Page 21 of Inappropriately Matched

It’s been five days since I got married and moved in with a bunch of strangers who happen to be my husbands. Yep, my husbands. As in the plural of husband.

Since this is a marriage of convenience of sorts, we didn’t adhere to the normal standards of going on a honeymoon and all that crap. Instead, Honeypot and I took a week off from work atLeashed to Loveand becamedomesticated.

While my men go out and work their highly stressful jobs in construction, we stay home, clean, do laundry, and cook—although the end results are debatable, but I’m not giving up—and look pretty for when my husbands come through the door.

It’s perfect. And so are my nights. Just as well I took a week off from work. I need an afternoon nap to catch up on all the sleep I’m missing, having my brains banged out in the most salacious fashion ever.

I’ve lost count of the number of times they made me come since our marriage.

I was able to avoid my parents just fine for the last couple of days, but I have to meet my mom for our weekly lunch today, and she’s just going to know after one look at me.

As if I summoned her with my thoughts, my phone rings, and it’s my mom.

“Clementine Belle Williams, you’re married?" My mom shouts through the phone.

And so it begins.

“I am, Mom. How did you find out?”

“Your father just told me, and he has your husbands, your threehusbands, in his office right now.”

“What?”

“How could you not tell me,querida? I’m your mother. I’m always on your side.”

I don’t hear my mom as blind fury overtakes me. If my father thinks he is going to bully my husbands just because he’s got more money... Ugh.

“Mom, I’ll see you in a bit,” I say, putting on my shoes. I give Honeypot a kiss—she shouldn’t be driving with me when I’m in this state—and head to my father’s.

Oh, if he threatened them or made them feel small in any way, I’m going to...

I calm myself down and make sure I get there in one piece so I can say my say. Dead doesn’t help my course.

I blast through the front door, and even though our housekeeper, Janice, and helpers, Susan and Helena, are some of the best people I know, I quickly brush them off with an apology for not staying and chatting and charge into my father’s study.

There are so many things wrong with the whole thing I want to scream out my frustration and shatter some windows in the process. This was not supposed to happen. Wait, what is even happening right now?

My father looks thrilled.Thrilled. Happy. He can’t stop beaming at the three men sitting on the opposite side of this huge marble desk. And he'sbeaming.

Also, did I forget the purpose of my quickie marriage in the first place?

The coziness of the setting of the scene before me was never supposed to be a possibility. My father was supposed to declare defeat. He was meant to say, Good one, daughter.

Because it is a good one. I’d outplayed my father. He never saw this coming. Ta-da, I married three construction workers. And I’m happy.

And I love them.

With my entire chest, heart, and being.

I love them. Everything about them. Their bossiness, their incredible bodies, the way I feel when they touch me, and how I feel even when they’re away from me.

Oh crap. I fell in love with them for real, didn't I? But they’re just playing house with me to stick it to my father.

I love them.Why, oh why, did I fall for my revenge husbands?

Why is my father so happy? Where’s his time bomb ticking vein, the one in the center of his forehead?

“Clementine, my pumpkin pie,” my father says. Seeing me, he rises from his seat and comes to hug me.

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