Page 15 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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I’ll give you one hint at what I’d like to do with a golf club…

Crimson

Golf. Why am I not surprised that the first family event my wretched grandfather chooses for this Saturday is golf ? Why am I not thrilled that my father pulled Kaleb under his arm the moment we got to the green, marched him up to my grandfather, and said, I’d like you to meet my son ?

That’s perfect. Flawless.

Plans going off without a hitch.

And, yet, as I stand here—watching attentively like a woman in love —my heart hurts for my cousin’s wives, my aunts, any woman who has to deal with the men in my family without any hope of a safe future without them.

Presently, some of my idiot cousins brought their wives along, and their eyes were void of color when they said, Uh, yeah, no, we don’t want to come and watch your muscles ripple as you hit balls with sticks.

We’ll stay at the club, thanks , in far more eloquent ways.

Everything just plain… hurts .

Kaleb drives a long shot onto the green, near the hole, and I jump, clapping my hands like a twerp.

He’s been playing a perfect game, running his numbers on par with either my father or my grandfather so as to not outshine either of them while also maintaining that he rests in the same league.

It’s sickening how quickly my grandfather has taken a shine to him.

It took barely three minutes for the old man to decide that the three of them would run through the holes on the same card, in the same golf cart.

It pisses me off how good Kaleb is. At everything. Manipulation. Holding his liquor. Chatting business. Golf .

Arrogant smile fixed in place, he strides across the green toward me, sweeps me up in his arms, and dips my body before planting his mouth on mine.

I do not gag thanks to our evenings of torture, but it does take everything in me not to bite .

My grandfather—a balding man with a gold filling in one of his front teeth—guffaws before shouting, “That’s one way to shut a woman up!”

Kaleb smirks as he frees my mouth, clamps me to his side, and fills his palm with my hip. “And to think it’s only one of my favorite ways.”

I sure wish I could blush on cue. Instead, I settle with burying my face against Kaleb’s chest and hoping he doesn’t toss me away too quickly like every other time he’s come to celebrate his good shots.

It’s hard to gather my balance in these heels, but since my job is looking pretty and being stupid, I couldn’t exactly wear sneakers.

These men do ever so love witnessing a woman who’s helpless.

So, here I am, fumbling about like a baby deer to stroke their egos.

Glancing over at me and laughing and feeling better about themselves because they were smart enough to know how to walk today is alllll part of the sport.

Never mind that if I were behaving like myself , I could chase them down this green in heels three inches taller with the speed of a Lovecraftian horror interested only in disemboweling them.

Walking in thin heels atop soft earth is as simple as resting your weight on the balls of your feet—and filling your bloodstream with the vehemence of your female ancestors.

I want so badly to be a Lovecraftian horror.

Yet I’m stuck as a floozy.

A mere accessory.

My grandfather turns his crooked gaze on me, deeming me worthy to be spoken to for the first time in twelve holes. “How’d you find a good man like this, girl?”

My mouth opens; Kaleb answers, “She was being harassed on the street outside my office building. Weren’t you, baby?”

I shiver, as though the memory haunts me, and cuddle closer to Kaleb for safety. “It was horrible. All the nasty things they were saying.”

Kaleb laughs, smacks my butt, and abandons me after my father finishes his stroke. “Of course,” Kaleb says to my grandfather, loud enough that I can still hear him, “now I get to say them. She just likes it from me.”

Dear old grandpa cackles, then he sniffs and pats Kaleb on the back. “I was so disappointed when my only son couldn’t produce a suitable heir. It took years of trying, and then that woman he married went and died on the first failure.”

My stomach hurts as I step carefully in the direction of the golf cart.

My father joins the men ahead of me.

Sun gleams around them as they circle Kaleb, adopting him as one of their own, and my father says, “I hope that woman’s genes don’t spoil your future, son. Crimson better give you a boy—and live through it.”

No one is mentioning the fact that it wasn’t my mother’s fault.

No one is even alluding to the fact that my father tried with countless other women all throughout my childhood, intending to marry anyone who could give him a son.

No. No one here would ever face the reality that a man was the problem.

Kaleb exhales a laugh. “It’s not only her mother’s genes at play here, so I’m not exactly worried. Come on, Dad.”

I flinch before I can reach the golf cart.

Dad .

I…must’ve missed that development.

My father is letting Kaleb call him Dad now.

That’s…wonderful. Good. Great. Fantastic. Everything is progressing smoothly.

My grandfather eyes my feeble advance and chuckles. “You’re planning to keep her barefoot and in the kitchen, eh?”

“Please, sir,” Kaleb says, nearly affronted. “We have people for the kitchen… I’ll keep her barefoot and in the bedroom. Where a lady of her exalted status belongs.”

Smiling becomes progressively more difficult, but I am strong. Because I am a lady of good status. And I belong at the head of meeting tables, in penthouse offices, on private jets…not out here, pandering.

When my grandfather tosses Kaleb the keys to the golf cart and tells him to drive, my thoughts stall.

I’ve been sitting next to Kaleb in the back row this whole time.

But now my grandfather’s sliding in next to him in the front.

Am I supposed to sit in the back with my father? I don’t really want to—

The cart pulls forward without me in it, and my heart plummets as the men drive away, up the green, leaving me behind, startled, in heels , at least a mile away from the clubhouse.

Dread wells. Sickness surfaces.

The chorus of dimming laughter grows closer after the cart turns around, heading back for me. “Oops,” Kaleb goads, coming to a stop at my side. “Come on, Crimson. You’re supposed to be in the cart.”

I force a laugh, slide in beside my father and plant my hands on my hips, petulant. “So mean! I thought you were leaving me.”

“And have no one to kiss in between rounds? Don’t be stupid.

” Leaning over the chair, Kaleb squishes my cheek like I’m a child, and my family eats it up.

“I’m teasing you. You know I’m teasing you.

Honestly,” he pats my cheek and faces forward, “I’m glad you didn’t stay back with the other women.

You’re a good girl, raised well. I don’t need to worry about you overspending on frivolous things when you’d rather be here with me. ”

My father runs a hand down his beard and spares me half a modicum of interest. “It’s true. Crimson behaves well and always has. I raised her to know better than to waste her time and energy gossiping over expensive mixed drinks.”

“You did an immaculate job, Dad. Thanks to you, she’s the best woman I’ve ever met.” Kaleb starts toward the next hole while my father grants me the only approving nod I have ever received from him in my life.

Because I’m obedient.

And know better than to spend time with other women when I could be praising a man.

Because I don’t cause problems.

Because I outgrew my feelings.

Because I’m a good girl .

I want to scream.

But since I’m such a good girl, I refrain.

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It is not helpful how badly I want to punch Kaleb tonight during our designated okay, let’s wind down after the day and not want to punch Kaleb time. My fists haven’t unballed themselves since the bedroom door closed behind us. Through gritted teeth, I say, “You did great today.”

“Crimson—”

“Really, really great ,” I hiss. “Fabulously, even. My grandfather likes you. Already. Driving off without me?” I bark a laugh.

“Comedy gold!” I rake in a breath, let it whistle from my nose.

“And sneaking in how I’m not going to waste any money you inherit like the other wives would?

Brilliant.” I have found my way to my vanity.

I have opened the drawer. I have removed the kitchen knife I use to wing my liner.

“I think I’m starting to like it.” I turn on my heel and brandish the blade as I sneer.

“Being your good girl . Not having to think . You answer everything for me so beautifully , it’s a wonder I even need a tongue.

Oh wait.” I stalk toward him. “I remember why I need it. Come here, baby. We’re in the bedroom where I belong.

I think I’d like to do what women do best.”

Which is, of course, homicide without getting caught.

Taking a sharp turn away from Kaleb, I march to my bed and begin stabbing my pillow.

“Die, die, die, die, die !” Tears are running eyeliner down my face before the feathers from my pillow have a chance to settle around me.

Heavy breaths pour through my body as words and comments I’ve been subjected to my entire life replay in my head.

I am helpless.

And Kaleb is so good at this game. I barely need to be a player in it. I thought I’d have more to do, more to control, more to…something. But I’m just standing around and taking abuse. It’s no different than what my entire life up to this point has been.

All I have ever done is stand around, take abuse, and hope a man’s whim might spare me from more pain.