Page 7 of Marrying the Gardener
Chapter 2
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The Hallmark Channel called; they want their plot back.
Kaleb
“My grandfather is a—” Crimson swears an adjective, then a noun, mere moments after my pseudonym—the name Madame D’Clancy helped me get paperwork for—graces the space at the bottom of an NDA.
My brows rise, and my mind trips to consolidate the refined tone saturating such crass language.
If nothing else, I suppose we’re starting this meeting eloquently.
Within a private room at The Black Swan, Crimson laces her fingers atop the table between us, genteel complacency mingling with the calm on her face. “In other words, he’s a sexist, arrogant boomer. And he is also dying.”
I blink.
Did…
I am so sorry.
Did Crimson Nightingale just call her grandfather aboomer?
That feels somewhat incorrect. I’d expect a dry delivery of Gen-Z vocabulary from Crisis, but never Crimson. It’s a testament to their relationship if they’re rubbing off on each other like this, but I’m not certain how to manage the whiplash.
Wetting her perfect red lips, she lowers her gaze to her hands. “In his final weeks, he’s taken a renewed interest in his family, proposing that from now until he dies he’d like to spend time with us each Saturday, so long as he feels well enough. And so long as we all continue to receive invitations. Do youunderstand where I’m going with this?”
“Your…grandfather is setting up a particularly interesting Bachelorette for a shot at his inheritance…”
A frail smile graces her mouth, and my heart can hardly manage being the cause of it. “Indeed. I need a husband who will continue seeing that we’re invited each week all the way up until my grandfather’s will is decided. Once he passes and the matters of his wealth are finalized, we’ll divorce, and per the prenup I’ve drafted, all estates obtained during our marriage will belong to me.”
Seems simple enough.
In a totallydid I watch this on the Hallmark channel…?kind of way.
Lifting my water cup, I rest the cool glass against my bottom lip and maintain my collected façade. Because although I fell asleep during the last Hallmark film I saw, I know what happened to the main characters.
They fell in love and lived happily ever after.
Imagine my being this lucky.
Pushing back the luxurious waves of her hair, Crimson presents a thick document and touches the tip of her pen to what appears to be an extensive list of regulations. “My grandfather is attracted to men who are cocky and arrogant, like him, but who worship the ground he walks on. My father is the same. Likely, you will need to win them both over. The way I intend to introduce our relationship won’t be graceful, so you will quickly need to establish that you are a man willing and able to keep me in my place.”
Tensing, I take a sip of my water.
“There will, inevitably, be a physical aspect to this ploy. The men in my family treat their women like objects without brains. In the interest of aligning you among them, I am willing to be manhandled.”
I choke on my water.
Crimson pulls her attention off the document and peers at me. “Are you all right?”
Dragging a linen napkin to my mouth, I cough and nod. “I’m sorry. I must have misheard you. Did you just say you want me tomanhandleyou?”
“Wantis a strong word. If you accept this job, I’m giving you permission to partake in the precursor to what you’ve been suggesting from the moment we met. Graciously, the men in my family refrain from public displays of assault, so these physical displays won’t reach a zenith, but…well. I am willing to let them be uncomfortable enough to get the points I need them to across.”
“To be painfully clear, Ms. Nightingale, I have in no way petitioned an interest inmanhandlingyou.”
She stares at me. Her pupils dart off my face for a second, then drop to the papers. “Are you not a man?”
