Page 42 of Marrying the Gardener
Agony swells in his shattered eyes before he presses a hard kiss to my stomach. “I don’t care aboutpower, Crimson.” He buries his face against me. “I just wantyou.”
For a very brief moment, I want him, too. So I smile, continue running my fingers through his hair, and let the reassurance that I can do something—be more than anaccessoryfor somebody—soothe the worthless ache plaguing my soul.
Chapter 13
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If a tree falls on top of me, will I hear it?
Kaleb
“Kaleb? Is everything okay?” Viktor asks through my phone speaker.
Face down on my bed, I hold the device to my ear and relish in the difficulty I’m having breathing through the pillow beneath my nose. Muffled, I say, “Viktor. Is your wife around?”
Crisis isn’t his wife yet. But he has literally never called her anything else. So.
“It’s eleven at night,” he says.
“I didn’t ask for the time,” I mutter.
Crisis’s voice comes through the line. “Kaleb? What’s going on? Is Crimson okay?”
Yeah. Sure. Crimson isglowing. Because I took Crisis’s advice. I brought up some trauma…made myself out to be a broken, broken boy…and secured her sympathy.
It was as effortless as worming my way into the rotten hearts of her father and grandfather.
Because this is what I can do. This is what I’ve spent years doing.
After a week of forcing herself to withstand our practice sessions each evening, Crimson kissed me, several times, willingly. She offered to remarry me, without strings, and let me be her real husband. She saw my helpless pieces, felt responsible for putting them all back together, andenthusiasticallyoffered me everything she possibly could.
So now I feel like dung.
Did I lie? No. Did I know that I was being intentional with my truths?Yes.
And that’s what makes all the difference.
In this business, lies are cheap. You always lace the omissions with the most honesty you can find. Which is why—with parents like mine—it’s so horrifyingly easy to fit right in with monsters. I know what a true monster looks like. And, let’s face it, it’s in my blood.
I bet…if the tables were turned…my mother and father would have run instead of sticking around to protect any of their siblings, too.
I say, “Crisis, can you take me into the forest tonight?”
“What?”
“Can you…come get me…and take me…into the forest…tonight?”
Silence. Then, “…why?”
“So you can stand in my vicinity. Until a tree falls on top of me.”
“What did you do?” Her lethal tone delves into my rotting, black soul, niggling at a scrap of integrity, assuming there’s any left. And I do not believe there is.
Rolling onto my back, I cover my eyes with my hand. “I took your advice.”
“And?” she asks.
“It worked.”
