Made For Marriage

by Abby Knox

  And he should. He should be proud of himself.

  As I tread water and stare at his golden visage in the boat, I tell him there’s only one thing missing.

  “Come on in, the water’s fine.”

  He strips down to his swim shorts and follows suit, swimming up to kiss me in the water. Our salty kisses are interrupted by nudges from our new friends, who clearly want to play.

  We both laugh and turn our attention to the dolphins.

  “That was a rude interruption,” he jokes.

  “Get used to it if you ever want kids,” I say before thinking. I check his response, worried for a moment that I’ve been too forward.

  He swims back to me and circles his arms around my waist and pulls me back in for another kiss. “One kid, three, five, twelve—I think between the two of us we’ll always be able to find a way to be alone.”

  “If there are twelve of them, then we’ll definitely never be alone again,” I reply.

  “You’ll just have to trust me. We’ll always find a way back to each other. Do you trust me?”

  The lump forms in my throat because I know exactly what he’s implying.

  “What can I say,” he says to the strange look that’s forming on my face. “I guess I was made for it after all. What do you think? Will you be able to trust me enough to marry me?”

  My feet hook around his waist in the water and I keep treading with my arms so we don’t sink together like a giant stone. “Implicitly. Always. For the rest of my life, Hugo.”

  He kisses my cheeks and the tip of my nose. “Marry me, Laney. I never believed I was made for love and marriage, but I was made to be with you.”

  Epilogue

  Laney

  The escape boat is docked and waiting.

  As our wedding gift, Stella and Luke have funded a ‘round the world adventure. Finally, my love gets to be the captain of his own legitimate ship and not trying to escape from a life of crime.

  “Auntie Laney, can we dance with Uncle Hugo?”

  Cynthia, Cameron and three-year-old Caitlin look adorable in their shimmery flower girl dresses as they look up expectantly at my husband, who seems flabbergasted for a moment.

  He glances from them to me and I say, “You see? You’re objectively cool. You’ve already got yourself a fan club.”

  He then figures out what he’s supposed to do. And there it is, that old school charm that I remember from the first day we met. He bows deeply and holds out his hand to them.

  “Me first,” says the youngest, shouldering her older sisters out of the way.

  Hugo looks at them and says in a feigned scolding tone, “Now, now, ladies. No fighting over me, we can’t have that.”

  The girls giggle and work out between the three of them which one should go first.

  Poor Hugo. He spends the next hour switching from Cynthia to Cameron to Caitlin, although the youngest quickly grows bored and wanders off to find her parents. Soon, all the other little kids at the party take notice and form a line to dance with the groom.

  Hugo’s got the ladies wrapped around his fingers and vice versa.

  Watching him with the little kids, and seeing him dance with every single person who asks as well, I see glimpses of the old Hugo. Apart from the whole life of crime thing, it warms my heart to watch him be free and debonair.

  By the time I cut in, I’m absolutely ravenous.

  His wide, charming smile gives me all the feels.

  I slip into his embrace just as my favorite song comes on and I kiss my favorite spot on his neck.

  “Time to go, mister.”

  He emits a low growl deep in his chest and I feel my knees go weak.

  He scoops me up in his arms and carries me up the boat ramp, where our captain for the first leg of the journey awaits us. Hugo and I have many adventures planned on our journey. It turns out, he was telling the truth about his aging grandmother, who is the loveliest grandmother I could have hoped for.

  When we arrive home to California—I do have a business to run—Hugo blindfolds me on my first day back to work and insists on walking me inside.

  “I don’t like surprises, remember?”

  He shushes me with a sweet kiss and eventually removes my blindfold.

  Inside, hanging on the wall overlooking the main yoga studio, is a painting that wasn’t there before.

  “Hugo. Where did this come from? What did you do?”

  I’m not educated in fine art but I’m fairly certain that is a real Georgia O’Keeffe.

  “I did nothing, my darling. Stella’s gift to you, remember?”

  My mind goes back to the day I met Hugo. It was less than twenty-four hours after that that he was carted off to jail. It seems impossible that it’s here. “But how?” I ask.

  “I made the deal. Stella followed through with the purchase at cost. Nobody took a cut. It arrived at her house while I was locked up, but she didn’t want to show it to you because she thought it would hurt too much. Then when we got back together, she held onto it until she made sure we were married.”

  Tears form in my eyes at the thought of all this. I dab at my nose with the back of my hand. I’m a mess when I get emotional Iike this. “That’s my Stella, always practical.”

  I turn to my husband and see his eyes are filled with tears. “I had no idea when we met that you were anything other than a suave, fast-talking gentleman. Who knew you could be so emotional.”

  He kisses my forehead. “You did this to me. You are entirely to blame.”

  I laugh and take his hand, placing it on my abdomen. “I have a surprise for you too, Hugo.” I slide the palm of his hand lower until it rests below my navel. “Right there.”

  Hugo’s words come out in spurts. “Are you? Are we... are you saying there’s a baby in there?”

  “No,” I say and wait for the confusion to reach his face. “Babies. Plural. Two heartbeats.”

  “Twins?”

  I nod and start to sob while the tears he tried to hide fall down his cheeks. He pets my hair and whispers sweet words to me in French. Because, well, he legitimately speaks French and it’s lovely in my ears.

  “I don’t know what you just said but I want you to know I’m so glad I waited for you. I’m happy our babies will have you as a father. Don’t you ever doubt yourself.”

  He touches his forehead to mine and tells me, “Three years ago, I never would have believed it. But you made me see the good in me.”

  Kissing his tears away, I ask him if he’s happy not living the life of luxury he used to know. “Are you sure you’re not going to miss rubbing elbows with all of the rich and famous all around the world?”

  Hugo smoothes my hair down and confirms everything I already know about him. “I have never, ever, been a richer man than I am now, love. This is what I was made for.”

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.

  Keep up with the latest news with Abby’s newsletter!

  Say hello at

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  Also by Abby Knox

  Need more stand-alone short reads and novellas?

  Check out Abby’s other titles!

  Shacking Up

  Maid for the Billionaire

  Doctor Dave

  Officer Max

  Fighting For Dylan (book four in a six-author MMA series!)

  Hot Off The Press

  The Halloween Bet

  The Christmas Pickup (a holiday short read full of feels, quirky characters and one hot tow truck driver!)

  Saved for Me

  (a special Holida
ys with Alexa Riley story)

  Matched for Me (A Valentine’s Day story with Fletcher from Saved for Me)

  Off-Season Stud (a fun and sexy vacation trope with an OTT ending!)

  In the mood for a beachy rock-n-roll combo?

  Beach Avenue Babes

  His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)

  Her Hi-Fi Hunk (Dusty and Jed from His Vinyl Vixen)

  The Greenbridge Academy series

  Swim Coach (book one)

  Grumpy Dad (book two)

  Benefactor (book three)

  Headmistress (book four)

  Queen Bee (book five)

  Bake Sale Queen (book six)

  The Very Good Boy Duet

  Fencing Her In (A bad neighbors to lovers story. With a lot of dogs. You need this in your life.)

  Doing Him Good (An insta-love, sowing-his-wild-oats whirlwind romance.)

  Need more?

  From the Small-Town Bachelor Romance Series

  (each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)

  Take Me Home

  Game Face

  Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition

  Walk With Me

  Stay the Night

  I’ve Got You

  Come And Get It

  The Windy City Holiday Duet

  Pumpkin and Spice

  Comfort and Joy

  An excerpt from Maid for the Billionaire

  Luke

  The number calling me for the third time this morning is not one I recognize, but I know exactly who it is.

  “Assholes,” I mutter.

  My big sausage finger hits “decline call,” and I toss my phone on the passenger seat of my Ford Fairlane. My sweet ride. My baby.

  As if in response to my cussing, the GPS lady on the phone says we’re at my destination. I look around, and I’m surprised I haven’t come across a security gate yet for the house I’m supposed to clean today. It’s my first day on a new job.

  It’s a moderately nice, older neighborhood. Tall palm trees. A Spanish-style home is nestled into the hillside, set back from the road but not hidden.

  The phone rings again as I steer into the driveway. I glance over at it. Could be an agent calling me back, could be the number-spoofing assholes again. Could be someone from my other job, waiting tables, asking if I want to pick up a shift tonight.

  Pretty sure I know who it is not. Talent agents I’ve cold-called do not call back on this early in the morning, if they call back at all.

  I relax when I recognize the number and answer right away. “Lucille, everything OK?”

  The older woman’s voice on the other end is hesitant. “The doctor said I don’t need to come in to have my prescription refilled so I won’t need a ride to the doctor after all. He’s called it in for me; do you think you would have time to pick it up? I don’t want to bother you.”

  I chuckle, both relieved and touched that this lovely woman thinks she’s bothering me at all. “Will do, Lucille. The usual pharmacy?”

  She gives me the details, then we say goodbye in the usual way. “Take care of yourself, Buster.”

  “See you soon, Toots,” I answer.

  Lucille, my elderly widowed neighbor, says goodbye to me this way in memory of her late husband Burt, whom she called Buster. So to humor her, I call her Toots. Whatever it takes to make that lady happy, I’ll do it.

  She asks for very little except an occasional ride to medical appointments, since the state took her license away due to her deteriorating eyesight. Plus, she can’t afford the fees to use the special transportation for senior citizens, and I really wouldn’t want her to anyway. I’ve become quite protective of her, and I enjoy listening to her stories when I drive her around town.

  It might seem weird to people that I let this little old lady use her husband’s pet names on me, but it also serves a greater purpose. The one time she didn’t call me Buster, something sounded very wrong with her breathing. Luckily I picked up on it and called an ambulance; turned out she was having cardiac arrhythmia.

  Grinning, I shove my phone back in my pocket. It makes me happy to look out for Lucille. She’s a sweet lady and she has nobody else to take care of her.

  I have to be careful how quick I am to answer the phone, though. The assholes who keep calling represent the sketchiest of sketchy storefront lending companies, to whom I fell prey one day in a moment of weakness. I needed money for headshots, so I did what I thought I had to do. I walked in and put my car title up for collateral and got the money for headshots.

  But in recent days, that company has started hounding me over the phone day and night. If I could go back in time and not put my Ford Fairlane up as collateral, I would.

  I step out and lock up my beautifully restored car, the one that took me across the country to try to make it in Hollywood, and I feel like I should apologize to her. This car represents my one and only happy childhood memory. And what did I do to her? Betrayed her. I shake my head.

  Even with decent headshots, I still have zero juice in this town. Not a single call back from auditions. Not so much as a hemorrhoid cream commercial.

  And now here I am, having plumped up my résumé to get a second job with a housekeeping company, just to earn enough money to make the phone calls stop.

  The phone rings again as I walk up the steps to the rounded front door. I glare at the screen, see the likely-spoofed number, decline the call and silence the phone.

  At moments like these, I realize I’m too young to have ever angrily slammed down an old-fashioned telephone receiver. Hanging up and declining calls on smartphones has got to be the most physically unsatisfying response to dickheads ever.

  Ever since I stopped answering the lender’s calls, they’ve started spoofing numbers, trying to get me to answer. It’s not lost on me that if I’m spooked away from answering the phone, it really puts a damper on me waiting for acting audition callbacks or prospective agents.

  So yeah, it’s a fun little pickle I’ve gotten myself into. Fun as in, the kind of fun I imagine it would be to have my balls waxed.

  Honestly, I’m not above extreme manscaping at this point, if it’ll get me a paying acting gig.

  Huh. I wonder if I could do porn? Do I want to do porn? I’m not terrible in bed, I don’t think.

  Focus, Luke. Focus.

  On the clipboard in my hand is the paper they gave me at Maid for You with all the information about today’s client. Stella Monroe. By the look of the house and the name, I’m imagining another sweet little old lady, just like my neighbor Lucille.

  Rich or not, I’d better do a great job here today. This is my last chance at eking out some way to make ends meet before I give up and head back to Indiana with my tail between my legs. If this fails, hopefully I’ll make it out of the State of California with my sweet baby Fairlane just ahead of the debt collectors.

  I don’t want it to come to that. The lender, Golden State Finance, will get their money. Just have to stop harassing me long enough to let me lock down this job.

  When the administrator at Maid for You peered at me over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses and asked me if everything on my application was accurate including my experience, I nodded my head and said yes with a clear conscience.

  Have I cleaned houses before? Yes. My own apartment. And Lucille’s, when she went into the hospital after she fell ill.

  Did she pay me? Only in banana bread. But it was very good banana bread, which I consider enough to make me a professional housekeeper.

  Not enough to pay the rent—which, by the way, I’m also behind on—but it sure filled me up when I was out of grocery money.

  Hopefully the little old lady on the other side of this door will like me enough that I can earn more than some homemade banana bread.

  As the door opens, I pull myself up to my full height and turn on my most disarming smile, ready to charm the pants off the little
old lady.

  What an expression.

  The woman answering the door is wearing a high-end suit, sexy high heels, and a handbag that looks like it costs more than I’ve made in the past year. Pearls, Rolex watch, the whole nine yards. She is not little, or old, but is very much, in every sense of the word, a lady.

  How do I know? Beyond the high-end clothes and jewelry, I see the polished poise and posture of someone who’s either been to finishing school, modeling school, or both. And, surpassing all of that, the kindness and humor in her huge, beautiful eyes make me want to burst into song. She’s the most breathtaking human I’ve ever seen. And I’ve spent a lot of time at auditions, surrounded by models and aspiring actors. Many times I thought about asking for their phone numbers, and some of them have asked me for mine after striking up a friendly conversation.

  But none of them ever made me catch my breath at first sight. I might not be able to focus on cleaning all day if I’m thinking about losing myself in those eyes, tugging loose that high ponytail, and unbuttoning the top button of her silk blouse to take a taste of that swan-like neck.

  When the client opens her mouth to speak, her fire-engine red tinted lips have me ready to fall to my knees right here, right now.

  The universe is playing some kind of sick joke on me.

  I haven’t dated anyone since I moved to LA. I decided early on that I shouldn’t try to brave the dating scene until I achieved some kind of success. Or at least met some of my goals. I’ve stayed true to that because I’m not a casual dater. I want a wife, kids, dogs, cats, maybe even a pair of guinea pigs.

  And, now, here I am, standing in front of the woman I’m going to marry. At the most unstable, desperate phase of my life.

  Not a good look, Luke Jeffries. Not a good look at all.