Page 4 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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Leaving home. Again.

Kaleb

“I have called this family meeting together in order to explain a situation and make a very big request…” Wetting my lips, I stand at the height of one of the main Bachelor manor’s living rooms. Furnished in the dark burgundy and velvet shades that our parents gravitated toward, the room oozes wealth, class, and darkness—especially since Zakery pulled the sheer white backing of the thick curtains over the windows when he and Mealin, his wife with albinism, entered.

Her skin and eyes are sensitive to the light.

I understand that.

I just wish that so many rooms in our home didn’t lend themselves so easily to the atmosphere of Madame D’Clancy’s ladies’ club. My time in Madame’s care was significantly better than my time here, but the constant reminder that I left the people I’m looking at right now behind stings.

In my humble opinion, homes are meant to be brightly furnished and welcoming, void of shadows, free of painful memories—like a garden.

I hate being in these walls. I hate imagining the abuse that took place while I was free.

Sweeping my gaze across my three present brothers—Kyran, Zakery, and Viktor—as well as Zakery’s wife, Maelin; Viktor’s fiancée, Crisis; and Maelin’s twin sister, our maid, Morana, I exhale the tightness in my lungs.

My only missing brother, Lukas, became the popstar in this family of celebrities, so he’s still on tour for a little over another month, until mid-September.

Hopefully my involvement with Crimson will have changed its nature before he gets back.

“Is everything all right?” Viktor asks, hand clenched against his thigh as he sits on the edge of a clawfoot loveseat beside Crisis.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Then what’s this about?” Kyran drawls, ruffling his shoulder-length hair and stifling a yawn.

What indeed… I glance at Maelin and Zakery, free a breath, then say, “I’m getting married. Tomorrow.”

“ What? ” Crisis blurts.

Viktor’s fist loosens as he throws his hands in the air. “Getting married isn’t a race!” His gaze shoots to Zakery, who is laughing, and who practically eloped a mere week ago. “What is this? A contest to see who can get married before my wedding?”

Morana snorts, somewhat oblivious to the stillness surrounding Kyran as he watches her.

Lifting a hand to my mouth, I clear my throat. Loudly.

Maelin nudges Zakery, shushing him.

“It’s an unusual situation,” I proceed. “Someone found out I was an escort.”

Viktor’s brow falls low. “Why would that matter? Unless…they also know you’re a Bachelor and are trying to use that against all of us?

If you’re being blackmailed, Kaleb, we aren’t ashamed to call you our brother, and while the publicity might be inconvenient for you for a minute, it cannot affect you in Sunset.

This is our town, our haven, and we have rules against those sorts of things. ”

“I’m not being blackmailed. I’m being bought.”

“For marriage?” Crisis crosses her arms, confounded, and leans against Viktor’s chest.

He wraps his arm around her waist as his eyes darken. “That’s a…tall order, Kaleb.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to keep doing this. You know that. No amount of money is worth your peace, and we don’t need it.”

My stomach knots. Every time I’ve told my eldest brother that I have a job and I’ll be gone for a few days, he’s told me that I don’t have to do this .

I don’t have to make money. I don’t have to contribute, even in the only miniscule way I know how.

In his eyes, I could just run away from the pain then come back to a family that’s warm and kind and caring, without ever paying the price for what I did.

Without ever paying the price for abandoning them.

Knowing that this time this job is different turns the taste in my mouth sour. I say, “I know I don’t have to. I know you don’t need the money. I want to do this.”

I have never wanted anything more.

Slivers of pain filter through Viktor’s eyes, but he nods. “If you’re sure. Do you need our lawyers to go over any paperwork involved in this job? Are you being paid enough? Your rates aren’t cheap.” I remain silent until Viktor winces. “Is it already too late?”

“Yes, it is.”

His jaw locks. “I suppose you can’t tell us who your benefactor is?”

Normally, no. But, given this situation, I am unwilling to disappear without a word again even if it breaks the rules I just signed.

I trust my family. I… want to trust my family.

This time. Also, given this situation, it’s not impossible that the Nightingale and Bachelor circles will overlap within the next month and cause issues if I don’t say something now.

Without flourish, I relinquish, “Crimson Nightingale.”

Crisis launches to her feet. “ What? ”

“My benefactor is Crimson Nightingale.”

“Your benefactor is my husband?” Crisis declares. “You’re marrying my husband? My twin. My flesh and blood? ”

They are not twins, or even siblings.

They just tell people they’re twins—and also married, apparently, though that is news to me.

Morana and Maelin are real twins, identical reflections of one another in different shades since only Maelin got the albinism gene. And they’re currently peering at me with matching expressions of shock.

Actually, everyone in this room is.

Even Kyran has lifted a brow and ripped his attention off Morana to provide me with something quite near incredulity.

“I can’t share details with everyone,” I say.

Crisis slaps her hands to her hips, drawing Viktor’s eyes to the action. “Oh? Can’t you? Fine. No problem. I’ll just ask my husband myself.”

“Crisis,” I implore, “that’s why I’ve called this meeting.”

Drama incarnate, she lays a hand to chest. “So you could shatter my heart into a million pieces?”

“So I could explain what I can and ask for cooperation.”

“Start explaining.”

Where to begin? Sighing, I rub my neck, scratch the short hairs at the base, and look down at the carpet. “I have been harboring feelings for Crimson ever since I first saw her.”

Maelin gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. Zakery mimics her action with added theatrical flare and mischievous eyes, because he will never not be my younger brother.

Ignoring him, I press on, “Crimson believes I’m the gardener at the Bachelor estate, not a Bachelor myself.”

“Shut up,” Crisis snaps. “She does not.”

I roll my eyes back to her. “It appears that no one mentioned I was a long-lost brother to her.”

“But…your hair!” Crisis references my dark hair’s low fade with a flick of her wrist.

“Not everyone with dark hair is related to us.” I present Mealin’s twin sister. “Morana, for instance.”

Kyran’s eyes heat, then close as he settles deeper into his seat.

Morana scoffs. “Lies. I’ve been adopted for a whole week. It hurts to learn you don’t think of me as your sister yet.”

I am surrounded by impossible people.

Closing my fingers, I smile. “Not everyone with dark hair is blood-related to the Bachelors, even if everyone present has been assimilated into the family. It’s widely known that there are four brothers.

Whatever way Crimson has reached the conclusion that I’m just your gardener doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I’d like for her to continue believing it. ”

“You want me to lie to my husband ?” Crisis’s nostrils flare, impertinent.

“I’d like you to speak about me to Crimson as much as you’ve always spoken about me to Crimson, which is apparently not very much.

Rest assured in the knowledge that I am allowing her to use me at her own request. I am not at liberty to provide more details, but this is important to her.

I can tell what she’s doing is something she’s put a lot of thought into.

Whatever happens going forward, I don’t want to be the reason her plans fail. ”

“And it just so happens her plans involve marrying you?” Viktor asks, brows heavy.

I nod.

“I don’t like the idea of keeping things from Crimson,” Crisis says. “I also don’t like the idea of you knowingly lying to her about who you are. That’s a recipe for disaster. Have you never read a romance novel?”

“I tend to stick to fairytales, which teach me that as long as I’m kind and don’t trust strangers, I should be okay.”

Crisis rolls her eyes.

I knew she’d be the hardest one to convince.

As far as fairytale friendships go, Crisis and Crimson surpass every one I’ve ever read about.

“Please, Crisis. We both want what’s best for Crimson.

You’ll have to trust me when I say that means not telling her who I am right now and acting like you mostly don’t know me if our paths cross during this. ”

“When will you tell her the truth? I want your entire plan outlined, via Canva Whiteboard.”

“It’s not my plan to outline, and I’m legally under a non-disclosure agreement that makes even this much discussion precarious.”

“This is serious?” Viktor asks.

“Yes.” So serious that Crimson has put on paper in a formal document that it’s okay for me to manhandle her . This vie for her freedom is one she is selling her sanity for. And I will do everything in my power to make sure I’m not the one to mess it up.

“How are you gonna get married?” Crisis juts her lip. “She’s gonna see that your name is Kaleb Bachelor .”

“My legal documents actually say Kaleb Charter. I…” I drop my attention off my family. “…had to get new ones when I left, and the person who took me in knew how to pull strings. She had experience scooping up lost boys.”

“Oh,” Crisis says, deflating back into the couch. Her nose scrunches. “ Charter . Hate that.”

So do I. It was an insipid, childish name I picked during a high that felt like freedom.

I wanted to chart my own future, far away from the attention-hungry abuse of our parents.

Only now does it feel like I was charting a course away from the love of my brothers, and I’m still not entirely sure how to get back.

I guess it’s not exactly important at this moment.

By tomorrow night, I’ll be a Nightingale.

“Can I count on you all to keep this confidentiality, should the need arise?” I ask.

Zakery chirps, “Absolutely!” first.

Kyran yawns again and shrugs his acquiescence.

Viktor’s light brown eyes implore me for details that I don’t relinquish, so eventually he sighs and nods.

I turn my attention to my sister and my sisters-to-be.

“Oh, um, yes. Of course,” Maelin offers when my gaze hits her.

Morana also shrugs and says, “I don’t really talk to Crimson anyway.”

Crisis meets my stare head on, glaring.

“Please,” I say. “For Crimson.”

She huffs. “ Fine . But you better know your place. You’re the side chick. She’s my husband, and she will never love you more than me.”

“Understood,” I say.

Because if she learns to love me at all, that would be far more than I deserve.