“I blame it on your brother, your grandmother, your parents, and you.”
“Yes, well, I suppose, indirectly, you’re right. We’re all responsible, right back to the dawn of time. My poor old grandma did this to get back at us. That’s the difference. When we were kids, we played all manner of horrible pranks on her. One time, we swapped out her denture glue with real glue—things like that. We were real shits, just saying. But that aside, let’s start with the basics. Your name I got from the marriage certificate, but how does my brother know you?”
Her eyes flash. They’re an alluring light blue, not dark like mine. I have dark eyes, black hair, and a dark soul, the black sheep of the family. Alright, maybe I’m not exactly the black sheep, but I have been blamed for things that were beyond my control and banished in a way, and even after all that settled down, things were still hard. If a person looked really hard, they’d see that my eyes aren’t so dark after all. They have some color in them, some gold flecks when the sun hits them right. And my soul is kind of the same. It’s actually not so dark.
“I was his secretary.” She garbles the words like they’re thick in her mouth. Right, she’s probably going to need something to drink soon, as soon as her stomach settles in.
Christ, my brother is a ridiculous knob. His secretary? This is a new low, even for him.I’m careful to let none of that slip, though, because none of it is her fault. “I see.”
She narrows her brows at me. God, she’s beautiful. I noticed it on the jet, but now that she’s awake, her hair a pretty, wheat-colored cloud of a mess around her face, her pale skin flushed pink on her cheeks, and straining angrily against those ties in that gauzy Grecian-looking dress of hers, she’s a total knockout—stunning beyond measure. Not that it matters. It doesn’t. Those are just facts presented before me. It’s not like if I hadn’t been sedated twice earlier in the night and endured endless panic leading up until now, I’d noticed. In a rather physical way. In an in-the-pants kind of way.
“You’re a creep, aren’t you?” Her tone drips venom, and her eyes shoot to kill. Her hands curl into fists as she pulls again at the ties holding her arms. “You’ve tied me up because you’re a creep, and that’s why you’ve been banished here. Wherever hereis. Oh my god, wherever here is. My mom and sister! They’ll be so worried about me.”
“We texted them for you on the flight. They know you’re fine.”
Her lips part, and she tries to hide her surprise but not her disgust. “You broke into my phone?”
“Phone wasn’t password protected,” Hans chimes in with a shrug. He speaks perfect English, but this is his favorite thing, doing the accents and keeping people guessing. Sometimes, he likes to play the big, brainless, brute card, but mostly, it’s the accent thing. I’m not sure what he’s doing right now, though. Russian maybe? Most people just assume Hans is all muscle with a miniscule brain. Most people wouldn’t guess he has a PhD in physics, then got tired of that and did some sketchy things after that I don’t ask about before getting into the bodyguard business and fulfilling the lifelong predictions of just about everyone who ever met him and thought he’d be great at a job involving muscle.
They’re right. He’s the best. He’s also killer with a razor and excellent with buttons.
“Okay, so you made sure my family knows I’m safe, but that’s debatable.” Everleigh’s lips finally work like normal again, and she just says what she’s thinking. “If you’re not a creep who enjoys tying women up after you’ve drugged them, then why do you live alone here as a recluse? Your brother did say that, didn’t he? Probably why he had to resort to this trick and was unable to get someone else to marry you. It’s because you’re too strange, and no one wants to live in a hole in the ground.”
“Does enjoying my privacy make me a creep?”
“Are you going to try and convince me that I actually like being tied up and then do wicked things to me that I won’t like at the start, but I’ll slowly realize I was destined to enjoy it, and I’ll soon be melting and begging for you?”
“Whoa.” I hold up my hands again. “What? I’m not sure what books you’ve been reading or movies you’ve been watching, but that’s not my M.O.”
“Oh, really? So why are you all alone then? Let me guess. You’re the puppet master, pulling all the strings from a distance, and everyone else dances to your bidding so you never have to leave this fortress that you’ve built.”
If only she knew. Warmer, my sweet little wife. You’re getting so much warmer.
She pauses, and I can only imagine what’s going on in her head. She seems to have a very vivid imagination. Then again, she’s just been through a rather hellish experience compounded by a fake marriage agreement and a bait-and-switch. The stuff of romances and fairy tales that I don’t believe in. The stuff of nonsense. The same kind of nonsense that got into my grandma’s head and brought us to this fine mess we’ve found ourselves in right now.
“This house isn’t a fortress. It’s just an old house at the edge of the city. An old, huge, and rather rambling house that I liked, so I bought it.”
She pauses, and I can see the wheels turning. “Are you agoraphobic?”
“What’s that?”
“In this case, it essentially means you’d rather not leave the house,” Hans fills in for me.
“No. No, I can leave here just fine. I’m not afraid of that.”
Her delicate little nose—heaven help me, I’ve never found a nose to be cute before, but hers definitely is—wrinkles. “Then what?”
I get off the edge of the bed and walk around to the foot since she can see me clearly there without turning her head. I think it’s better if she looks at me straight on for this. Might as well have it all out in the open. Maybe if I give her this, she’ll trust meand stay put for the next six months and make my life that much easier.
A bit of a headache now will save me endless migraines later. Very worth it, in my books. I wasn’t kidding when I accused my brother of marrying me off to a spitfire. I was proud of Everleigh when she tried to stomp on my brother’s foot twice and elbow him, also twice, to get away from him. Anyone who has had to spend a few minutes in Bradford’s presence would understand the sentiment. The Lion. What a fucking joke that is. He’s more like the annoying kitten looking for scraps and a bowl of milk to mooch off of. Not that I have anything against kittens. I like cats. I’m just not overly fond of my brother. It’s even more irksome that I need him.
“Hans?”
He gives me a once over, and I know it is his way of expressing extreme doubt without moving his facial muscles or speaking. I return the look, and he gets out of the chair and walks over. Then, he stands in front of me, blocking Everleigh’s view as he slips the black suit jacket from my shoulders and then unbuttons my shirt for me. He takes the jacket with him while I peel the shirt away myself because fuck it if I’m going to treat Hans like my personal valet. He helps me with what I can’t do so people don’t know I can’t do it.
“Gah!” Everleigh gasps and wrenches her arms against the bonds as I slip my shirt off. I remove my right arm first because I can tug with my left, and then the rest comes easy. With a breath, I let the shirt fall to the floor. Unlike my brother, I don’t care whether my clothes are or aren’t tailored. I have Hans buy something if I need it. It’s easy to locate suits, shoes, and whatever else I might want. I suppose he buys the best, but that’s because he has good taste and an unlimited budget to do it with. “Why are you undressing?” Everleigh shrieks. “Oh my god, you’re undressing! Help!” she screams. “Someone help me!”
“Stop!” I hold my left index finger to my lips. “Stop and open your eyes and look. I’m trying to show you something. Establish a baseline of trust. You won’t believe me otherwise.”