Page 36 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

I try the door and it isn’t locked. “Let’s look inside.”

It’s a relief to go inside, if only for a moment. The wind has picked up and the dark clouds are looking more threatening than ever. A few spots of rain cling to my cheek as I open the door and enter. I’m limping, but my ankle doesn’t feel as bad as it did before. The rest has done me good.

Inside is a bed with a dusty mattress and lace curtains that have fallen from the window onto the floor. There’s an old quilted bedspread and a wooden bench, and a meager kitchen with a log fireplace. That’s it. No book. No paper.

Then I see it. “Look.” I point to one wall of the cottage where hundreds of people have scratched their names into the wood. Roughly drawn hearts and pairs of names make it obvious what it is. “Aww, how lovely.”

Ronan scoffs. “Defacing property? Sure. Lovely.”

I frown at him. “It’s not like that. Clearly, it’s a tradition.”

He sighs and takes a pocket knife from his pack. “Come on then. Would you like to do the honors, or will I?”

I know he won’t take it seriously and, really, I don’t know why I do, but somehow to do a dodgy job feels disrespectful of the other couples. I hold out my hand for the knife. “Let me.”

He hands it over and I do my best to whittle our names onto the only blank space I can find. It’s hard work, though. Harder than I thought. I wanted to draw a heart, but I can only get one line above my name before the knife gets caught. I struggle with it, but I can’t get it to work.

I put in a final effort, but the knife won’t budge and I’m getting upset because I’ve ruined the list. It looks dreadful.

Ronan’s large hand closes over mine. “What are you doing, Traffic Lights?”

I stop and stare up at him, having to twist my head to do so. “What did you call me?”

He snorts. “Traffic Lights. Since you’re always lighting up red.”

I scowl at the reference to my blushes and my red hair, but I can’t argue with him. I am, after all. And actually it’s kind of nice.

“What are you doing?” he asks more gently.

“I wanted to draw a heart.” I suddenly feel sheepish about the romantic gesture.

Instead of scoffing at me, Ronan puts his hands over mine, guiding the knife around in the shape until our names are enclosed. Then he steps back. “Happy?”

I can’t look at him for a moment. My throat is tight. I nod. “Thank you,” I mumble. It’s stupid, but today was actually nice. He was kind and thoughtful, even if he was still grumpy. And it was totally the sort of romantic adventure I love. A shame it’s not real.

“Come on.” He opens the door, stooping to pass through. ‘We have a boat to catch and a show to wrap.”

It hits me then this is our final night. Tomorrow, we go home after the vow ceremony. I can’t see Ronan continuing the fake marriage to home stays. Not after everything it took just to get him on this section of the show. But I find myself a little sad. Seems like I had just a hint today of something more than what I’ve seen before. A Ronan I’m sure I’ll never get another chance to meet.

I’m not sure how I’ll go back to just being his junior assistant, though. Not after this. Not after sleeping with his head in my lap or being kissed and held by him.

All I can think about on the way back to the meeting point is that I wish we could be friends.

SEVENTEEN

Ronan

“What do you mean you’ll come back later?” I bellow. I stare incredulously at Amy where she clings to the railing of the small boat as it rocks on the choppy waves. Her black hair is plastered to her face in stringy clumps by the salt water.

The boat isn’t close enough to jump to, or I’d be trying.

“The captain says it’s too dangerous to come any closer,” she shouts. “We’ll try again in a few hours, and return tomorrow if that’s no good.” As she says this, the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance underpins why she warned me today wasn’t a good day for this activity.

I should have listened, of course, but it’s useless trying to talk a bull out of anything once we’ve decided.

I rub at the base of my horns. “Throw a rope. I can make it.” It’s unlikely, but I’d try. God dammit, I want to be back in my comfortable bed in my apartment by myself where thoughts of Justine’s little human lips don’t haunt me. Where the whole situation doesn’t fool me into making slips of judgment. Even so, I’ll take the hotel bed. Or the chair.

“We’re throwing over some supplies!” Amy shouts.

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