Page 36 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

Born for this.

Crimson

“I’d consider a partnership,” I say, toying with a pen on the desk in my penthouse office.

To my left, a male bodyguard. To my right, Esmee.

In front of me, seated in the chair where my potential clients often wind up…

Jared Nightingale. My father and the man my crumbling family sent to try and stop the dynamite I’ve been lighting under their businesses for a slim few weeks now.

I continue, “That is to say, I would consider a partnership if it brought anything to the table for me. But it doesn’t. ”

As angry as the red hair on his face, my father lunges out of his seat and spits, “You ungrateful, heartless, useless girl.”

I sic Esmee on him, because I know it’ll hurt so much more to have a woman drag him out of here. Very calm, I say, “Now, Father, please. Don’t get emotional.”

“How dare you. Mere weeks after your grandfather’s passed away.” He struggles, meaninglessly against Esmee’s hold. “Have you no shame? What would he think of this?”

Frankly, I don’t think he’s thinking anything, because he’s dead. But, sure, let’s give the dead guy a vote in the ring. His opinion matters more than the alive woman in front of you.

How silly and stupid my father is.

Relaxed, I muse, “Grandfather said I was his legacy. You’ll excuse me if I took that statement to mean he wanted me doing more with my life than sending letters and attending parties and making social calls on your behalf.

” He didn’t. He absolutely only meant he wanted me doing all of that—and raising a family of strapping young men.

But dear old dad doesn’t need to know that.

Sputtering curses, my father writhes against Esmee’s hold as she drags him out of my office.

The whole way, he’s shouting words at me that may have stung, once, days ago even…

You know, before I was seated in a penthouse office in a town that my soon-to-be husband’s brother runs, gathering together the stable foundation of a business that is already picking up speed and bringing in returns.

Tutting, I murmur, “Hormones,” and my male bodyguard laughs.

Because he has a sense of humor and knows how to take a joke.

Turning to him, I smile, “Thank you, Ron. You can return to your other post now.”

“Yes’m.”

As he starts to leave, my intercom buzzes, and my secretary, Morris, says, “Ma’am, there’s someone else here to see you.”

An unnamed someone else . Hm. I wonder who that could be.

Pressing the button, I say, “Send him in.”

A him does not march through my doors, or at least not immediately. Instead, Crisis—arms crossed—passes Ron on his way out and says, “ Him? You wanted me to be a him ? No love for your wife at all. You only think of your side-husband.”

Joy flourishes in my heart as I rise and meet Crisis in the center of my fresh white throw rug. “Dearness,” I say, enveloping her in a tight hug, that she refuses to return.

Sniffing instead, she says, “Your office is lovely. A lovely place for you to ignore me.”

Drama, drama. I snuggle my beautiful soulmate, cooing, “Shh, my dearest love, do not fret so. I am soon to cover the walls with pictures of you.”

“Do you even want to marry me anymore? Have I been adjusting my Canva Whiteboard for nothing ?”

“No, no. Don’t be so cold. Of course I want to marry you still. I always have. We both just needed my rotten family out of the way.”

Ever since my formal engagement, she’s been adjusting her whiteboard to include a double wedding. Getting married together is so very twin of us. And I could not be more excited to take her hands in mine as we say our vows.

Behind her—expression soft, gentle, and patient—Kaleb sighs, body arced against the doorjamb.

Still cuddling Crisis, I say, “Hello, fiancé.”

Looking hopelessly handsome in a plaid shirt that clashes firmly with the gold and white accents in my recently-furnished office, Kaleb murmurs, “Hi, Rose-red.”

“Don’t look at him. You’re paying attention to me.” Crisis pouts when I return my attention to her—the most important person in my life.

Grinning, I tap a kiss to her forehead. “Of course, my heart. Kaleb, if you’ll excuse me, my wife would like to discuss the renewing of our vows. I’ve written her a novella, I fear, and I need help trimming it down, lest our guests wait a millenia.”

“Let them wait.” She clasps my hand when I pull out of the hug. “I’ve written you a trilogy.”

“A trilogy? For me? I am undeserving, my love. Alas, I’m not a rising author. My words are drivel compared to yours. A chore to listen to.”

Fervently, she shakes her head. “No, never. Your words are angelic blessings, bestowed upon the ears of all who hear them. Do not scorn our twinship like this and suggest we can be compared in any way but equal parts.”

“How foolish of me. You are correct of course. Our perfect, united, identical nature shines brilliantly in all things. Even our writing skill.”

“Yes, naturally. In all things, except our taste for artichokes, our single attempt at uniqueness, and thy single folly.”

I cannot stand artichokes, but for this, I forgive myself.

My attention skates once more toward Kaleb, whose amused smile touches a chord in my heart. Right about now, I bet he’s thinking we’re like Snow-white and Rose-red—inseparable and fairytale.

And he’d be perfectly correct, of course.

After all, as the story goes, we’ve defeated a rotten little man who is not unlike a dwarf, and now we’re marrying brothers who live in a palace like princes.

“Crisis,” Kaleb murmurs, “do you think I could borrow your husband for a minute?”

“I’d rather you not.”

“Please?”

Deflating, she droops. “If you must…” Pulling away, Crisis stays reaching for me, and our fingers graze as she heads back toward the door.

“I’ll be waiting in my car. Don’t forget about me.

I’ll also be starving. So. Make it quick.

Lukas will be home any minute now, and Viktor says we’re having a family dinner.

Non-negotiable. Family . All of us, you hear me?

If I starve too long, I’ll be forced to drive home on my own, and then it won’t be the whole family.

Because you two are a part of the family . ”

“We hear you. We’ll be there in a moment,” Kaleb says, shaking his head after she finally exits. When his attention rests on me, breath leaves him.

I look down at my white dress, which is hardly business appropriate and must have pissed my father off almost as much as my making him wait for the last appointment of the day. After last, really. Aren’t I the best daughter ever for allowing him to see me after my busy working hours?

I think so.

I’ll not be accepting his opinion on the matter since his opinions maintain the emotional maturity of a two-year-old.

Approaching me, Kaleb whispers a curse and fits his hand to mine. “I love this office.”

I glance at the elegant mahogany furniture lined in gold. “It’s everything I dreamed it could be.”

He shakes his head. “I love, specifically, that it faces the sunset.”

Turning toward the wall of windows behind me, I find the sky ablaze.

Kaleb kisses my fingers. “You were born for this. To stand here. Bathed in light.”

Elation saturates my every inch as those words dive deep into my chest. I was born for this. I always knew I’d been born for this. “Thank you,” I whisper as I close myself in his arms.

“I hardly did a thing. You’ve been building the relationships that got you here your entire life.”

“You called. When I wouldn’t have.”

“I knew the call would be heard, when you didn’t. It’s so much easier to take up arms for other people when you’ve been trained to believe your needs aren’t important enough to be met. But, Crimson, you are important.” He cups my cheek. “So important.”

He has a way of making everyone feel important. And, I suppose, that’s a gift we share.

“I love you, Crimson,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.

My skin hums, and I rest my weight against him, relying on him to keep me standing as I say, “I love you, too, Kaleb.”

His arms around me tighten before he buries his face in my hair. Shuddering breaths fill and leave him. “Finally…”

Finally? It’s been roughly fifty days since we met. Men are so excitable.

“Say that again,” he commands.

I snuggle, then I pull away and clasp his hand. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Please.” He grips my hand, halting my advance to the door. He pleads, “Please, can you say that again?”

Returning to him, I nip at his bottom lip and murmur, “I love you, Kaleb. So much.”

As his face brightens, peace settles into my soul, and I draw strength from it, knowing I no longer—ever—have to be strong alone.

“Come on,” I say, kissing him again. “Our family’s waiting for us.”

Warm, he says, “Yeah, they are” so we slip out of my office, and head home.