Page 32 of Marrying the Gardener
Unbidden and unwelcome, a silent tear slips down my cheek.
Kaleb catches it and sighs—as though he, too, is done with me. “Hormones. Say goodnight to your father, Crimson.”
Buying into the grand excuse ofhormones, I whisper a broken, “Night night, Daddy.”
My father either doesn’t see fit to reply, or Kaleb whisks me away to my car before he can. I, personally, can’t find it in myself to care.
I care so little, I don’t know why Kaleb pulls over once we’ve left the grounds of my father’s estate. Threading his fingers into his hair, he leans against the wheel and exhales a curse. Streetlights catch the ripples of concern in his eyes when he glances at me.
I feel like a husk of a person.
An empty cavern. A doll.
Worthless.
I say, “I’m fine,” before he can speak. “That was…perfect.” I stuff down a breath, look out my window, wave ahead. “Go on. Get us home before I get…cranky.”
“Crimson.”
“Go.”
“Crimson,” he says, softer, letting a hand land on my thigh.
I look down at it, remembering the way it felt in front of my father, when the action dripped with condescension and possession. Right now…it’s light. Emanating care. I lift my attention to Kaleb’s face. “What?”
“I was drinking, Rose-red. I shouldn’t be driving right now. The chance my reaction time is impaired by even a fraction of a second is a risk I’m not taking with you in the car.” He opens his door, circles to mine, and offers his hand to help me out. Once I’m standing, though, he lingers, pressed close, sandwiching me to the sparkling red paint. His forehead falls against mine, and whiskey wafts from his breath. “Are you good?”
“I said—”
He brushes his thumb beneath my eye. “I know. You’refine. But you were crying, and we both know you aren’t dealing withpregnancy brain. What he said about your mother…”
“You know she died giving birth to me. I never knew her. It’sfine.”
“You cried.”
“People have hormones even when they aren’t pregnant, Kaleb.”
“Crimson.” His voice hardens. “I need you to talk to me, sweetheart. I can’t do this if it’s going to hurt you like this. I can’t stomach that.Please. Don’t ask me to stomach that.” Pain contorts his face, leaving an emotion quite near misery rioting in his glazed eyes. When he closes them, he drops his forehead to my shoulder and circles me in his arms. Care, as apparent as his touch moments ago in the car, siphons through his strong embrace and into me. “Did I go too far?”
My lungs burn, starved for air. “No.” I wet my lips, stare ahead, over housetops, at the darkening navy sky. “No, Kaleb. You were perfect. He loved you. He’s already claimed you as a son. His approval will help us a lot with my grandfather once he summons the family. I don’t yet know exactly what he intends to do or what games he expects us to play each weekend he feels up to it. I only know that my father told me to be ready not to embarrass him when the time comes.” My hands close into fists at my sides. “This whole evening gives me hope. It hurts. Of course it hurts. When someone who was supposed to love you chooses someone they barely know over you, that’s going to hurt. But, soon, I won’t have to deal with it anymore. I’ll be free.” Safe. Independent. Running my own companies, playing my own business, without anyone to tell me I’m toofemalefor success.
The misogyny will be behind me, or at least under my control. The second a man in my corporation starts acting like the backend of a mule, he’s gone.
I’ll befree.
After a long while, Kaleb’s arms loosen, then he separates us and scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight right now. I’m definitely buzzed.”
“You did fabulous for being mildly intoxicated.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m looking forward to sobering and enjoying our evening.”
“Our…evening?”
“When we get home.”
“Our ‘evening’ can’t take place in the car? During the hour drive back home?”
His head shakes. “’Fraid not. I don’t trust myself to kiss you while buzzed, and you still need practice.”
