Page 3 of Assigned

Chapter Two

Riley

Of all the crap luck. Lucas. Lucas-freakin’-Craiger is who this military committee figured I would best be suited for, the man I should marry and spend my life with. Not that they’re wrong about us being good together. Or at least once upon a time, we’d made a great couple. Before my life took a turn toward the shitter.

Literally.

As Lucas carries the last of the boxes down the narrow hallway of the building where I’d been renting a studio apartment, I stare at the way the gray T-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and muscular back for far too long before averting my eyes. Talk about uncomfortable. Here I am ogling my ex who is now my fiancé, who’s muttered all of two sentences to me.

“Luc, I’ll meet you downstairs. I want to do one last sweep to make sure I have everything.” And take an extra moment for myself. To cleanse my brain of any wayward thoughts and reevaluate my sanity. I should walk out now. I should run. I have my reasons for joining the program. There are compromises I’m willing to make. But this is asking a whole hell of lot.

Lucas pauses midstride, twists his head the slightest bit to gaze at me with brown eyes I swear see right into my mind. I hope he didn’t acquire any telepathic abilities since we dated, because the last thing I need is for him to read my reaction to his post-high school physique. He’d been cute at seventeen. Now he is something else entirely. Strong. Commanding. Chiseled. A man, not a boy.

My cheeks flame at the thought and I cringe. Great. Now I look guilty. But Lucas only nods before continuing on down the steps. Like I said, not talking to me. And here I thought it took couples several years of marriage to get to the no-speaking stage. We’re overachieving already. Go team!

The thud of his boots on the stairs fades, leaving me time to mull over the question that’s been plaguing me ever since he first appeared. If Lucas Craiger has no intention of communicating with me, then why on earth did he agree to be assigned to me in the first place? Or have me assigned to him? Or however this program works. Maybe I should have read a little bit more of the fine print.

I shake my body from my legs to my arms as if I’d walked into the biggest cobweb on the planet. But the motion does little to relieve the nagging anxiety, or the dull abdominal cramps making themselves known. I wince and put my hands on my stomach. “You know, I’d really appreciate if you could let me have at least a couple days of marriage before you start going off,” I whisper to my midsection.

As usual, my GI tract doesn’t reply. Maybe my gut and my groom should get together, seeing how they have that trait in common. Except, my autoimmune disease is one aspect of this whole arranged marriage I wasn’t planning to divulge to my future husband, much less my high school sweetheart. Who, thanks to some twisted trick of the universe, happens to be one and the same. I didn’t tell him about it back then and I’m going to keep it to myself as long as possible now.

After exhaling a long, slow breath, I get back to work. I make my way around the studio apartment, opening every cabinet and drawer, checking around every corner for any stray belongings that escaped the packing boxes. Once I’m satisfied there are no socks hiding in the corner of the closet or toiletries lurking beneath the sink, I head to the door, but turn back one last time to survey the empty space. “Goodbye, safe haven.”

Not really a safe haven. More like my own little lonely cave I could hide away in. Still, it had been mine and no one else’s.

After locking the door, I head down the stairs, drop the keys off in the super’s mailbox, then walk out into the parking lot. Lucas sits in his truck, a gunmetal-gray Dodge Ram that gleams in the sunlight, the bed neatly packed with my boxes and bags. Everything at right angles and secured by bungee cords, tucked in safe and secure.

The sight stops me in my tracks as reality kicks in. Lucas. Me. Cohabitating. Once we unpack my stuff at his place, getting out of this arranged marriage will be much harder. Do I really want to go through with this?

My mind flies to the alternatives—or the distinct lack of them—and I blow out a shaky breath. Yes. I do.

I’ve been over my options a hundred times, and marriage in the new military matching program is my best bet to achieve my goal of independence—as much as one could call it independence, since I don’t exactly have a normal life. Getting paired to my high school sweetheart doesn’t change that.

I glance at the downcast turn to Luc’s mouth and grimace. Even if my soon-to-be husband acts like he’d rather be MIA than married to me.

After straightening my shoulders, I stride over to the passenger door and hop in. “All set.”

Lucas turns the ignition on and the vehicle rumbles to life. “Buckle up.”

My head spins toward him. “Huh?”

“Seat belt. Put it on.”

I snort, remembering all the times we raced down dirt roads as teens, him flooring the gas and me shrieking out the window like I was on a roller coaster. “Since when are you a stickler for seat belt safety? You certainly didn’t seem to care back in high school.”

His jaw ticks. “Long time ago. Was a stupid kid back then. We were lucky we didn’t get hurt. Now, please put on the seat belt so we can get going.”

Careless, maybe, but never stupid. No. Not careless either. Maybe carefree is the word I’m looking for. This man looks like the weight of the world is on his ridiculously broad shoulders. Though, the paperwork the committee sent did say he was a father. Maybe this whole vehicular safety routine stems from parenthood.

Great. Just what I need. Another parent thinking they know what is best for me. Which is exactly why I didn’t mention joining the program to my parents and have no intention of telling them anytime soon. Wonder if I could get away with them ever finding out for the rest of their lives.

I reach over and pull the seat belt across my body, then buckle it into place and give him an “all set” nod. Lucas waits until he hears the metallic click before pulling out onto the road. At least it isn’t raining today like it has been all of last week. This move would’ve sucked even more than it does now if that were the case. I try to be grateful for the small blessing.

I open the window and let the cool breeze whistle into the cabin. Apart from normal street noise, that’s the only sound as Lucas steers us down the road. Uncomfortable with the uneasy silence, I fidget with the seat belt strap until I can’t take it anymore. “Lucky to have such mild weather. Can you imagine moving in one hundred-plus degrees?”

“Nope.”

Just one word. Okay. Enough is enough. I turn to face Lucas dead-on. “Look. We’re supposed to get married today. Sure, it’s not in a church surrounded by family or even a little Elvis chapel in Vegas. And I get we have history, but you had every opportunity to reject us being put together. And you didn’t.”

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