Picture Perfect Marriage

by Marquita Valentine

  “I’m a King. We don’t play those kind of bullshit games with people.”

  “All the better.” I stride to my car, opening the passenger side door. “Grab your keys and whatever else, and get in.”

  She stands there for a moment, a proud, gorgeous vision of a woman. My mouth goes dry. She radiates power and vulnerability, a true juxtaposition.

  But that’s Quinn.

  That’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her. It’s also why I can’t let her have the upper hand in this. “I want to renegotiate.”

  “What?” she says, clearly annoyed. “You don’t want to have dinner with me?”

  “Oh, I do, but I want it to be the first date of many for the next month.”

  “The next month?”

  My grip tightens on the steering wheel, and I force myself to loosen it. “I want your word now, Quinn. I want you to agree to give our marriage a shot over the next thirty days. I’m all in. I want you to be, too.”

  “Just like that.” She snaps her fingers.

  “Absolutely.” I sneak a glance at her. She’s regarding me with anger, confusion, and another emotion that I’m certain is hope contorting her face. “I dare you to take me on.”

  Her lips purse, brows rising. “I dare you to win me back. If you don’t, you’ll sign the divorce papers.”

  “Challenge accepted. “At the next light, we shake hands.

  “You’re so going to regret this, Tate Prescott, because I never lose.”

  “Neither do I,” I say with a slight smirk. “Blackbeard never could scare off my ancestors, wild child. By the way, the location has changed... I’m cooking for you tomorrow night. At six. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter 6

  Quinn

  “I can’t believe I let him talk me into this,” I complain to Campbell as we walk out of church the next day. I managed to slide right into the pew as the preacher started his sermon. While I’m not at my best, I don’t look like I’ve been rode hard and put up wet either. “He tricked me.”

  “Into dinner?” she asks, pushing Hazel in her stroller. “That doesn’t seem like that big a deal.”

  “Oh, it’s a huge deal.” Smiling, I wave at a couple of my clients across the way. “Tate knows how to say just the right thing in order to make me fall for his trickery.”

  Campbell smirks. “I think you let him trick you.”

  She has a point, but I want to be mad instead of nervous and maybe even a little excited. “I should have told him that dinner had to be at my place, not his, since he sprang on me.”

  “You can simply cancel.”

  “It’s not that simple.” We stop at the Range Rover I borrowed from Momma while my Mustang is in the shop. I start it so the ac can cool the interior, then open the back to put the stroller inside once my sister-in-law gets Hazel out. I’ve done this so many times that I’m a pro. Shutting the hatch, I move to the driver’s side and get in.

  “Why not?” Campbell asks as she joins me up front. “I haven’t known Tate as long as y’all, but he never struck me as the unreasonable type.”

  That’s because you’re not the one who’s married to him. “He likes to boss me around. Always has.”

  She laughs. “You let him?”

  I shrug, then put the Range Rover in drive. “I don’t mind... too much.”

  “He must be special, then.”

  “So very special,” I agree, but when I say special, I mean Southern special—as in he’s a pain in my tail. “It’s just dinner, so whatevs.”

  “If you say so.” Campbell leans forward, cranking up the volume on the radio.

  Relieved she’s not pressing for more, I raise my voice, “Let’s go to The Crab Shack. My treat.”

  Campbell turns the volume down again, shooting me a wry smile. “As long as we get back before naptimeapocolypse happens.”

  “Oh my gosh, Cammie, I’m totally not an angry monster once I get food in me.”

  “I’m talking about my daughter.”

  I shake my head. “Not my precious Hazel. She’s perfectly perfect even when she needs a nap.”

  “Then you will be held responsible for her temper.”

  I grin. “Can I borrow her for dinner tonight?”

  “No.”

  “C’mon.”

  “You’re not using Hazel to run interference or whatever crazy scheme you have in your head.”

  “Fine,” I say, my mood turning grumpy. “What about next weekend? River’s supposed to come spend the night, and we can have a slumber party.”

  “You don’t think River might want you all to herself?” Campbell asks, genuine worry in her tone. River is ten and was the only grandchild in the family for almost that long, which means she is delightfully rotten in the best sense of the phrase. I also helped Duke raise her because River’s mother took off not too long after she was born.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I can’t remember the last time it was just the two of us and now that her mom is back in the picture...” I grimace. I’ve never had any lost love for Duke’s ex-wife, but I never had a reason to hate her, either. I simply think she’s a selfish bitch who finally realized she’s a selfish bitch and wants to do right by River. Only River’s not having it, and Duke wants my help.

  Since I love my brother and my niece, I agreed.

  “I swear you can get Hazel another time. I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have all you Kings on my side,” Campbell says. “Even Deacon keeps leaving me fresh seafood once or twice a week, and I’ve barely spoken to him.”

  “He likes to keep a low profile.”

  “Fishing?”

  “Surfing, hanging out at Bloom, and drinking in every bar in Castle Beach and Royal Bay.” We all have our ways of dealing with loss, so I try not to judge my brother. I do miss him, especially his carefree ways and wicked sharp sense of humor that has been completely absent since Laird’s disappearance.

  Campbell scrunches her nose. “Why does he hang out at the florist shop?”

  I laugh. “Because he’s a big believer of saying everything with flowers.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t get it either, but I know Hollis appreciates his business.” I pull in the parking lot of The Crab Shack, park, and say, “I’ll get Hazel-boo.”

  Campbell places her hand over mine on the gearshift. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Tate, but if he’s someone you’re interested in, based on what I do know of him, I say go for it.”

  I already did go for it. All I got in return was to be burned so badly that I’m still crispy in places. “I’ll think about it.”

  ***

  The one place Tate and I always matched perfectly was the bedroom, even if we weren’t in one at the time. When we had sex, it was as if the angels sang and the heavens opened for us. We never argued, and it was always playful.

  Sweet.

  Romantic.

  A little dirty when we were in the mood, but it made sense above all else.

  Outside of our sex life, we either got along like peas and carrots, or traded insults. Only, it was more like a battle of wits, in a good way. I’ve always found smart, capable men to be attractive. There’s something about a guy who can fix an engine and discuss current events in complete sentences while doing it.

  Except tonight, I don’t want to watch him overhaul an engine or discuss the state of the world because the only thing on my news radar is our relationship. Instead, I’ll concentrate of something that’s more to our liking. Yeah, Tate sort of rejected me at Barron’s engagement party, but he was playing a game, invoking parlay, and outwitting me all at once.

  I am a pirate for life, and that fine man has never forgotten it.

  After I paint my lips with another coat of do-me-now red lipstick, I adjust the belt on the trench coat I’m wearing. Yeah, it might be cliché to wear lingerie under this, but I’m not going for subtle. I want him to know what’s coming—hopefully us both. Maybe even multiple times.


  I snigger at that, then fluff my hair and get out of my car, grabbing a bottle of wine from the passenger side. Tate rented a house in a swanky new neighborhood that’s full of vacant residences, so it’s ideal for a Hollywood producer wanting to keep things private. My four-inch heels click on the sidewalk that leads to the front and after carefully navigating the stairs, I ring the doorbell.

  My heart accelerates like a muscle car on a country back road with no cop in sight. Through the light filtering through the glass in the middle of the door, I can see movement.

  My breath comes out in staccato and I have the urge to run away, but a King doesn’t run. We stand our ground at all times. If my brother can face down terrorists in the Middle East, I can deal with my soon-to-be ex-husband.

  Tate opens the door, a smile on his face... until he gets an eyeful of what I’m wearing, then it slides away like butter melting off a hot biscuit.

  I shake the bottle of wine I brought with me. “I come bearing gifts.”

  His gaze doesn’t leave the front of my coat. “I can see that.”

  Just you wait. “So... can I come inside, or should I offer this to the guy across the street?” I have no idea if there is a guy across the street, but sometimes a girl’s gotta play the odds.

  His response is to step to the side. “By all means, come on in.” I breeze past him, making sure there’s some giddy-up in my step. Right on cue, Tate follows me so closely I can feel his presence before he actually takes the wine from me.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I stifle a moan, fully appreciating the aroma coming from his kitchen. “Smells great.”

  He steps in front of me, giving me the chance to ogle his exceptionally fine butt, wide shoulders, and the narrow vee of his waist. “I made shrimp scampi.”

  The dinner we had the night of our wedding. My confident steps falter. “Sounds delicious, but first wine.” Ducking around him, I snatch the bottle back on the way to search through the gourmet kitchen drawers for an opener. “Will you be joining me?”

  He nods at his drink of choice, Jack Daniels and coke. “I’m set. The bottle opener is by the wine rack.”

  “Of course it is.” I saunter over to it, grab it from where it is conveniently hung, along with a wineglass, and make quick work of pouring. While I normally love wine, I’m not so sure that having more than one glass tonight is a good idea.

  “Care for some calamari?” he asks.

  Turning around, I lean against the counter. With one hand, I undo the front of my coat and let it fall to either side. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Tate stops just shy of me, his jaw working as he surveys my extremely see-though lingerie. As in so sheer it seems crazy to bother wearing it in the first place...

  Clearing his throat, he holds out the basket of fried tentacles. “Here you go.”

  I frown, but then shrug. Taking the basket from him, I swivel to set it on the counter. “Thanks. Where should I put my coat?”

  “I prefer you keep it on.” He doesn’t move from his spot, but he hasn’t stopped staring at my body either. Finally, his eyes lift to mine. “I want a conversation, Quinn, not sex.”

  “Why can’t we have both?” I twirl a lock of my hair with my free hand. “I remember you being exceptionally good a multitasking.”

  “I only make love to my wife.”

  Make love. As if I’ll be swayed by his precise language. I step closer to him, setting my glass down as I do. “But I am your wife—for the next thirty days, anyway. If it bothers you that badly, we can fuck instead.”

  “I won’t be distracted by you.” He grabs my coat, tugs me close enough that we could kiss. His hand dips inside, caressing my hip. “Not by these curves.” His thumb rubs lazily against my skin. “You think you can come in here and seduce me, but it’s not going to happen, wild child.”

  Once again, that infernal man physically removes himself from my presence. He moves to the open-concept living room and picks up his phone, answering a call that makes my teeth grind.

  “Keilie. How’d it go?” He smiles, like he enjoys talking to this hussy. “Do you think it’ll work?” He laughs, like whatever chick is on the other line just told the best joke ever. “Awesome. Yeah, fine... I’ll let you take me to dinner in thanks.”

  I belt and button my coat back, every ounce of desire turning into full-on jealousy. I know Tate’s a man of his word, but this Keilie might not care about that. Or, maybe she’s betting on him being free when he gets back from Castle Beach. Most likely she already assumes he’s free because we never announced our nuptials. My gaze zeroes in on his left hand, and I smirk. He’s not wearing a wedding band. Doesn’t even have the tan line of one.

  “Bastard,” I whisper, knowing full well I don’t have a tan line from one either.

  He glances at me, whispers, “This will be just another minute. Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I seethe. Baring my teeth at him, I whip out my phone, trying not to notice we have matching cases. Teal and black. I’d picked them out, and he agreed. I’d also blown his... mind that morning, so I’m fairly certain he would have agreed to anything. “Oh look, I’m important, too.”

  This is so stupid. Why am I jealous? More importantly, why in the heck am I worried if I want a divorce so badly?

  Because he left you when you needed him the most.

  But weren’t you the one who kicked him out of your house?

  Don’t ruin this with facts.

  With a low growl, I toss my phone on the sofa and prop my heels up on the coffee table to show off my legs. I might even push the material of my coat further down on each side. Tate always said he liked my thighs.

  And ass.

  And boobs—although, they’re practically nonexistent.

  Either way, I’m not above distracting Tate while he’s talking to some starlet who wants to land a starring role in his bed.

  His head snaps up, his eyes widening. Oh yes, he’s gotten a gander at my thigh highs and garters.

  I put my hands behind my head and close my eyes, pretending I’m not worried about a thing.

  “Thanks, Keilie. You’re seriously the best, and I’m going to make sure you get whatever you need to make this work.” Tate ends the call. “Sorry about the interruption.”

  I open my eyes. “I didn’t realize Keilie is so important she would interrupt dinner with your wife. The one you want to win back.”

  Instead of the expected anger and frustration, Tate smiles. Hell, he’s smirking. “You’re jealous.”

  “Am not.”

  He throws his head back and laughs, and I start to squirm. “You are so jealous you’re trying to distract me while pretending you don’t give a damn.”

  At this point, I’m not sure if I should rip my clothes off or stomp out of here in a very grand fashion. Tate sits beside me, his hand landing on my knee. The heat of his skin is a brand against mine.

  “Admit it, Quinn. You might not want me anymore, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either.”

  “What do you mean might? Furthermore, want and love are two different things. I can want to screw your brains out without loving you.”

  The curve of his lips dip, his laughter disappearing. He moves his hand away, and I want to snatch it back. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  I swallow. “Of what?”

  He leans closer, the scent of his aftershave making me dizzy. “That I’ve got my work cut out with you.”

  “Yes you do,” I say triumphantly, like I’ve won something. Only... my heart flips in my chest because I can’t help but wonder if I’m worth the work. And why wasn’t I worth this work four months ago? Three months ago? One month ago?

  What changed to make him come home to me?

  He brushes my hair from my face tenderly. “But you’re going to play fair. Got it? That means no lingerie instead of clothes on our dates. No sex. Nothing until both of us are ready for it.”

  With that promise, my anger burns brighter than ever. I shove his hand away,
grab my phone, and jump up from the sofa. “You’re such an asshole.”

  Tate shakes his head. “No, I’m not. You’re allowed to disagree with me. Even put in rules of your own.”

  “Good because I’m—I’m...” I’m going to wear lingerie and have sex with you all the time? Yeah, I should totally say that. “Why do you have to make sense?”

  “Why do you have to make me out to be a monster?” Rising abruptly, he starts to pace the length of the room, fully agitated. His hands are clasped behind him, his strides long as they eat up the distance.

  “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

  “Just an asshole.”

  Although my cheeks flush, I roll my eyes. “You’re best friends with Barron. The two of you have always been assholes.”

  “That didn’t bother you before.”

  With a huff, I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s because you weren’t demanding a thirty-day challenge.”

  “It’s the least you can give me.”

  “What were the last four months?” I ask icily. “A cooling-off period from our rash decision to get married in the first place?”

  “No.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I thought it was what you needed.” He stops in front of the fireplace, leaning his shoulder against the massive mantle. “I thought I was doing the right thing. That you would call me, text me, or fly out to me when you were ready. I assumed it was your situation making you... irrational.”

  My mouth drops open. “My brother disappeared at sea. His body hasn’t been found. It’s all I can do to run my business, keep my mother from collapsing, and stop Ophelia from throwing herself into the ocean every day. So excuse me if I didn’t have time to chase after the one man who should have stuck around and helped.”

  “You kicked me out. Told me if I left, I better not ever come back or you would have your brothers kick my ass, lock me in chains, and toss me overboard.”

  “I was angry. Grieving. And all you wanted to do was leave.”

  He pushes away from the mantle. “I had a business to run, just like you. But unlike you, I have a hell of a lot more people riding on my decisions.”