Page 4 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

three

Geneva

Itry—and fail—to mitigate the effect Van’s smile has on my heart rate.

But while that foolish organ is skipping like a gleeful teen, my brain is collected enough to know we can’t have this conversation here.

Carol Cook, the resident queen of gossip, is visiting my neighbor, Wendy.

Though Van’s presence at my house will be all over town before nightfall, the other part of this equation needs to remain buried—forever.

“Come inside,” I say, turning around.

I don’t look back. I don’t allow myself to dwell on how Van looks impossibly good in his white shirt and shorts, his hair cut and cleanly shaven. The fact that he seems to be doing better soothes the ache I’ve had ever since I learned why he looked disheveled in Vegas.

It’d been so hard not to call him after finding out.

At random intervals, I’d open the private investigator’s report to stare at his phone number.

Once or twice, I even typed it into my phone, only to come to my senses and delete it.

Even now, I want to ask if he’s okay, but that’s not the reason why Van is here—which, honestly, is good.

Having me in his life would only complicate things for him, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.

I tighten my muscles, preparing to take this blow like the many I’ve weathered before.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say when Van closes the front door. It’s been broken for a year now, so it takes him two tries to set it correctly into its hinges. “Where are the papers?”

“What papers?” he asks with a slight quirk of his brow.

Heat splinters over my collarbones when I catch a whiff of his distracting cologne—a warm, woodsy scent with a crisp apple top note. Leave it to Van to wear a cologne that’s masculine with a hint of sweetness.

I clench my fingers to regain control.

Attraction is physiological, I remind myself. Just like being afraid when you see a snake. It means nothing.

Van’s gaze flicks to my fists before returning to my face. “What papers, Gen?”

I usually bristle when people truncate my name. No one calls me anything but Geneva. I also detest pet names, especially given by men. But just like when Van calls me darlin’, I don’t correct him.

“The divorce papers.”

A soft, “Ah,” escapes his distractingly full lips. “You already know.”

I say nothing.

“What was the plan? To stay married forever?”

“Since I never planned on getting married, it was a nonissue for me.” I lift my chin. “You’d come with divorce papers in hand whenever you found someone you wanted to be with.”

Van rubs his eyebrow. “I…”

He sets his hands on his hips with an exhale, staring at the scuffed hardwood floor for a few beats.

My chest seizes. I want to apologize, to tell him I’m so sorry he’s dealing with this legal snafu on top of everything, to relent—just this once—but habit is a powerful thing, and my self-preservation instincts are even stronger.

“Okay, I’m going to lay it all on the line. I recently—” Van’s hard swallow as he struggles to get the words out feels like a knockout punch. “I recently lost my sister. We were incredibly close and—”

“I know,” I interrupt, my lungs impossibly tight. I don’t mean to cut Van off, but I don’t want him to have to detail something that’s so painful. “I’m sorry.”

“How would you know?”

A flush of embarrassment rushes from my ears to my scalp, but after realizing I accidentally married a stranger, my actions weren’t only practical, they were necessary. If my past has taught me one thing, it’s never to trust a man’s word.

“I had my PI do a full profile on you once I saw the public record.”

Van blinks, his mouth half open. I know from experience he’s not easily stunned. Van rolled with every curveball I threw him in Vegas, that irresistible smile never wavering.

“My PI implies you have a private investigator on retainer.”

“I do.”

He nods to himself, muttering, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

My thoughts fire off automatically.

I tried to warn you. You don’t want any part of this. It’s too much trouble.

I’m too much trouble.

“Let me tell you how this went from my perspective. I went to Vegas to see my sister’s favorite singer because we planned that trip together, and if it’d been reversed, Taylor would have gone in my memory.

Afterward, I ended up on an unexpected adventure with the most intriguing woman.

It resulted in us getting fake married and then amicably parting ways. ”

Van’s gaze is steady on mine, and I struggle not to fidget.

“Then a week ago, I was in the shower, and a wild thought occurred to me. One quick search of the public record and, yep, I’m hitched.

Then it was a mad rush of coordinating a leave of absence from my job and finalizing plans to drive to Wilks Beach to tell you in person because that seemed like the decent thing to do. ”

My shoulders inch upward, my skin growing hot.

“Because though it’s obvious that none of this matters to you,” he says, his cheekbones flushing, “I actually care about the sanctity of marriage. I promised my sister that if I ever got married, I’d do the hard work and stick it out.

I wouldn’t pull a disappearing act like my father did when my mom was pregnant with me, forcing my sister to raise me since Mama had to work three jobs to support us.

And since I’ve never, not once in my life, gone back on a promise to Taylor, I sure as heck don’t plan to now. ”

His chest heaves, and all my muscles twitch in response.

I want to pull him into my arms more than I want to maintain my permanent distance, but for the first time since we’ve met, Van is irritated with me.

The best thing now would be to lean into that, to push him away just like I’ve done with everyone else.

“How long would you need to stay married to keep your promise?” I can tell I’ve stunned him again, and honestly, I didn’t see myself asking that question.

“Under different circumstances, I’m sure you’d agree that it doesn’t make sense for our futures to be entwined from a technicality we had no knowledge of.

But to keep your word to your sister, to say you tried, how long would you need to stay? ”

Van’s investigative report came back squeaky clean.

Twenty-seven. Decent credit score. Brilliant student—graduating from college and medical school early.

Emergency physician with outstanding patient satisfaction scores.

Communally liked. Very close to his mother and late sister.

Volunteers in his nonexistent spare time.

No criminal record—not even a speeding ticket.

If I was forced to be legally bound to someone for a short period of time, Van seems like the best option.

A few seconds pass as Van surveys me, and my core tightens out of habit.

“One year.”

A choking sound escapes me.

“What? No! One month.”

Van crosses his arms, and I try not to get distracted by the flex of his toned forearms. “Six months.”

I mirror his posture. “Six weeks—not a second longer.”

Van steps right into my space, his face inches from mine, but I stand my ground.

“Do you have any idea how breathtaking you are when you’re like this? Fighting me?”

A halting inhale pulls silently into my lungs, but I maintain my facade and say nothing.

“Everything is easy for me. You probably saw that in your report, but you, Gen… You are…”

His sentence drops off when he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and I have to pinch the underside of my arm to keep myself from doing something reckless.

“Four months,” Van says, his tone firm.

“Three.”

“Perfect.” That mystifying smile lifts his cheeks. “That’s what I wanted from the beginning.”

My teeth grind as I barely restrain a growl.

His head shakes slightly, his grin growing. “This is going to be fun.”

Then Van is moving toward the door with a determined stride.

“What are you doing?” I get to the door before he does, putting my back against it.

Van’s eyes twinkle with delight. “Moving in, darlin’. What’s it look like?”

“Not with Carol across the street, you’re not.”

His head tilts slightly. “I know you’re not afraid of that sweet old lady.”

“I’m not.” My answer is too rushed, impulsive. Nothing like how I’d normally speak—calm, calculated, or not at all.

“If you say so.”

That smirk. That darned smirk.

“We need to establish ground rules,” I tell him, chin lifting.

“Let’s hear them.”

“There will be no marriage part to this marriage.” Van and I might have gotten accidentally married in Vegas, but we hadn’t even completed the ceremony with a kiss. There’d been a tense moment, a swaying of noses too close, shuddered breaths mixing, but nothing official.

“You’re going to sleep over there.” I point to the couch in the adjacent living room.

“We’ll keep our own schedules and lives.

I’m just helping you keep a promise. I’m not signing up to be a spouse.

” My mind whirls, thinking of all that would entail, before I reel it back in.

“And we’re not telling the town the truth. We can say that—”

Van sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That’s where I have to stop you. I don’t lie.”

“Never?”

“Nope. Chalk it up to having a deadbeat dad, but I don’t.

Not even white lies. If you have spinach in your teeth, I’ll tell you.

If you’re worried about how a dress looks and want an honest answer, I’m your man.

” His gaze unconsciously slips down my frame before he focuses on my face again. “I won’t budge on that.”

I mentally recalibrate. It won’t be the first time the town knew about my dirty laundry. Fortunately, most of them are terrified of me, so I never hear wind of it.

“Fine.”

“As far as the rest of it, I’m not here to force you into a relationship you don’t want, but I’d like us to at least be friends. We enjoyed spending time together in Vegas, didn’t we?”

We had. Spending time with him had been more fun than I’d ever expected.

Van waits, his brows expectant.

I simply stare, not giving him the answer he wants. If anything, this delights Van more than my agreement would have.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He tugs on the door handle again. “I don’t want my guitar to warp in the heat.”

“You play guitar?”

My question makes the dimple in Van’s cheek pop. “That didn’t show up in your report?”

“It mostly focused on whether or not you had a criminal record,” I tell him with an unimpressed glare.

Truly, I’ve always wished I could play an instrument.

My mom had been disappointed that so many of the other girls in the beauty pageant circuit had been artistic while I’d been as creative as a cinderblock.

Fortunately, I’d always enjoyed helping others, so my community work for local women’s shelters satisfied my hobbies requirement.

It’s something I still do today, though no one—not even my half-brother, Noah—knows I drive to the mainland to teach women self-defense and job interview strategies twice a week.

After another amused look from Van, I move out of the way.

Once he’s on the other side of the closed door, reality slaps my cheekbone. I’ve already accepted the news that I’d unknowingly married a stranger, but now that man will be occupying space not only in my mind but my house for the next three months.

I spin, looking out the window to find Van beside his white truck parked near the beach access at the end of the short neighborhood road.

His easy smile graces his mouth as he chats with Carol.

She glances toward my cottage, a wolfish grin on her wrinkled face.

Van follows her gaze, waving at me and then blowing a kiss my way.

I let a growl rip free as my fingers fist.

This is what I get for letting my feelings take control.

I should have listened to that protective voice in my mind that’d warned me not to extend our time together weeks ago.

I should have insisted Van leave the second he arrived today.

I should’ve kept myself more guarded against his effect on me, but Van’s effervescence is as addicting as exercise-induced endorphins.

Because as Van slings two duffel bags and a guitar case across his back, the sensation sprinting through my bloodstream isn’t dread. It’s wishful, foolish anticipation. And I know from experience what happens when I get my hopes up.

So as Van moves toward the house, I tug on my shoes, slip out the back door, and head toward my gym.