by Maise, Ella
“Excuse me?” he said in a low voice, cutting me off.
“I don’t know, maybe that’s the wrong word to use, but I can help with that, too. I can be a good friend, if that’s something you need or want. I can do—”
“Stop talking.”
The harsh tone he used was unexpected and shut me up pretty quickly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, putting his hands on the counter and leaning in.
I leaned back. “I’m not divorcing you, Jack.” I dropped my head and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I hate myself for saying this, but I’ll make trouble for you.” God, as threats went, it sounded pretty weak even to my own ears.
He blinked at me a few times, and I thought maybe my threat was working. “You’ll make trouble for me,” he repeated in a detached tone, and I closed my eyes in defeat. He wasn’t buying it. If one of us was going to make trouble for the other, it would be him making my life miserable. He had all the power. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of trouble would you make for me, Rose? What did you have in mind?”
I looked up to see if he was making fun of me, but it was impossible to tell anything from his stony face. When I couldn’t give him an answer, he straightened up and pushed his hands into his pockets.
“If I was planning on divorcing you why would I say the things I said to Bryan? I came here to ask why your things aren’t at my place, why you haven’t moved in.”
Oh.
“I…what?”
“You were supposed to move in when I was gone. You didn’t. Even though this isn’t going to be a real marriage, we’re the only ones who know that, and I’d like to keep it that way. From everything you’ve said, it sounds like you don’t want a divorce. If that’s true, we need to live together. Surely you could’ve guessed that, especially with your cousin coming around.”
That was not what I had been expecting to hear from him at all. Had I spent almost two weeks worrying about nothing? “You said, before you got out of the car…you said we shouldn’t have done this and didn’t call or contact me in any way for the entire time you were gone.”
“And?”
I found the strength to get a little pissed. “And what was I supposed to think after that remark? Surely you knew I would think you regretted your decision.”
“And you wanted to get married that day?” he retorted.
“No, but—”
“It doesn’t matter. Didn’t Cynthia call you about moving into my place?”
Momentarily rendered speechless by his audacity, I closed my eyes and barely managed to lift my hand high enough to rub the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t get any phone calls.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I have work to do, so we need to leave now.”
Meeting his eyes, I frowned at him. “What do you mean we need to leave now?”
“I’ll help you pack a few things from your apartment and then we’re going back to my place. You can get everything else later.”
My frown deepened and I shook my head. “You can leave if you want to, but I also have work to do, as you can see, and I’m not going anywhere before it’s done.”
If he thought he could order me around just because we were married, he had another thing coming. Before he could come up with something else and piss me off further, I turned my back to him and gently bent down to pick up the paint roller, quietly wincing as I tried not to whimper or make any other sound though my back was actually killing me. Just as I started on the first wet roll, I heard some rustling behind me. Not thinking anything of it—because, in my humble opinion, if he wanted to leave, he was more than welcome to do so—I kept painting. It was at a much slower pace than before, but I was getting the work done, and more importantly, I wasn’t backing down.
Only a few seconds later, his palm circled my wrist and stopped my movements. I only felt the heat of his skin for a quick second, and then it was gone.
Taking the roller from me, he put it back down and then started to roll up his stark white—and extremely expensive—sleeves. I’d always thought there was something irresistible about watching a man roll up his sleeves, and Jack Hawthorne was just so meticulous and thorough about it that it was impossible for me to take my eyes away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked when he was finally done and in the process of picking up the paint roller.
He gave me a brief glance and started painting. “Obviously I’m helping you finish what you were doing so we can get out of here faster.”
“Maybe I have other things I need to get done here.”
“Then I’ll help with them too.” I thought that was uncharacteristically sweet of him—annoying, but in a sweet sort of way.
“I don’t need—” Another quick glance from him had the words dying on my lips.
“You look awful.” He gave me his back while I was still staring at him in shock. “Didn’t you like how the professionals painted it?” he asked.
Maybe he wasn’t so sweet after all, just plain old rude. To be honest, that comment hurt a little. “Thank you. I tried my best to look awful today—glad to hear it worked. Although, if I had known you were coming, I would’ve tried harder. Also, what professionals are you talking about? I’m painting the place myself.”
That confession earned me another indecipherable look, this one longer.
“Why?”
“Because I have a budget and I can’t blow it on things I can easily do myself. Does it look bad or something?” I narrowed my eyes and looked at the wall more carefully. “Do you still see that damn red underneath?”
The roller stopped moving for two seconds, but then he continued painting. “No. Considering you painted it on your own, it looks fine. Is this the only wall you’ll be painting?” he asked, his voice tighter.
“No. Tomorrow I’m starting on the rest of the place. I was only going to do one more coat for the green then call it a day.”
I moved forward, grabbed the small paintbrush, and dipped it in the paint bucket that was sitting at the end of the counter. “I’ll do the edges—it’ll go quicker.”
“No,” he replied in a clipped tone, blocking me. “You look like you’re about to keel over. I said I’ll get it done.” Without touching me, he pried the brush out of my hand.
“You don’t know how I want it done,” I protested, trying to take the brush back.
“I think it’s a pretty straightforward process, wouldn’t you agree? Sit down before you—”
“Keel over. I got it.”
It was tempting to stand upright the whole time as he painted my wall, but he was right—if I didn’t sit my ass down, I was about ready to pass out. Since the chairs hadn’t arrived yet, the only thing I could sit on was an old stool I had found in the back room and had cleaned just that morning.
After a few minutes of quiet where the only sounds you could hear were the traffic outside and the wet sounds of the paint roller, I couldn’t take it. “Thank you for helping, but Mr. Hawth—”
He stopped and turned around. Even with a paint roller in his hand, he looked attractive, not that it was any of my business. An attractive jerk didn’t hold much appeal.
“Jack,” he said quietly. “You need to call me Jack.”
I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It…it still feels weird. I just wanted to say that I can’t stay in your apartment, not tonight,” I added quickly. “I’m really tired and I need to go home, shower, and…it really isn’t the best time for me to pack and move my clothes. Give me a week and I’ll—”
“Do you want to stay married?” Nonchalantly, he leaned down and dipped the roller into more paint. I didn’t reply; it wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer. He got back to painting and spoke toward the wall. “Good. We’ll go to your apartment and I’ll wait for you to grab a bag. If you don’t want your cousin to create problems down the road, you need to get rid of the apartment as soon as you can.”
I gritted my teeth. I k
new he was right, but that didn’t mean I liked what he was saying. I still thought letting him know my thought on the matter was a good idea. “I don’t like this.”
That got him to look at me. “Really? I’m so surprised to hear that. And here I was having the time of my life.”
My lips twitched, but his face was unreadable—as always. I shook my head. “I’m glad I was able to provide that for you, and I know you’re right. It’s just that…I have a million things to do here in the upcoming days, and packing my stuff on top of all those things…I’m not sure I’ll have the energy. So, since I’d be more comfortable in my own space, how about I’ll keep paying my rent at least for another month or so and go back and forth while I’m working on the coffee shop and move slowly—”
“That’s not gonna work. You can pack whatever you’ll need for a few days, and I’ll send some people back to your apartment to pack your furniture.”
Send some people? What the hell was he talking about?
“I… The furniture isn’t mine. It’s a one-room studio apartment, a very small one. All it has is a Murphy bed, a small couch, and a coffee table, basically, and none of it is mine. Also, I don’t need someone else to pack my stuff. I’ll do it myself.”
“Good. Then after we drop by your place, we’ll head back to my apartment. In the next few days, you’ll bring the rest of your stuff.”
Just like that, I was out of excuses, so I closed my mouth and gave myself permission to sulk in silence for a few minutes. It lasted until he picked up the small paintbrush and started on the edges.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Jack stated quietly with a slight touch of anger tinging his voice.
My elbow was on the counter and I was resting my head on my palm when he spoke up. I opened my eyes to check his progress.
“It looks good from here. Again, you don’t have to do it, but thank you.”
His movements with the brush faltered for a second, but he didn’t stop. “I’m not talking about the painting. I’m saying I don’t know how to do this with you. I don’t know how to be married.”
I stared at the back of his head, blinking and trying to make sure I’d heard him right. I took my time trying to figure out how to answer. “I’ve never married a stranger before either, so I think we’re on the same level here. I’m hoping we can figure it out together along the way. Can I suggest one thing, though? I think it would make our lives easier.”
“Can I stop you?” he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder.
Did he mean I talked too much? “You’d have to try and see for yourself, but I’m pretty sure you can’t, so I’ll just go right ahead and share. You’re not very talkative, and that’s okay. If I tried, I could talk enough for both of us, but even though we won’t be in each other’s faces all the time, we’re gonna have to figure out a way to…communicate, I think. I don’t think I’d be too off the mark if I said you seem like a guy of very few words.”
He turned to look at me with an arched eyebrow, and I gave him a small smile and a shrug before continuing.
“It’s gonna be difficult to get used to each other. This whole situation is awkward and new. Plus, living with you is going to be…to be honest, a little weird for me, not to mention the fact that you’re gonna have to live with a stranger in your apartment, too. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I can. I’ll be spending most of my time here, anyway, so I think you’ll barely notice my presence. And we’re helping each other out, right? You get the property and the every-now-and-then fake wife, and I get two years in this amazing location. I promise, I’ll do my part.”
His eyes holding mine, he gave me a small nod.
“Despite what you saw tonight, I’m pretty easy to get along with,” I continued as he focused on dipping the brush into more paint. “You won’t even know I’m in your home. I’ll be wherever you need me to be when you need me, but other than that, I’ll stay out of your hair.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I was having a really hard time keeping my eyes open. “What are you worried about then?”
Instead of explaining further, he shook his head and turned back to the almost finished wall. “This is almost done. If there is nothing else to do, we should leave.”
“There are a million things to do, but I don’t think I have the strength to lift my finger, let alone do anything. I’ll get my things from the back then we can go.”
“Your ring,” he said as I pushed myself up, his back to me. “You’re not wearing it.”
“I…” I touched my finger where the ring was supposed to be. “I left it at home because I’m working here. I didn’t want to lose it or damage it with all the work I need to do.”
“I’d prefer you to wear it from now on.”
He didn’t turn back and look at me, but I did notice the band I’d bought him was on his finger.
“Of course,” I mumbled quietly before going to the kitchen to get my things.
The number of times Jack Hawthorne smiled: none.
Chapter Four
Jack
The car ride to her apartment was silent. After she said a quiet hello to Raymond after entering the car, neither of us said a word to each other. I didn’t have anything else to say, and she didn’t look like she had any strength left in her to string two words together. That saved us from trying to make small talk, which was something I didn’t do willingly anyway.
Sooner than I expected, we came to a stop in front of her old apartment building in the East Village. I offered my help, but she politely declined. After promising she wouldn’t take long, she quickly—as quickly as she could drag herself away, that is—exited the car. Thinking she’d take her time to pack no matter what she said, as every single female I’d known to that day would have done, I focused on answering some emails while I waited in the car with Raymond.
Twenty minutes later, just as I was about to send out my sixth email, I looked up from my phone and saw Rose coming out with just one small duffel bag. She’d also changed out of her paint-splattered clothes into blue jeans and a white t-shirt, and she looked freshly showered with her damp hair framing her face. If I wasn’t mistaken, she was favoring her right leg.
Before I could do anything, Raymond opened his door and rushed to help her. Following a brief push and pull between them, which I watched in confusion and unexpected amusement, Rose gave up and let Raymond carry her bag.
“Thank you,” she said quietly when he opened the door for her after putting it in the trunk.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Hawthorne.”
I froze. With her hand on top of the open door, Rose froze as well.
“Uh, that’s really not necessary. Please call me Rose.”
As she finally got in and Raymond closed the door, I locked my phone and put it back into my pocket.
“Will that be enough?” I asked.
She glanced at me with a small frown. “Excuse me?”
I gestured to the back with my head.
She followed my gaze. “Oh, yes. I can’t do much tonight. I’ll pack everything tomorrow. I’m sorry if I took too long, but I had to jump in the shower because of all the paint.”
“It’s fine. I took care of some emails.”
She nodded and we fell silent for a few minutes until she spoke up again.
“That was a little weird for you too, right? It wasn’t just me.”
I quirked an eyebrow and waited for her to explain.
“Mrs. Hawthorne,” she whispered after a quick glance at Raymond. She put her right hand on the leather seat between us, leaning her upper body toward me as if she was sharing a secret. “That’s the first time I’ve been called that. It’s gonna take some getting used to. I’m Mrs. Hawthorne now.”
“Yes, you are,” I agreed curtly then looked out my window as she leaned away. In the reflection on the glass, I saw her lose the small smile that was playing on her lips and straighten up in her seat. I closed my eyes and took
a deep breath. This whole fake marriage thing was going to be harder than I’d initially thought, especially since I seemed to be doing a bad job of it already.
I only looked at her again when Raymond stopped the car in front of my place on Central Park West. She glanced out the window and I watched her release a long breath.
“This is it?” she asked, peering back at me.
“Yes.”
I got out of the car. Rubbing my temple, I made it to Raymond’s side just as he opened her door and then walked to the back to get her bag. It seemed like the little fight she’d had in her back at the coffee shop had deflated during our car ride, and she just stared up at the building.
After smiling at my driver softly and thanking him when he held out her bag, she walked a few steps away from us.
“The usual time tomorrow, Mr. Hawthorne?” Raymond asked quietly, both our eyes on the woman standing just a few feet away from us.
Sighing, I pushed my hands into my pockets and shook my head. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Giving me a quick nod, he got back in the car and drove away, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. Taking the few steps to close the gap that separated me from my newly acquired wife, I stood beside her.
“This is it then,” she repeated, but this time it wasn’t posed as a question.
“This is it,” I agreed, and we stood side by side like that for a few agonizingly slow seconds.
“It’s really close to the coffee shop. I was afraid you lived around Bryant Park, closer to your office.” She gave me a quick look then faced forward again. “I take the subway from my apartment so I could’ve still done that, but this is better, of course.”
“I did live close to the firm at one point. I moved here two years ago. Shall we go up?”
She nodded. I opened the door for her, and we finally entered the building we’d been staring at. I ignored the doorman’s greeting and walked straight toward the elevators.