

  “How bad was it?” I asked, trying to fight a smile as I imagined the job he would’ve done.

  Trevor produced a wide-eyed manic smile that could have been mistaken for the Joker on a bad day. I put my fist against my mouth to stifle my laugh.

  My father didn’t seem to find it funny. “You don’t need to be here, Alesha. Unless of course you’re here to do some work,” he added, fidgeting with the tubes attached to the pump.

  “I actually came to introduce you to someone,” I started, which was when he decided to turn around and actually look at me. Then he did a double take when he saw Sam standing beside me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t entertaining to watch his eyes move up, up, until he finished noting the entirety of Sam’s size.

  “Young man.” My father nodded politely at Sam, pulling his disposable gloves from his hands. Then he looked at me. “Why did you bring him down here? We have a body out. Have some respect.”

  “He can’t see the body from where he’s standing, Dad. It’s hidden by the curtain.”

  “Still.” Then he gestured for us to follow him to his office.

  I gave Trevor a wave and he mouthed, “Are you OK?’. I nodded and motioned that I’d talk to him later, even though I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow through on that promise. I had no idea what kind of contact I’d be allowed to have with the people I cared about once this visit was over. Would I be able to call them? Visit? Could I see them on holidays and birthdays? Would every moment be supervised? My head throbbed from all the questions bursting inside it.

  “What is all this about?” Dad asked, looking fairly put out once we were inside. He pulled his glasses from his face and started cleaning them with his handkerchief.

  I decided to jump right in. “This is Sam, Dad. My husband.”

  His cleaning motion stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Samuel Cartwright, sir. I’m married to your daughter.” Sam held out his hand, and my father didn’t even register it.

  He’s in shock.

  “But,” Dad blustered. “But… but how?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him a fairy-tale version of how we met, but Sam jumped in first.

  “My church group was spending the day taking underprivileged kids to the beach—kind of like a big brother program. One of the kids got scared of the surf and tried to run away. Alesha saw him, saw me calling after him, then caught him before he could get too far. We got talking, and sir, I fell for your daughter then and there. I was honoured enough that she agreed to have dinner with me. You won’t believe how honoured I felt when she agreed to be my wife too. We got talking about our dreams and then we thought, why wait? God had obviously brought us together for a reason, right? So we flew to the Cook Islands, got married in this quaint little church that opened out on the beach, and sealed our union under the eyes of the Lord.” Oh dear. “It was beautiful, sir. My only regret is that you weren’t there to see it.”

  When Sam finished, my dad was dead silent. He finished cleaning his
glasses, then slid them back on before he looked at me. “Is this guy for real?” He obviously didn’t believe a word. I didn’t blame him—that story was probably even more far-fetched than the truth.

  “Um….” I glanced at Sam, who widened his eyes slightly, silently telling me that I should back him up. And I should back him up because he was my husband, and wives were supposed to honour their husbands, right? But then, children must also honour their parents. So who came first?

  Sam’s brow twitched like he couldn’t believe I wasn’t immediately rushing to back up his story, but he didn’t understand. He wasn’t raised the way I was. The guilt over lying to my dad would consume me until it ate a hole through my insides. But then I had to share a bed with Sam, become a part of his family and live by their rules. They had their own moral code. It didn’t align with the way I was raised, but it worked for them. It would work for me too.

  I was a Cartwright now. I had to remember that, had to act like it too.

  I took a deep breath before I answered.

  “The boy was running towards the road. I had to step in. Sam and I have been inseparable ever since.”

  Sam’s expression softened. I’d chosen him.

  I feel sick.

  My father still didn’t sound convinced. “So you two just ran off to some island and found a priest to marry you? Just like that?” He clicked his fingers.

  He really doesn’t believe us. “Yes,” I said. “Just like that. We didn’t want to wait. I’m sorry if this has upset you.”

  “Upset me? Losing the chance to walk my only daughter down the aisle? Being unable to participate in the tradition of giving that daughter away to a man I believe worthy of her hand?” His voice rose with each word. “I’m not upset, Alesha. I’m furious. I do not condone this… this impulsive and wanton behaviour.” He lifted his hands and gestured that he wouldn’t discuss this anymore. “You will have this marriage annulled.”

  Sam held up his hand. “With all due respect, sir, you’re out of line.”

  “Some Christian boy you are. Sweeping a naïve girl off her feet, then whisking her away from her family. You didn’t even have the respect to ask me for my daughter’s hand.”