Page 97 of The Rancher Married the Wrong Sister
Oh no, I think I just said too much. But since I’ve always had a hard time lying...
“It’s nothing,” I mumble. “What I want to make clear is how—”
“You tired yourself out with a self-designed crash course on how to be the perfect wife?”
My jaw drops.How did he—
His gaze slides to the antique writing desk by the window, and that’s when I remember all the notes I’d copiously made in the past three days...and which I forgot to hide when the fever hit.
Oh no.
My laptop sits open, still displaying the last website I’d been reading: “How to Support Your Husband’s Business Goals.”Scattered around it are legal pads covered in my careful handwriting. Notes about corporate entertaining, appropriate conversation topics for business dinners, how to dress for different types of events. I’d even printed out articles about ranch management and cattle breeding, thinking maybe if I understood his work better, I could be useful instead of just...decorative.
He studies my research for a long moment, then looks back at me with something that might be amusement. “It’s useless, by the way.”
“W-what do you mean—”
“The articles are for men who are well-off.”
“But you—”
“I’m rich as fuck.”
I choke on absolutely nothing, then notice the way his eyes gleam, and I realize he only said it to make me smile.
Oh, how perfect this man is!
If only, oh if only...
My eyes close involuntarily but they still start stinging anyway. My latest act of idiocy has me so lost in mortification that I barely notice the bed dipping under his weight. I only realize he’s perched on the side of the bed when his fingers cup my chin, and my eyes slowly open.
Oh.
His gorgeous face is still unreadable, the intensity in his gaze inexplicable. His tone, low and rough, is the only thing that yields a clue—
“Why?”
But my experience with men being a big fat zero, the clue means nothing to me at all, and I don’t understand what exactly he’s asking or why he seems so upset.
“Why do you even care about being the perfect wife” His fingers loosen as he grits the words out, and pain scorches my heart at the abrupt loss of contact. “when I told you explicitly this marriage isn’t real?”
I look at him uncertainly. “You’re mad at me for wanting to be a good wife?”
“Yes, dammit.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t deserve it!”
All I can do is stare at him. How can he not deserve a good wife?
“I blackmailed you—”
“Because my sister conned you first,” I point out helplessly.
“But I should never have gotten you involved.”
“You’re only human. Emotions can get the better of us—”
