by Shandi Boyes
After a final glare announcing her dissatisfaction, she spins on her heels and exits the balcony. Her annoyance was anticipated, but I still hoped she’d have a different reaction. Although we faced a few rocky patches since our introduction, I hoped as the months moved on, the bumps would smooth. That hasn’t been the case. Clara doesn’t like me. I can’t put it any more simply than that. I also can’t say her lack of admiration isn’t reciprocated.
My focus from one McGregor sibling diverts to another when a broad set of arms wrap around my waist. With a grunt that makes it seem as if I am twenty pounds heavier than I am, Colby hoists me off the ground. “You should have taken up my offer before you accepted Cormack’s. Now it’ll be weird. Sister-in-law is way too close to sister for my liking.”
Colby dumps me like a sack of potatoes when Cormack growls, “The only offer she’ll be accepting from you will be your inheritance if you don’t get your hands off her.”
Cate, Cormack’s baby sister, steps between the two brothers when Colby raises his fists in jest. From the shortage of concern, I’m going to assume this is something Colby often does. I leave them to their playful bickering when a pair of glistening blue eyes captures my attention. K is making her way through the crowd, her frail steps slowing her pace.
“K.” For only a letter, my welcome packs a real punch.
The moisture in K’s eyes doubles when she runs her thumb across my cheek. Her skin is as soft as a feather, her touch barely felt.
“Are you well? Cormack said you were a little under the weather last week.”
Her eyeroll lightens the load on my shoulders. I can’t understand a word she speaks to me in Finnish, but I’m reasonably confident she expresses ones I’ve said many times before. “Cormack is a worry wart.”
I lean in close to K’s side to ensure Cormack won’t overhear me before whispering, “Have you had any all-night baking sessions lately?”
My brow arches in suspicion when she gestures for a tiny Asian woman to step closer. The woman is approximately early to late twenties. Her eyes are an unusual light brown, and the straight wisps of her hair are pulled back with an alligator clip. She is stunningly beautiful.
“Thank you,” I praise when she hands me a white box.
After dipping her chin, she steps away.
I wait for K to gesture for me to open the box before I do. I’m all thumbs, my excitement at an all-time high. K is an extremely wealthy woman, but I know nothing in this box will be of high monetary value, because just like me, she treasures things money can’t buy. I think that is why we had an instant connection. She is me—only fifty years older.
I choke back tears when I discover what is inside the box. “K. . . it’s perfect. Did you make it?”
She nods.
Tears pool in my eyes when I carefully lift the cake topper from its case. The bright blue eyes on the groom are an exact replica of the glistening ones standing across from me, and every kink in the brides auburn hair matches mine perfectly.
I make a weird half-sob, half-cry when the bride’s shoes come into view. She is wearing muddy gumboots instead of the standard back-breaking stilettos most brides wear. I clutch at my chest, my happiness too much to contain.
The chances of leaving our exchange tear-free are lost when the pretty Asian lady returns to the balcony bearing additional gifts. But this time, she’s wheeling it in instead of carrying it — a modest, yet beautifully crafted three-tier wedding cake. One side of the cake has been adorned with sugar flowers. The other side isn’t as pretty. It looks like a giant mud splat, as if someone jumped into a puddle next to the cake mere seconds ago.
The reason for the splatter effect comes to light when K removes the cake topper from my hand and places it on the top tier. It is a beautiful disaster of both chaos and perfection. Two opposing things brought together in the most perfect way. It is a flawless representation of Cormack and me.
“It is perfect, K. Improperly flawless.”
After blowing me away with her generous wedding gift, K revealed her second devious scheme. This one isn’t as pleasant as her first.
“I’d sneak into your room, if there wasn’t a possibility I’d get lost.”
Cormack’s deep laughter rumbles down the line. “Her methods are old-fashioned, but since we are technically under her roof, there isn’t much we can do about it. It is only for two more nights; then I’ll have you all to myself once again.”
The admiration in his tone warms my heart. “You love your grandma, don’t you?” The tiredness of a long day is evident in my voice.
“Yes, I do,” Cormack replies without shame. “But nowhere near as much as I love you.”
“Aww.” A yawn ruins the sheer joy his reply caused my heart.
“Go to sleep, Harlow. It’s been a very long day.” The deep hum of his voice naturally lulls me. “We’ve been up since the sparrows.”
He isn’t lying. Although it is Christmas Eve, our schedule remained the same. We baked together; we ate together, then we fooled around—together. There is just one difference. I go to sleep tonight as his fiancé. Never in a million years did I think this would be the outcome of our trip. I’m getting married in a little over thirty hours—I can’t believe it.
After snuggling into my pillow, I say, “Cormack?”
“Hmm.” He sounds as tired as me.
“If I pinch myself, will I wake up?” Usually, I hate the need in my voice. That day isn’t today.
My eyelids grow heavy as I wait for Cormack’s reply. It is a long and torturous few minutes. Not in a bad way, but it definitely increases the sexual tension between us, which in turn, frustrates me more. I love K, but her traditional ways suck. Cormack and I have been together a little over four months, and only once in that entire time have we slept apart. I know absence makes the heart grow fonder, but has no one in this family heard of “out of sight, out of mind?”
Just when I think Cormack is never going to answer me, he murmurs, “I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask through a yawn. “Your reply was very delayed, like you needed time to deliberate.”
“I didn’t need time to consider what I was going to say. I was just trying to work out how to say it without sounding like an idiot.” I can hear honesty in his tone.
“Just say it. I’ll tell you if you sound like an idiot.”
He laughs, knowing I’m being honest.
“Come on. Out with it. If you can’t be honest with me, who can you be honest with?”
I expect another delay. It never comes. But my heart does melt into a massive puddle when he says, “You’re not dreaming, because every once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary story, a fairytale occurs. You’re not a princess, Harlow. But you are my queen.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Harlow
I wake up startled and in shock. It isn’t just waking up in a foreign bed causing my alarmed composure. It is the wicked gleam of the devil wearing Prada. Clara is standing in the doorway of my room, her foot tapping like I’ve kept her waiting. As I scoot up my bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, she enters my room.
My throat works hard to swallow when she closes the door behind us. It’s not a smart move on her behalf. After our little tussle in a lingerie store earlier this week, we shouldn’t be alone. I’m not worried about me. She is the only one in danger.
“If this is about our confrontation—”
“This has nothing to do with your idiotic friend,” Clara interrupts, her voice snooty.
I roll my eyes, her lie heard a mile out. This hurts me to admit, but if I weren’t friends with Izzy, I’m reasonably sure Clara wouldn’t have a problem with me. Most of our dislike centers around Izzy because Clara wants Isaac, and she claws her nails into anyone who dares gets within touching distance of him—his fiancée included.
After strengthening her aggressive stance, she snarls, “This is about you and my brother.”
With a ro
ll of my eyes, I clamber out of bed. A vintage wedding dress hangs on the antique wardrobe on her left. My three-carat princess cut engagement ring glistens in the midmorning sun streaming into the room. And the words Cormack spoke to me last night are playing on repeat in my ears. Nothing she could say will stop me marrying Cormack tomorrow afternoon. Not a single thing.
Except. . .
“Cormack isn’t marrying you because he loves you. You have something he wants, so he’s putting steps in place to ensure he gets it.”
I laugh. It isn’t a pleasant laugh. “I think you’re a little confused. What could I possibly have that your brother needs?”
My laughter immediately ends when Clara snaps, “Your bakery.”
I want to deny her claims. I want to tell her she is ridiculous. But the absolute honesty beaming from her eyes stops me. Clara drives a broom instead of a car, but her eyes are identical to her brother’s in every way—integrity and all.
“Why would Cormack want my bakery? That doesn’t make any sense.” I can barely hear my words over the frantic beat of my pulse.
“You denied his proposal for months. He devised a new tactic,” she says like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal—a fucking huge one!
Snubbing the slew of questions pumping out of me, she hands me a business card. It cites Cormack’s name as a co-proprietor of the company that’s been endeavoring to buy me out the past year. The card appears authentic, but its unwrinkled appearance fills me with suspicion. I’ve been duped by Clara once before. I learned from my mistake.
“You could have printed this before you arrived.”
When Clara refuses to accept the card back, I flick it to the ground. Even though I’m doubtful it is authentic, it is scorching my hand.
“If you want me to believe you, you’ll need actual proof.”
Clara’s lips purse as she gives a halfhearted nod. Total shocker—she appears to be agreeing with me. “The cards are new, and so are these, but I bet you won’t disregard these as quickly.”
She retrieves a single sheet of paper from her purse. It seems insignificant, but the words printed across the front report guarantee its importance. It is the wedding license Cormack and I signed in front of his lawyer last night.
“Why do you have that? That was supposed to be lodged with the courts this morning.”
When I attempt to snatch the document out of her grasp, she takes a step back, foiling my attempt. “I need that to prove this.”
Like magic, she thrusts a bound document into my chest. Where did that come from?
Although my perusal of this document late last night was quick, I still know what it is. It is the prenup Cormack got in a verbal altercation over with his lawyer last night. When Cormack refused to sign it, his lawyer voiced his concern. I agreed with his lawyer’s points, so I tried to make Cormack see reason.
He wouldn’t have any of it. He was adamant he didn’t want a document hanging over my head the rest of my life, threatening me to stay with him. He wanted me to stay married to him because I loved him, not because it increased the purse in our divorce by a million dollars per year. Because I somewhat agreed with him, I dropped my campaign.
“I tried to convince Cormack to sign the prenup, Clara. His decision not to sign it was one he made himself.” I hand the document back to her. “If you’re concerned I am with him for his money, you have no reason to fret. If our marriage ends, I will only leave with what I arrived with. I promise you that.”
“Your promises mean nothing to me, just like Cormack’s should mean nothing to you.” Her words are whipped off her tongue like daggers.
I’m five seconds from smacking her, but hold back when she tosses over the first two pages of the prenup. From what I can see, Cormack’s lawyer was extremely tight with his negotiations. In all fairness, I’m glad. I don’t want Cormack’s money. I just want him.
“What are you looking for? Cormack didn’t sign it—”
Before another word can seep from my lips, she finds the page she is looking for. With a bitchy grin, she points to a single line of print on Cormack’s extensive list of assets.
“Colt Enterprises,” I say out loud.
As the room spins around me, I snatch the prenup out of Clara’s hand. I speedread the document numerous times, certain what I am seeing is wrong. Cormack doesn’t own the company attempting to buy me out. He’s not interested in my bakery. He just wants me. Doesn’t he?
I freeze as my time with Cormack rewinds to the very beginning. He did arrive at my bakery well past closing hours, but he was just there to pick up his order, wasn’t he? It was a little odd he would order so many cupcakes for such a small function, but lots of people prefer to over-cater than be seen as stingy. I’ve done this many times myself. He gobbled down six cupcakes within thirty minutes, so who’s to say his staff couldn’t do the same?
I stop amassing explanations when my vivid replay hits a vital part in our story. It is the chapter that sealed Cormack into my heart for eternity. It was the day he exposed himself in a beautifully raw day.
He trusted me that day, but only after deceiving me.
With my emotions at an all-time high, I didn’t pay much attention to the gentleman Cormack was conversing with on the sidewalk. I was so focused on confronting Cormack that my brain didn’t register the familiarity of the stranger’s inky black hair, shiny shoes, and slick grin. I failed to recognize the deep twang of his voice and how he held himself as honorable, even though he was a greasy as they come. I neglected to see he was the same man who delivered the purchase proposals to my bakery a minimum three times a week for the prior six months.
I fall backward with a huff, thankfully landing on the mattress. I feel sick—horribly unwell. “This can’t be true. Cormack wouldn’t just marry me for my bakery. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Although my comment isn’t for anyone in particular, Clara assumes it is for her. “You were the final piece of the puzzle, the last parcel of land he needed to see his dreams prosper. And with you so graciously refusing to sign a prenup, by tomorrow afternoon, what is yours will be his, and what is his, his lawyer will ensure remains his.”
It is lucky my stomach is empty, or I may have barfed when Clara thrust a commercial planning map of Ravenshoe in front of me. What she said is true. Every business surrounding my bakery is owned by Colt Enterprises, even the Thai restaurant Cormack and I ate at last week.
With a growl of a violent woman, I snatch the map from Clara’s hand and charge for the door. When I reach the end of the hallway, my head slings to the left before drifting to the right. I honestly have no clue where Cormack is.
“Two halls to the left, three doors down.”
I’d thank Clara if I didn’t know she was loving every second of my devastation.
Since my feet are as bare as my heart feels, it only takes me seconds to reach the room Clara pointed out. I don’t bother knocking. I storm into Cormack’s domain as dramatically as he entered mine months ago. He is sitting behind a large desk, the grim expression crossing his face instantly wiped when he spots me standing before him.
“You’re not supposed to be in here. You’re going to get us in trouble.” If it weren’t for the stabbing pain in my chest, his boyish grin would end my campaign.
His smile sags the instant he spots the pain in my eyes. “Harlow, what’s wrong?”
He stands from his chair, only to fall back into it when I slam the town planning map onto his desk. “Shit,” he grumbles under his breath as his fingers rake his hair. “It’s not as it seems.”
“It’s not? Oh. So how does it seem to you?” He tries to talk, but I beat him to the task. “To me, it seems like you’re playing a game of Monopoly, but instead of playing in the just, fair way any five-year-old could, you upped the ante. Fake dates. Phony promises. A loveless relationship.”
“No, Harlow. That isn’t true,” he denies, shaking his head fiercely. “This all happened before I met you, before I knew who you we
re, before I fell in love with you.” The honesty in his eyes nearly knocks me on my ass. He is either a brilliant actor, or I’ve grown soft. “The instant I met you, everything changed, for the better.”
I nearly fall for his act but a snarky voice saves me. “If that’s true, why did you wait so long to close down the rival bakeries?”
My head slings to the side when Clara enters the room as if she owns the place. “If you were miraculously swept off your feet, why continue undermining her business?” Her tone is as unapologetic as her intrusion.
I return my eyes to Cormack. He is as white as a ghost. “What is she talking about? What rival bakeries?”
Although my question is for Cormack, Clara answers on his behalf. “I know it’s shocking—I was just as stunned—but not all your shortcomings are your fault. Some of the blame belongs on the shoulders of others.” The way she sneers “others” leaves no doubt whom her statement is referring to.
“What is she talking about, Cormack?” I can feel my anger rising from the pit of my stomach. It twists and curls through my veins like rope, blackening my heart with every inch it weaves.
When Cormack paces closer to me, I swipe my hand in front of my body, demanding he stays back. I am so confused right now, I’m seeing Clara as more of an ally than an enemy. If that doesn’t show how badly my axis is tilting, nothing will.
“Did you open rival bakeries to compete with my bakery?” My voice resembles shattered glass—brittle and weak.
“You wouldn’t look at the proposal—”
“Answer the goddamn question! Did you put rival bakeries in direct competition to mine?!” My voice is so loud, I’m sure every guest at Mummo Koti heard me.
I stare at Cormack, begging for him to say no. It’s only two little letters, but their importance is invaluable.