Page 48 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

I’m surprised. “Sure. Why?”

She sighs. “I guess after a night all alone on Rottager Island, well... I was just hoping you two would be a little more...” She trails off, rolling her hand in a circular gesture.

It feels weird for me to be the one saying this, but... “Um... Amy, it’s not real, though, is it?”

She laughs. “Oh, I know, but most couples experience some kind of chemistry. Maybe it’s because you stood in at the last minute rather than being chosen, but I was convinced that wouldn’t matter. I really thought there was something here.”

At that point, Ronan returns from the restroom and Amy breaks off. I’d like to ask her what she meant, but not in front of Ronan. Besides, she probably didn’t mean anything other than we’re not giving her the footage she wants. I guess we’ll have to try a little harder.

“Next up is a moonlit beach walk.”

I can just about hear Ronan’s groan, but when I look at him, he’s just nodding passively.

“This is your last evening before you have to choose whether or not to renew your vows and take the trial marriage back into the real world.”

I blink. It hadn’t even clicked that this would be our last night together.

Of course, Ronan won’t renew. It was hard enough convincing him to come on this show in the first place.

Would he be super mad with me, if I wrote yes? Only if there’s a chance—even a tiny chance—I don’t want to be the one to throw it away. But if he says no, it’s all over anyway. We both have to say yes to continue.

I’m still considering my options while we walk along the beach. I’m taking things slow. My ankle is still a little tender and I don’t want to roll it in the sand. Something I’m highly likely to do.

The romantic moment is kind of spoiled by the half dozen people around us with cameras and equipment, but it’s still a beautiful night. Cold, though. Summer definitely feels over and the wind off the ocean is chilly. Especially with me only in a thin cocktail dress.

Ronan slips off his jacket and wraps it around me. “Come on, Traffic Lights. Don’t need you turning blue.”

It swamps me, of course. The ends of the sleeves trail down over my hands. But it’s so warm I snuggle into it and give him a grateful smile, despite his persistent use of the nickname. “You seem different today,” I murmur.

He only grunts.

I expect him to continue to communicate in monosyllables, but again he surprises me when we reach the charming bench at the stop of a short climb, Ronan crosses a hoof over the otherand slings his arm across the back of the seat. “Tell me about your most romantic experience up until this point.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Amy. She was clearly approaching with more question cards, but when Ronan speaks, she backs away slowly.

I’m just as shocked as she is.

He’s so big that, even though we’re sitting a little apart, his arm stretches out behind me. It feels very intimate. I mean, it’s nowhere near as intimate as the other things we’ve done over the last twenty four hours, but this time he’s doing it in public. I’m caught off guard. “I can’t think of one.”

He snorts. “Your ex was a piece of work.”

It warms something inside me hearing him talk about Cameron like that. Not that Ronan knows anything about him, but the way he’s prepared to sum him up in a sentence like that and jump in on my defense every time the subject comes up makes me feel all gooey inside.

“Yeah. I always used to wish he’d take me on a really romantic date. Probably silly, but I had this whole scenario—” I cut myself off, laughing at my own naivety.

“What was it?”

I look around at Ronan. I don’t get the impression he’s asking just to deride me. He seems genuinely curious.

“Well,” I start hesitantly. “Something ridiculously ostentatious. Like a hot air balloon ride, or a picnic where he’d organized a skywriter to write a romantic message in the sky or, you know, anything that demonstrated he’d really put in a big effort. It’s not really about the thing itself, more the gesture.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, unused to wearing it down.

Ronan pushes a hand into my hair and pulls it out again, teasing through the strands. “It’s pretty like this. You should wear it down more often.”

I expect him to stop, but his fingers move up, stroking through my hair again, and a shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the chilly sea breeze.

“You deserve effort,” he says eventually. “You deserve someone who’s prepared to do that for you.”

He doesn’t sayhewould do that for me.

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