by Devney Perry
The two of us had formed a fast friendship. She hadn’t been part of the Tin Gypsy world either, something that had paired us together as outsiders. We fit in the garage family, but while the others whispered about secrets, Presley and I bonded over coffee in the office.
She didn’t ask me about prison. She didn’t ask me about my past. When we talked, it was mostly about her or life in Clifton Forge. She told me the best place in town to get a cheeseburger and where to go for haircuts. Presley had been my sounding board when my landlord had jacked up my rent.
“How’s it coming along upstairs? Did you get it all cleaned out?” she asked.
I nodded. “For the most part. Needs paint and some updates, but I want to run those by Dash before I go making major changes.”
When I’d moved to town, I’d rented an apartment not far from here. The landlord hadn’t liked my record—no one did, including me. Still, he’d let me rent a place on a month-to-month lease. Not two weeks later, right about the time Dash had given me a raise, he’d come over to tell me he was doubling my rent.
Maybe it was because I was an ex-con and he knew I wouldn’t find another place to live. Presley’s theory was he’d learned I was working at the garage and knew Dash paid his mechanics a fair wage.
She was a good one to have in your corner.
Pres had gone to Dash, unasked by me, and talked to him about letting me move into the upstairs apartment. All it had cost me was some time cleaning it up.
Even after hours of scrubbing the walls and shampooing the carpet, it wasn’t good enough for Genevieve. It was an apartment made for a bachelor, not a classy, poised woman who walked into a room and captured everyone’s attention.
“Is everything all right?” Presley asked. “I know you and Genevieve are keeping to yourselves right now and that’s fine. You don’t have to tell me details. I’m not trying to butt into your love life. But . . . are you good?”
“Yeah,” I answered honestly. Thanks to Genevieve. She might be out of her mind with this marriage idea, but if it worked, I’d be more than good. I’d be free. “Thanks, Pres.”
“Anytime. See you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Presley left through the office as I shut down everything in the shop, turning off the rows of florescent lights and closing each of the large bay doors. I locked up the side door, loitered on the asphalt for a long minute and, when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, forced my feet up the black, iron staircase that led to my apartment.
I paused at the doorknob. Should I knock? I lived here. My bed, my belongings were all inside. But with Genevieve having moved in yesterday, it didn’t feel like my home anymore.
My knuckles tapped on the door before I pushed it open.
Genevieve was on the couch, sitting cross-legged with her laptop balanced on her thighs. Her back stiffened as I entered. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I shut the door behind me and went to the kitchen to my left, grabbing a pop from the fridge. “Working on something?”
“Trying to find a job.”
“Hmm.” The can hissed as I popped it open. I chugged three gulps, letting the fizz and sugar slide down my throat.
Genevieve closed her laptop and set it aside. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, the waves from earlier in the day trapped in a white ribbon. The dress was gone. She’d traded it for a pair of maroon leggings and a T-shirt that dipped over one shoulder, showcasing her collarbone.
Just that little sliver of skin and my heart galloped. My fingers itched to graze her smooth, creamy skin. I took another drink of Coke, shoving my reaction to Genevieve’s beauty away.
The urge to touch her was simply physical. Today’s kiss had stirred up some pent-up sexual frustration that had been absent for years. After a few days, it would be buried again and forgotten. I’d learn how to live with this gorgeous woman who was far too beautiful to be in this dingy room, even in her loungewear.
Her outfit was hot, but not as sexy as the green dress from the courthouse.
“We didn’t get a picture,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
I went to the couch, sitting as far away from her as the piece would allow. “A picture. We didn’t get one today. Do you think that’ll be suspicious? People are going to expect a picture from the wedding, right?”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t think of that either. Maybe we could say we’re getting them done later or something.”
“Yeah.”
An awkward quiet hovered over the couch. It was the same silence that we’d endured yesterday after moving her boxes and suitcases in from her car. I’d stuck it out for a few hours, but it had become uncomfortable, so I’d excused myself for the night and rented a room at the motel.
“So.” I drew out the word.
“So.”
How were we supposed to convince people we were married when we couldn’t speak more than one word to each other?
My eyes darted to the bed at our side and I gulped. Christ. It was our wedding night. She didn’t expect us to consummate this thing, did she?
Her eyes followed mine, then widened with fear.
That’s a no.
“Um . . . where’s your ring?” she asked.
“Oh. I wasn’t sure if we were telling people. Or how you thought we should handle this.” I shifted to dig the ring out of my pocket, then slid it back on my finger. The damn thing was heavy.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “People need to think that we’re in love, but I don’t have a clue how we’re going to convince anyone when we just met last week.”
Thank fuck. “Me either.”
“This is awkward and horrible and—shit.” She waved her hands in the air, erasing the words. “I don’t mean you’re horrible, just this whole situation. You’re great, and I owe you so much.”
I lifted my left hand, wiggling my ring finger. “Think we’re even as of today.”
“No.” Her shoulders fell. “You saved my life, Isaiah. I realized after the ceremony that I haven’t said thank you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Yes, I do.” She put her hand on my knee. “Thank you.”
I’d do it again, over and over if it meant saving her. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s not forever.” She gave me a sad smile. “A few years, maybe. We’ll make sure it all dies down and then we can call it quits.”
Years. That seemed like a long time to be married to a stranger. “I’m not ready to tell people.”
“I’m fine waiting a few days. We’re getting enough questions at the moment, so let’s not add this on top.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed. “Did Bryce come up from the garage earlier? I saw her when I got back from the courthouse.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t answer the door. Or her texts. I feel so bad. I haven’t known her for long, but she feels like a friend.”
“It’s hard not to like her.”
“Try getting stuffed in a trunk with her, then dragged up a mountain and tied up by a tree together. Bryce kept it together. She made me keep it together. I’ll never be able to repay her for that. She deserves the truth but . . .”
Our safety was in the lies.
“I hate lying,” she confessed.
Genevieve Daylee was a good person who’d been thrown into a fucking awful situation. Or was it Genevieve Reynolds now?
Would she change her last name? Was it strange that I wanted her to?
“Do you think anyone is going to buy this?” I asked.
“No.” She laughed. “But maybe if we stick it out long enough, they’ll come to accept it.”
The silence returned. I finished my Coke. Genevieve stared blankly across the apartment. The goddamn bed kept catching the corner of my eye.
I stood from the couch, taking my can to the recycling bin in the kitchen. “I’m going to head to the motel for another night.”
“Are y
ou sure?” she asked, though there was relief in her voice.
“I think getting married is enough for today. We’ll save the wedding night for another time.”
Her face paled.
Oh, fuck. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean a wedding night as in us both under the same roof. Not, you know.” I tossed a hand toward the bed. “We don’t have to, uh . . . do that. Ever.”
She gulped.
“See you tomorrow.” I marched to the door, leaving her wide-eyed on the couch. I jogged down the stairs and ran to my bike. Only when it was on the road did I start to breathe again.
Wedding night? What the hell had I been thinking? Genevieve and I wouldn’t have a wedding night. Pretending to be married to Genevieve didn’t mean we had to sleep together.
No, today’s kiss had been enough.
Especially since it still lingered on my lips.
Chapter Three
Genevieve
“Genevieve! I’m so glad you’re here.”
I froze as Bryce’s voice hit my back. Shit. So much for my plan to sneak in and out of the apartment today.
My forearms were looped with grocery bags and I was bent over the trunk of my car, retrieving a gallon of milk. I should have gone to the store first thing this morning instead of waiting until lunch. Except Isaiah had been up this morning, showering and getting ready for work. I’d stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep so we wouldn’t have to talk.
When he’d left, I had dragged out my normal routine, listening to the muffled voices drift up from the office below. Everyone at the garage seemed to congregate downstairs in the mornings, drinking coffee for half an hour before finally getting to work.
I’d waited until the chatter had died before tiptoeing down the stairs and racing to my car so no one would notice me. The getaway had been easy. Except I’d gotten caught on the return.
It was Friday, two days after Isaiah and I had married, and I’d barely set foot outside the apartment. Fear had turned me into a recluse. If not for the empty refrigerator and final scoop of coffee grounds, I would have delayed my trip to the store even longer.
I stood, hefting the bags and milk, and turned away from the trunk. Bryce and Dash walked my way. They were both smiling, leaning into one another with their fingers laced. The perfect couple, so happy and so in love. With them around, Isaiah and I would seem exactly like what we were.
Pretenders.
“Hey,” I greeted. “How are you?”
Bryce smiled up at Dash. “Great.”
Dash kissed her forehead. “Got some news to share in the garage.”
They seemed too happy for it to be bad news, but I wasn’t buying it. In the past six weeks, anyone with news had only delivered heartache.
I definitely should have stayed inside.
“I need to run these upstairs.” I nodded to the groceries. “I’ll, uh . . . meet you down there.”
Or lock the door and hide.
“It can wait.” Bryce let go of Dash’s hand, coming to the trunk. She picked up a case of Coke and the last two bags. “I’ll help you carry these up. Lead the way.”
“Oh, um . . .” Double shit.
Isaiah had been sleeping on the couch. He’d stayed the wedding night at the motel, but neither of us wanted to arouse suspicion or rumors, so he’d returned to the apartment. This morning, he’d folded his blanket and stacked it on top of his pillow, but both were on the couch.
Bryce would spot them instantly and know one of us had slept on the sofa.
With my hands full, I couldn’t exactly take the groceries from her. I was about to attempt it though, carrying an entire shopping cartful of bags myself, when a deep voice came from the garage.
“I got it.”
Bryce turned to Isaiah, handing off the Coke and sacks. “Okay, great. See you in a few.”
I forced a tight smile, then headed up the stairs and unlocked the apartment door as Isaiah’s footsteps echoed behind me.
“What’s that about?” he asked, putting the milk in the fridge as I took out the perishables.
“They have news.” I handed him a carton of eggs. “I don’t know what news, but I’m just glad she didn’t come up here.”
We made short work of the groceries, and before going to the garage, I hid Isaiah’s bedding. His maroon blanket got draped over the back of the couch, covering up some of the tan corduroy. The pillow got tossed on the bed with the others, like it had been there all along.
“We have to tell them.” Isaiah stood by the door. “The guys have been asking what’s going on with us. Not often, but enough. I can’t keep grunting or they’ll think I have a brain injury.”
Normally, I would have laughed, but the anxiety was sobering. “Today?”
He dug his ring from his pocket and slipped it on his finger.
Ugh. “Let me get mine.”
I trudged to the bathroom and retrieved my ring from the medicine cabinet, sliding it on my finger. The metal was cool, but it didn’t feel as foreign as it had two days ago. There’d be no more taking it off after today’s announcement.
“All right.” I joined him by the door. “I’m ready.”
“How do you think this is going to go?”
“Not great.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” I gave him a sad smile. “How about we stop apologizing to one another? Neither of us is at fault here. Let’s just stick together and . . . be.”
Some of the worry eased from his face. “I can do that.”
We’d survive this. We’d coexist and bide our time. At some point, the days wouldn’t feel so long and heavy, right?
“We need to look like we’re married,” I said. “Next to Bryce and Dash, everyone will see right through us if we stand three feet apart.”
He held out his elbow. “Let’s go tell everyone you’re Mrs. Reynolds.”
A strange thrill ran through my veins at the name. Was it pride? Or excitement? Terror? Maybe it was a mixture of all three.
I looped my arm through Isaiah’s and my heart stuttered. A tingle shot from my wrist to elbow where his bare skin touched mine. His arm was hot, scorching even, and the heat seeped into my bones.
We stepped outside, connected as we walked down the stairs, and I risked a glance at his profile. The sun caught the gold flecks in his eyes and their beauty stole my breath. He was truly mesmerizing, this stranger. And for the moment, his world was linked to mine. Another thrill ran the length of my spine.
The more time I spent around Isaiah, the more I caught myself staring. Yesterday, he’d come out of the bathroom only wearing his jeans. I’d been feigning sleep but had sneaked a look as his bare feet padded to the closet.
There were so many defined and honed muscles in his back, my mouth had watered. Even the strength of his forearms was amazing. Holding on to his arm was akin to gripping the steel railing down the apartment’s stairs.
Which was a good thing. I’d need to borrow some of his strength to get through this.
We found everyone in the garage, huddled by the row of toolboxes against the far wall. I dropped Isaiah’s arm to follow him, single file, through the maze of cars and tools. Each of the bays was occupied with a vehicle today. Things in the garage always seemed to be busy.
“So what’s the news?” one of the men asked. Emmett. I was pretty sure his name was Emmett.
He wore a pair of coveralls, the same faded blue as the ones Isaiah had donned yesterday morning over his jeans. Emmett unzipped them, peeling off the sleeves to reveal two bulky arms covered in tattoos. The white T-shirt he wore barely contained his barrel of a chest. Then he tied up his shoulder-length dark hair and shared a look with Leo.
Leo was the blond one. I think. None of us had been properly introduced but Isaiah had told me about them. Clearly, they all knew who I was. Leo, like Emmett, was handsome and also sporting some colorful tattoos. He shot me a devilish grin that was pure sex and sin.
/> I shuffled closer to Isaiah. We were the only two people in the group not smiling.
Come to think of it, I’d never seen Isaiah smile.
Why didn’t he smile? Was that because of our situation? If he was this handsome now, solemn and serious, he’d be godlike with a smile. I wouldn’t mind earning one or two, just to find out.
Dash’s smile faltered when his eyes landed on me. It stung. My half brother hated my existence. He did realize I didn’t exactly have control over who my parents were, didn’t he? That I hadn’t made his father impregnate my mother?
The numb feeling I’d had for weeks settled over my skin, erasing the sting.
None of this would matter. One day, I’d leave this town and this family and never look back.
“Where’s Pres?” Dash asked. “She needs to be here.”
“Coming!” Past Isaiah, Presley was rushing through the door that linked the office and the garage. Behind her was Draven.
Oh, hell. This was not my day. But at least all of them were here and our announcement only had to be made this once. Isaiah and I would rip off the Band-Aid, then I could return to hiding.
Draven came to stand beside me in the circle. I felt his gaze but kept my own on the array of tools hanging on the wall.
I’d met my father for the first time this week, on the day I’d arrived in Clifton Forge.
My mother was buried here. I’d held a memorial service for her in Colorado, but according to her will, she’d wanted to be buried in Clifton Forge. I’d honored her wishes and made the arrangements. On the trip I’d taken to visit her grave, I’d been kidnapped instead.
So when I arrived in town this week after driving from Colorado to Montana, my first stop in Clifton Forge was at the cemetery. Before I did anything else, I wanted to see her resting place. Except fear and loneliness stole my courage. I parked at the cemetery and wasn’t able to get out of my car.
I called Bryce, my new friend.
She met me without hesitation.
Except, these days, where Bryce went, Dash followed. He was worried, for good reason, that the man who’d kidnapped us was on the loose.