Page 32 of Hockey Wife

“Do you own this place?”

“Leased.”

“Why do you need a house so big?”

“My family will be visiting, so it’s easier to set up something with room.”

His family. Another hurdle to overcome.

With relative ease, he picked up the two biggest suitcases—the ones with wheels, but let’s not use them for their intended purpose because apparently it was necessary to prove something—and headed into the house.

Dragging two of the cases and Cheddar, she followed.

Praise be, Nancy Meyers Beachcore!

The main living room area spread out before her with a couple of gorgeous black-and-white gingham sofas and blue tufted coffee tables. The fireplace was bricked and painted white with a huge flatscreen TV over the mantel. And the view. Huge picture windows overlooked a terrace with perfect vistas that would showcase gorgeous sunrises and even more spectacular sunsets. The outdoor furniture was covered in tarps, which made sense. Her parents didn’t open their Cape Cod summer house until late May.

What surprised her most was that it looked lived in. As far as she knew Banks had moved in less than two months ago, not long after Vegas. But he had already personalized it with tons of framed photos on the mantel and sideboards.

His family. Three sisters, his mom, his grandmother, and several little girls. Probably nieces. There was one of a man in a military uniform with a teenage Banks, who had clearly mastered the art of glowering at an early age. Even a dog, which was probably female because it looked like Banks was the fox in the henhouse. Could be good because he understood women or not so good because all these women would be incredibly protective of him.

What had Banks told them about her?

His sisters were dark-haired like him. They smiled a lot, though Banks didn’t. Stoic with the people he loved, not just her. But she could tell he was happy. An air of contentment permeated these frames that did not exist in his real life, the one he was supposedly building with her.

Because it’s not real. He can’t be happy with the woman who trapped him.

Good thing it was only a business arrangement. A marriage of convenience. It might have started out as a mistake but now they would make the most of it.

She returned to the foyer and was grabbing the last case just as Banks descended the stairs and reached for the handle. Their hands brushed, and he pulled away like the touch burned.

This was going to be a long couple of months.

“I’ve put you in one of the guest rooms. It has an en suite and overlooks the lake.” He moved a hand over his mouth and rubbed at his beard. “You can move to one of the other rooms if you prefer.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She gestured to the cat carrier. “Is it okay if I let him out?”

Another dark look. “Sure. Make yourselves at home.”

She unlatched the door. One orange paw emerged, then retreated.

“Come on, baby. It’s okay.”

Another foray with the paw, then a second followed by a stretch. Finally, a cute little head popped out for a recce. Georgia looked at Banks, who was watching Cheddar with a mix of disgust and apprehension.

“Not a cat person, then?”

“Not an anything person.”

How was it possible she felt enough of an affinity with this person to get so far as the altar? Because now, they had no chemistry at all. They had anti-chemistry.

Cheddar didn’t have the decency to feel the same way, however. The little traitor beelined for Banks’s boots and placed a paw on the toe. When he wasn’t rebuffed, he went further with a head-rub along the man’s ankle. Georgia waited for Banks to shoo him away—after all he wasn’t an “anything person,” whatever that meant. But he stood patiently, waiting. Maybe for Cheddar to get bored.

It could happen. But not today. Cheddar was enjoying himself far too much.

“He likes you. He doesn’t usually like anyone.”

“No accounting for taste.”

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