by B. Celeste
But Chase is right. When Mum finds out what I did, she’ll be furious. She may have never pressured either of us to get married and settle down, but she’d want to meet the person I’d put a ring on and be at the wedding to support me.
Frowning, I reach into the pocket and pull the velvet box out. Peering over at the couch where Rylee’s blonde hair cascades over the back, I let out a small sigh and walk over to her with the jewelry I purchased the day after she said she’d marry me.
Without saying a word, I hold out my palm with the closed box positioned in the center of it. I watch as her eyes slowly trail down toward the offering before widening comically large.
“What is that?” she squeaks.
I nudge her to take it, lips wavering at the corners. “I didn’t want to give it to you at the courthouse in case there were paparazzi. This is your story to break, not anybody else’s. But this is yours to have. For show. When this is…” My lips press together as I clear my throat. “When all is said and done in a couple years, you can do as you please with it. Sell it. Keep it. Whatever you want. You could get good money for it if you choose to put it on the market. No hard feelings if you do.”
Rylee doesn’t lift her gaze from the box before hesitant hands reach out to take it. She doesn’t open it and doesn’t speak despite her lips being parted as if she wants to.
The ring isn’t anything too fancy. According to the man I bought it from, it’s a Waverly Diamond—an oval-cut 0.75 carat diamond set on a plain silver band. The manager of the shop tried getting me to spend more money on something far more extravagant, but I had a feeling Rylee wouldn’t like that. Any time I offer her anything, she cringes at the thought of accepting it like she’ll break out into hives if she touches anything that I buy her.
As refreshing as that is, it’s also slightly grating. I want to help her, provide what she needs to be content. But if she constantly refuses, it’s impossible for me to feel needed. And that’s inevitably what I want to be.
Needed.
Essential.
Ever since my name became known, I’ve had to sort the differences between being loved and needed, and used and wanted. The only thing I’ve pictured for the woman I’d give my name to someday is that she’d feel the former toward me—to give me a reason to work my ass off and come home knowing there’d be someone there who saw me without the masked persona.
Rylee doesn’t want to need anyone.
She’s afraid to.
Our situation is complicated because she needs my resources to get by, and she hates it. I just hope she doesn’t hate me in the process.
When my wife finally opens the box, the sharp intake of breath is the only reaction I need to know I chose right. Her eyes go from the ring resting in the holder to me, glazed with cloudy emotion, and says, “It’s beautiful.”
Wanting to lighten the mood, I shrug and say, “Beautiful ring for a beautiful woman.”
A watery laugh is what I get from her, and I accept it happily. It’s all I need. “Want to eat? The delivery boy will get a hefty tip once he hauls all the Chinese food I ordered here. Wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“Chinese?”
I grin. “Is this where you tell me that you’d prefer pizza? It is your wedding night after all. What the bride wants…”
Her nose scrunches, and her muffled voice offers a small, “Chinese is good.”
“Good.”
We stare at each other.
This time, a comfortable silence weaves into the crevices of everything left unsaid.
Good.
We settle on a mindless sit-com while we eat, neither one of us really paying attention to the slapstick humor based on the glazed expressions we cast toward the screen and pick through the various boxes of food.
Rylee’s focus on the show gives me ample opportunity to really look at her. I’ve definitely cast my gaze her way whenever I could, but she always retreats upstairs and away from my attention before my eyes can give her a thorough once-over.
I know her eye color makes her self-conscious—she looks away as soon as anyone notices how dark the brown tone is in comparison to the crystal blue one that’s a touch lighter than my own. But what she probably doesn’t know is that everybody who sees them is instantly enamored by their unique beauty. It’s like when she smiles. Nobody can resist smiling back when those doe eyes and soft lips are pointed in their direction, even if they’re in a piss-poor mood.
I know firsthand.
The honey blonde hair that was down earlier is now thrown up into a messy bun, the same kind I see Mum don often. Except on Rylee, it’s artfully done without meaning to be. A single piece rests against her now makeup-less face, and I’m itching to reach over and brush it away if it means seeing her shiver again over my touch.
Her skin is slightly lighter than mine, not pale, but not tan either. I wonder if she gets in the sun whenever she can or if she prefers staying in. There’s a freckle at the base of her wrist, and two more in almost a perfectly straight line, making me want to connect the dots and see how far they go.
“You’re staring,” she remarks, drawing my attention up from the freckle I haven’t seen often since she layers in clothes that hide her figure. I wish I could have properly enjoyed her body earlier when it was showcased in the dress she wore to say her vows, making me damn happy she didn’t accept my money to buy something else.
She’s still looking at the TV, but there’s a hint of pink dusting her cheekbones. Before I can comment on it, she tucks her feet under herself and says, “And don’t use some cheesy line about admiring the view.”
Damn, she’s good.
“My mother told me not to lie though,” I come back with, smirking when she side-eyes me with a quirked brow.
Eventually, whatever thoughts are filling her head sort themselves out. Her eyes leave my face and go back to the television. “You wouldn’t be lying. You’d be evading the truth. Everybody does it.”
Sounds interesting. “What truths have you been evading, Rylee? You seem to be upfront with me. Most people in your shoes wouldn’t be, least of all with your profession.”
She cringes at the reminder of her employment and what story she’ll have to craft for her boss. I asked her if she started yet, but she told me she wanted to wait until after the “job was done”. A job—as if marrying me is a 9-5 task she wakes up to dread every day.
Maybe she does.
Rubbing the clamminess from my palms onto the jeans I changed into once we got home, I heft out a sigh and brush off the feared thought before it eats at me. “We need to talk about that.”
Her eyes dart to me. “About what?”
“Your job.” I scratch at the denim, feigning an itch to stall. “Once you submit your article and get the payout, you’ll need to quit.”
This time, I’m the one looking anywhere but at the woman who’s staring me down. Her eyes burn into the side of my face, but I try playing it off.
She doesn’t like it there anyway.
She gets paid crap.
She feels trapped.
I’m doing her a favor.
“Garrick,” she chokes out, and I hide the frown that wants to waver my otherwise neutral lips at the shake of her tone. “I can’t just quit.”
“You can.” I give her a heartfelt look of encouragement. “You said that if you had nothing left, you wouldn’t like who you are anymore.” Rylee’s silence is more than enough for me to continue. “I’m giving you an out. You don’t need that job, not now. Write the piece, get paid, and tell your boss where to kiss it. You know I’ll make sure you have everything you need. Medicine, money, whatever you want.”
“I’m not the kind of girl who wants to depend on others. That… It scares me. Anything can happen, and then what?”
“We made a deal.”
“We rushed into a deal,” she agrees, panicked as she fiddles with her fingers. “But what about when our time is up? Two years seems like a long time but that’ll be
here before we know it.”
My nostrils twitch. As much as I don’t want to think about that or the domineering feeling that comes with such a cemented statement, I give her the best answer I can. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes. But know this, Rylee, you’ll be taken care of even then. I’ll never take anything away from you, even after we go our separate ways.”
I don’t want to acknowledge the bitter taste that leaves in my mouth, or the heaviness that creeps into my chest like a darkness eclipsing the beating organ in my ribcage. Refusing to think about it, I push it away and tell myself I’ll deal with it another time.
The doubt in her eyes, the fear, is identical to the emotions I saw when I proposed this idea. It’s the same look that crossed her face after we walked out of that courthouse. She trusted me enough to believe I’d take care of her, which is the only reason she said yes.
But now she’s second guessing that.
I’ve never trusted easily, so I know it’s hypocritical to be offended that Rylee doesn’t put faith in me unconditionally. No amount of money can buy something like that—no ring can cement the promises I’ve made to her, not when there’s an impending date hovering over our heads that reminds us we’re on a timeline.
“I promise,” I say softly, eyes pleading for her to believe me.
Her lips press together, eyes studying me for sincerity, before she nods once. “Okay.”
I settle back onto the couch, easing my tense muscles, and loosening a sigh. “I was staring at you because you’re a catch, Rylee.”
“A catch,” she scoffs quietly, readjusting on the couch. “Sure, I’m a catch. But the fishermen I’m used to want a catch and release. They don’t want to keep me. They just want to say they caught me for the bragging rights.”
She doesn’t try masking the bitterness in her tone, so my interest piques. “Do you want to be caught?”
There’s a moment of pause, and I want to know what she’s contemplating—the truth, or a fraction of it. “By whom? You?” Her tone is light, but her two-tone eyes show reluctant acceptance when we lock gazes. “Considering both our names are on the marriage certificate, I’d say I already have been, Mr. Matthews.”
The thought of claiming someone like her should excite me, but I can’t show that. Not yet. Not until she’s truly accepted this. “I’ve never been fishing before, but it seems there’s a benefit to being caught by me, Mrs. Matthews.”
Her brows go up in inquiry.
I smirk. “The fisherman who gets to keep the fish, also gets to eat it.”
The blush darkening her face tells me she understands exactly what I mean.
“I’m curious,” I murmur, moving closer until the slightest hitch of her breath curls my lips upwards. It’s the exact sound I hoped to hear as my lips neared hers. I stop short, teasing, waiting, and when she doesn’t object, I press a featherlight kiss against lips that taste faintly of cherry Chapstick.
Humming against her lips, I praise the choice. “One of my favorite flavors.” She doesn’t need to know my absolute favorite is what I’d happily taste if she opened her legs for me.
The tip of my tongue traces the seam of her lips before she parts them and lets me deepen the kiss. As much as I want to touch her, I keep my hands to myself and wait to see if she makes the move.
If I listen close enough I can hear her heartbeat racing, thumping, drumming to the rhythm of mine as she experimentally touches the tip of her tongue against mine. Groaning into her mouth, I run my tongue along her teeth before drawing back and nipping her bottom lip before letting it go.
Her face is flushed, eyes glazed, as she draws the same lip into her mouth and studies my face carefully.
“Interesting,” I purr, testing my luck and leaning in for one last kiss, only brushing the corner of her mouth this time.
She doesn’t say a word as I pull away and stand, but her eyes follow me as I flatten my shirt, clean up the coffee table of the boxes and silverware, and tell her I’ll be upstairs if she needs me.
I know she won’t follow.
Won’t knock.
But I can’t help but smirk at the way those eyes of hers lit up the second I leaned in with a feeling I know all too well.
Lust.
And that’s when I know there’s hope.
13
Garrick
Chase walks into the home gym I occupy every morning, holding a big box in his hands. “There’s a new delivery guy on our route. When he saw the name on the package I think he got a hard-on. Pretty sure I saw him taking a selfie of himself in front of the house.”
It’s common knowledge where I live nowadays. The gate around the property does its job separating the public from me, but with Rylee here, I have to be careful. After moving around some vehicles in the garage, I had her pull her car inside so nobody could see her plates and trace her here to me because you can never be too safe.
I set down the dumbbells, wipe off my sweaty forehead, and pause the music blasting in my ears. 80s rock is always my preferred go-to when I work out, but Reg has been on our asses about figuring out the rest of our album, so I’ve been listening to instrumentals for the past hour and a half trying to go through lyrics in my head.
“Thanks, Chase.” I rip open the top and peel back the side flaps.
My brother steps forward to inspect what’s inside, his face twisting with confusion. “I didn’t think you liked these things.”
“Rylee said she always wanted one.” I pull out the air fryer box and examine the pictures of fried food on the sides. “It’ll be her wedding gift from me.”
“Christ, you already gave her that huge ass ring—which she hasn’t worn once—and you’re paying her medical bills. Plus, you’re planning on putting her on your insurance. Don’t you think that’s enough?”
I set the box down and sigh. “I’m trying to make her happy, mate. You do that for people you care about.”
“You don’t know her!”
“I know that she’s a decent person.”
“She sold out your best friend,” he points out dryly.
“And she feels awful.”
“She was paid to sell out you too and look where that got her. Right in the middle of it all.” The judgement in his tone reminds me of the times he talked about Leighton Grier, and I know this has nothing to do with me and Rylee anymore.
“Sometimes,” I tell him carefully, “we have to risk getting hurt if it means doing the right thing. All of what you said may be true, but she’s never willingly done anything to harm me. The least I can do is hold up my end of the bargain since we’ve made the agreement already.”
He looks away, staring at the wall of mirrors behind the work out equipment while he considers what I said. When he glances back at me, he sounds cautious. “I still think she’s getting more out of this then you. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Have you talked to Mom?”
Wincing, I put the air fryer back into the box it was delivered in and close the flaps. “I spoke with her this morning, filling her in on what’s bound to come up in the media.”
“She knows about Rylee then?”
“Well…”
Chase rolls his eyes. “You’re scared of her, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘scared’ exactly.” But not even I’m convinced by that. “I told her to give us a day or two before she comes over. She wasn’t very happy, but she agreed.”
That conversation involved a lot of raised voices, genuine apologies, and countless questions about my new bride. There may have been some cussing to, and not from me.
But overall, Mum wasn’t angry.
Disappointed, yes.
Sad she wasn’t at the wedding, yes.
But not angry.
I’d take it.
“Have you found a house yet?” I pry, grabbing a towel and wiping off. “Mum mentioned there may have been one or two you were considering.”
“Want me out
already?” he jokes. I whip him with the damp towel, making him scowl and step back. “Gross, man, I don’t want your stank on me. And yeah. I’m talking to the realtor today about one of them. It’s not in this area, but not too far away. Burbank.”
I’m not surprised he’s planning on going to a different suburb. He’s always been here, whether at Mum’s house or mine, but prefers the area Zayne lives when we go to his place. “Well, I hope you get it. You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“When the papers are signed,” he agrees.
We fall to silence for a few minutes.
Taking a few swigs of my water, I gesture toward the door. “I need to shower and get some work done, but maybe later we can go do something? Rylee has been working on the article so she’ll be busy, but we haven’t been out just the two of us in a while.”
Chase shifts his weight, glancing down at his phone before dropping his shoulders. “I want to, but I’ve got some stuff going on today. Rain check?”
He’s been dodgy more so now than ever, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to know what’s got him this way. “Girl trouble?” I guess, despite telling myself he’ll let me know with time.
“Something like that,” he murmurs.
“Does this mean you’re over Leighton?”
His shoulders go rigid. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’ve been over her for a long time now? She’s engaged to Kyler. I’m not going to pine over someone who’s obviously not interested.”
Chase’s heated tone tells me to back off, but I’ve never been that smart. “I’m sorry, but I saw them in the city the other day and she asked how you were. Have you talked to her at all?”
“I apologized,” he grits. “What more is there to say?”
Realizing this is a losing battle, I hold my hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll drop it. But I know you two were friends before…things progressed.” I remember an old conversation about just how far things went with them but force it away. “Thought maybe it’d be nice to see you two talking again is all.”