Page 44 of Marrying the Gardener
Viktor, helpfully, says, “I concur.”
You first, big brother.
Blowing out a breath, I stop stretching the collar of my shirt, plant my hand against my thigh, and reel my thoughts in. Crimson likes me.
But she still needs me to emotionally abuse her. Daily. In herown home. And then worse in public.
My body caves in on itself, because compared to that, her liking me doesn’t matter much.
I don’t want to keep playing this game. I don’t want to be the victim she heals and saves. I want to convince her that she doesn’t have anything to prove, least of all to people who could ignore the truth even if it hit them in the face like a train.
There is no winning with guys like her father and grandfather.
They’re so secure in their pride and repulsive worldview that nothing will shake it.
No matter what we do, success will be hollow.
These sorts of people make everything about them. Even their own children.
“Crisis, one more question: is there no way I can save her?”
“She’d hate that.”
“But—”
“She’d hate it.” Her voice softens. “Trust me, Kaleb. All we can do is love her. We can’t make her decisions or stop her from hurting herself if that’s what she’s decided is the solution for her pain. She couldn’t stop me when all I could focus on was spite. We can’t stop her from doing whatever it is she’s up to, either. Even if it’s hurting her. Just love her. In a new way. In a way I can’t. In a way no one else has. Love her like Viktor loves me, and see if that overcomes something. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, letting my eyes close. “Thank you, Crisis.”
“Take care of her, but never forget…I’m her favorite.”
I smile as we say our goodbyes, then I lower my phone. Something akin to pain and peace rests in the pit of my stomach.
If loving her is the only option I have, I willloveher.
With my entire tainted soul.
Chapter 14
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First dates and fairytales.
Crimson
“Was the blindfold wholly necessary, Rose-red?” Kaleb asks, resting in the passenger seat, one of my black scarves wrapped around his head to obscure his eyes. “Normally my dates don’t start this way.” He hums, settling in a bit too comfortably. “Although, actually, normally my dates don’tendthis way either…”
Date.
My first everdatewith a man and not my dearest Crisis. The idea of that should probably send flitters of anticipation through me, but it doesn’t. Thisdatehas a clear purpose, and that purpose is anything but mindless frivolity.
If Kaleb is interested in becoming my permanent husband once I’m free from my family’s grasp and our business marriage is nullified, we need to know each other better—preferably in a context outside my bedroom but also without the pressure of keeping up an act.
Hence, Saturdays are for my garbage family, and Sundays can be for us.
Kaleb laces his fingers together in his lap as he murmurs, “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”
“Are you making innuendos right now?” I ask.
