Page 5 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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Matrimony. Huzzah.

Crimson

“But, Daddy! I love him!” I cry, pitifully, into my phone before hanging up on my father.

Had I pulled this stunt in person, my father would have slapped me halfway across the foyer.

Therefore, it’s far better for these theatrics to occur over the phone, so that the man has a chance to cool down before meeting my “husband” in person.

Having some time between him finding out and him colliding with Kaleb’s trained ability to make people like him gives us a better chance.

With cool-down time, my father is far less likely to explode in front of Kaleb.

He’ll get mad by himself. Blow up by himself.

And remember that I have married a male by himself.

Once he initiates contact again, he’ll be focused on saving face before another man, and it’s through that effort that we’ll have a chance to use his pride against him.

Grimacing, I turn to the man I just married in a courthouse and say, “Are you sure you only need the suitcase I picked you up with? I won’t have time to take you back to the Bachelor estate for a few days once I bring you home.”

“I’m sure you’ll more than see to my needs over the next year or so,” he says, intently watching me.

“Most of my clothes are flannel or plaid. I grabbed what wasn’t, since I didn’t see where bringing a straw hat into your home fit my backstory as a mild-mannered finance worker.

” A gentle smile flirts with his lips. “You’re lucky I’m familiar with the concept of math. ”

“I hope you researched your role beyond familiar with math last night.”

“Crimson, please. I am a professional. Besides, pretending to be selfish isn’t entirely difficult. Most of the time, people pretend not to be.”

A fair point.

Putting my car in drive, I pull out of the parking spot in front of the courthouse and steer toward home.

“The complicated parts will be merging how I need you to act with how I do. In my own home, my staff do not expect me to play the mewling wifey. Are you prepared to orchestrate a calculated breakdown of my character in their eyes?”

“It’s only natural that I would have been love bombing you throughout the course of our relationship.

Now that I have my goal, I can begin dissolving the facade.

The craftiness involved in my ambition will appeal to men like your grandfather and father as I assume they picture themselves self-made men entirely independent of the fact they’re old money who started at the top. ”

I scoff. They sure do. “I already appreciate your dedication, Kaleb. Rest assured the thought you’re putting into this is not going unnoticed.”

Bracing an elbow against the door armrest, he grazes his thumb over his bottom lip and watches the quaint shops of downtown Sunset roll by.

“I don’t think anyone should be controlled by anyone else, not like how you’ve been.

If this is how you’re securing freedom from your family, I am more than happy to help. ”

Hm. These words of his carry an undertone of conviction.

I did suspect Kaleb had more skin in this game than he let on, assuming he’s smart enough to know that burning his escort career for a chance to bed a Nightingale makes absolutely no sense.

I never would have expected his convictions to be so rooted in a concept as innocent as helping someone obtain their freedom , though.

All things considered, he is not discreet when he looks at me, and I’m a little concerned how much passion will saturate the first time he touches me.

“We should probably practice intimacy boundaries in a controlled environment so I don’t freak out and hit you for going too far when I’m supposed to be idiotically in love with you,” I say.

His eyes cut my way, then drift back off out the window. “And pregnant.”

I swallow. Right. Yes. And pregnant . Nothing—absolutely nothing—that happens in front of anyone is something that I should not be fully comfortable with considering that I am, according to the script, pregnant with his child.

As the long drive leading up to my lavish manor manifests, I ask, “What’s your plan for today?”

“My plan?”

“We don’t have time right now to practice anything, but I’m bringing my husband home. How do you react to it all? What do I mentally need to prepare for?”

He eyes me, and I’m convinced he knows as little about bringing a spouse home as I do until he says, “It’s the first day of our marriage.”

“Yes?”

“I’m carrying you over the threshold while you giggle and stare adoringly at me. We’ll kiss. I’ll take you directly to your bedroom.”

Heat swells, blistering my body. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, Kaleb, and I don’t giggle.”

“For me you do.”

My nose wrinkles, but he continues before I get the chance to vomit.

“I’m a self-obsessed—” he cusses, “—who just succeeded in what has been a multi-year plot to have it all—the money, the trophy wife, the status. I’m going to enjoy it.

To the fullest. And, afterward, I’ll peruse everything I’ve earned while thinking so highly of myself it’s sickening.

You’ll be flushed, in a bathrobe, and pouring me wine or champagne as you seek to earn my favor, which as of late has seemed somehow harder to obtain.

You’re you, but on the edge of desperate to regain what is feeling lost. I’m…

” His eyes close, and I expect him to smile, but all he does is sigh. “… man .”

My grip tightens on the wheel.

“Does that sound doable and correct for you today, Crimson?”

It doesn’t sound incorrect , as far as I understand.

After we get back, immediately isolating me in my bedroom under a pretense of intimacy will also give us some time to practice.

My staff will be beyond confused and concerned, but not even Ava, my head housekeeper and the woman who raised me, would dare to interrupt.

As home comes into view, I press the button that opens my garage door, then I slip my red sports car into the cool bay protected from the July sun. Once the engine cuts, I release a breath and rally myself for the next steps of this first scene.

“You’re sure you can carry me?” I ask. “I’m not a small woman.”

“I’m sure. I’m not exactly a small man, either.”

I glance at him—the girth of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders straining his dress shirt. He is, when we’re standing, half a foot taller than me at least, and it’s more than clear what yardwork has done to his physique.

Despite this, tension riots in my limbs, making me stiff.

Popping his door open, Kaleb circles the hood of my car, opens mine, and offers me his hand like a prince. “ Smile , Crimson,” he says, coolly. “It makes you look prettier…and as though you might actually be on the brink of tolerating me.”

Some small bit of tension escapes my chest. “Classic,” I mutter, sardonically amused when I smile, which isn’t exactly the goal, so I try again, opting for love, opting for…whatever I look like when I’m with Crisis.

Yes.

That’s love.

That’s real, true love .

This time when I smile, I feel it in my heart and my soul as I picture my dearest friend and the only person in the world who knows me without any pretenses.

Kaleb is Crisis. I just need to pretend that Kaleb is Crisis.

I am not with an escort whose motives are foggy at best; I am with a woman who eats spite for breakfast and would kill for her pet fish, Potato.

When I step out under that delusion of adoration, Kaleb curses, so I lose some of the illusion. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Please tell me I don’t look constipated.” I’ve never been in love before. This is truly the best I can do here.

Chuckling, Kaleb knits his brows and shakes his head. “You look beautiful. I just wasn’t expecting you to look this much prettier.” Sweeping down, he scoops me into his arms, rocking me against his chest. Breath leaves him as he looks me over, and apprehension stings in my throat.

It’s that effortless for him to lift me?

He’s relaxed.

Calm.

And I hate to admit it, but without a weapon, I don’t think I can take him.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You own me, Rose-red. I’m only pretending I own you. At your word, I’m on my knees, so there’s nothing to fear.” He touches a kiss to my forehead; it is starkly warm against my flesh. “You have your keys?” he asks.

Rigid, I lift the fob.

He knocks my door closed with his hip. “Do you need a moment?”

“A moment to…”

“Stop calculating exactly how you’d get out of my arms and throw me over your shoulder.”

I wince, because I cannot be that easy to read. Being that easy to read right now would ruin everything .

“And,” he hedges, cautious, “to make kissing me look natural.”

My stomach dips.

“You can focus on my neck the whole time, if that’s easier.”

I look at his neck—the broad column of muscle twining down to his built shoulders—and wonder if I can really do this, if I really have what it takes to make any of this convincing.

I know I’ve been acting my entire life as the insipid airhead my father thinks all women are because whenever I’d try to be anything else, the result was always pain … but…

I have never played a role like this before.

I have always embraced ditzy innocence to avoid so much as grazing the kind of relationship I’m now asking for. Somehow, until now, I’ve convinced my father that I’m too immature to even consider marrying off.

Everything I have ever done has been to protect myself.

But this feels a whole lot like climbing into a cage with a wolf.

Kaleb’s gentle expression tames, eyes widening, and his lips part before he says, “Ms. Nightingale…do you have no experience with men?”

My teeth grit. No experience with men ? He has got to be kidding.

I have loads . I know that men are pigs and monsters and idiots. I know that they don’t believe in kindness, consideration, or empathy. I have spent far too much time experiencing men, and so I have decided that I never want to submit myself to them any more than I have had to.

Which means, no, I have never—ever—touched one willingly before.

Glaring, I meet his eyes.

He utters a curse. “Okay. Well. I’m glad you told me.”

I have not, actually, told him anything. I am merely glaring daggers into his body. Which, I realize, is not helpful, so I fight to relax my face. “Sorry. I’ll be fine. I’m determined.”

“Mm,” he hums, absently. “I know you are. I’m not worried.” He bares his throat to me. “And you’re not shy, are you? Even without any experience.”

No, I would not under normal circumstances consider myself shy .

But these aren’t normal circumstances, now are they?

My lungs fill with his cologne as I press my lips to the solid muscle of his throat and kiss.

“That’s a peck,” he rumbles, voice husky and taut against my lips. “Open your mouth a bit more. What we’re about to pretend to do is frenzied and messy. There’s no space for shame or restraint in the headiness.”

“Ew.”

“I know, darling. I know.” Eyes closed, he appears to be tempering his breathing.

“Try not to think about it; just let yourself feel.” His voice is so soft, so careful, so guiding.

“You’re in love. There’s only heat and skin and want and promises.

Bite me, if that suits you better than kisses. Leave marks.”

A breath quivers through me. “Will you return them?”

“I might, for propriety. But don’t worry. Even though I don’t mind you ripping me to shreds, I’ll be gentle.”

He better. I have knives in my room, and I know how to use them…to get the wings on my eyeliner straight…but stabbing someone with them seems fairly straightforward, so…

So I need to chill and recognize that—despite everything—Kaleb is being patient, calm, and considerate. Manly, yet not the manly I’ve come to know.

Tongue dry, I lean in, part my lips some more, and whisper, “I appreciate your efforts and expertise,” before I kiss.

His throat bobs against my mouth. “Happy to put it to such good use.”

I nip, ignoring his sharp intake of breath, ignoring the way he shudders, ignoring how raw his voice goes. “Perfect,” he breathes. “Keep at it, Rose-red. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

With that confirmation, he turns toward the garage exit, marches me across my yard, and heads for the front doors of my home.

By some miracle, I remember to smile as I wipe sanity from my thoughts and do everything in me to follow his suggestion to feel not think as though I am feeling anything other than…ill.