Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection

“Me? No.” I snap my fingers. In an instant, one of the valets we have on stand-by at this lot appears at my side. “This is practice,” I tell her, as I pass the suitcase off to him to pack into the car. “Where we’re going, my family has a reputation, and there are things you don’t handle yourself. Thank you, Pierre,” I add in an aside to the valet, while slipping him a $20 tip clutched between two fingers.

“Valet service in your own parking lot?” She lifts an eyebrow at me. “That seems a bit extra, Quint.”

“This is Quint Motors. We specialize in extra.” With that, I open the passenger side door for Dee. “You’re going to have to figure out how to behave around my family if we want to pull this off,” I explain. Or rather, I don’t expect her to pick this up, and I expect it to cause friction all over the place as soon as we touch down in Greece for the family reunion. But I’m not about to let her in on that little plan—the plan for my entire family to hate the idea of her so much that they’ll be relieved when I “divorce” her, and apologetic for forcing me into such a rushed marriage in the first place.

With one last glance at the lobby—packed with people now, because Friday lunch hour has just begun, and everyone’s eager to race to the parking lot and away from here to whatever lunch plans they’ve made—I’m satisfied we’ve put in enough of an appearance for the day. I slide into the driver’s seat and steer us onto the highway up the coast, toward the tiny town of Newholme.

We pull into Newholme from the highway far above town just as the sun is setting out over the water. Dee gasps at the sight of it, and even I have to admit, this is a better sunset than usual in a town known for its sunsets. It’s like she’s my lucky charm.

The town itself looks picturesque, a bunch of candy-colored beach houses lining white sand beaches and the deep blue waves of the Pacific beyond.

“It’s so beautiful,” she sighs as we turn toward town, down a long road that leads to the little—okay, not so little—hotel where we’ll be staying for the weekend. Soon enough, we’re turning up the winding drive into the main complex, and her eyes widen, if possible, still further. “Jasper, you know we’re not on our fake honeymoon yet, right?”

“Ah, about that.” I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a smile.

Somehow, she sees right through me anyway. She narrows her eyes at me in the rearview mirror. “Tell me you didn’t book the honeymoon suite.”

“It’s good practice. Besides, the honeymoon suite is two rooms, so I can stay on the couch, assuming you’re still opposed to this business relationship becoming any more interesting business.”

She narrows her eyes still further. “I told you, I signed on to be your fake wife. Not a real one—and not some hookup either.”

I shrug one shoulder and toss her a grin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

She rolls her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Mr. Quint.”

“Oh, I do, future Mrs. Quint.” I flash her a wink, and she groans aloud. But when I look her way again, I notice a smile playing around the corners of her lips, before she wipes it away with a serious expression.

“Okay, so what’s the game plan?”

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. “The game plan is, we go down into the town tomorrow and find you a proper engagement ring. Something gaudy enough to be believable. Then we… Well.” I gesture broadly toward the scenery below us. “Amuse ourselves for a couple of days, and return to the offices amidst a swirl of rumors. Hopefully. Greg has promised to speed a few of those whispers up, naturally.”

“Naturally.” She laughs. “What is he, your assistant or your pimp?”

“Little bit of everything, like any good assistant.” I smirk at her, and she peels off into laughter again.

God, I love that sound.

And fuck, I really shouldn’t.

We pull into the hotel drive, and this time, I’m pleased to note that Dee waits for the chauffeur to open her door before she tries bounding out all on her own. Not to mention, she doesn’t even reach for the trunk or her own bag. She’s learning quickly. Good.

Or, possibly not good, if she adapts a little too fast. Maybe I should stop offering her lessons on how to woo the high and mighty rich, and instead try to bring out her down-home country side as often as possible around my family.

But I find myself unable to help it. Even though I know she needs to not get along with my family, and our time at the reunion needs to be a disaster, part of me wants her to enjoy herself there. To have a good time. To impress my parents.

As the bellhop whisks our suitcases upstairs, she turns to me, then, suddenly suspicious says, “You said tomorrow we’d go to the jewelers.”

I nod. “This is a small town. Most of the shops have already closed for the day.”

“But, what are we going to do for the rest of tonight, then?”

I grin. “That’s where my aforementioned assistant’s planning skills come in handy.” I offer her a hand. She slides her fingers through mine, with only one hesitant glance at the distant clerk manning the hotel entrance. “Right this way.”

I lead her down the cobblestone road that winds down beside the hotel, leaving the car in the capable hands of the valet. He’s a friend of the family, and I know he’s far too familiar with my father to damage the car my dad’s known for.

The cobblestone road is foot traffic only, mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple of other lovebirds strolling along, arms linked and heads bent close to one another in conversation. In the distance, out over the water, we watch the sun sink toward the horizon, until finally the waves swallow it whole, and the sky is painted bright neon pinks and yellows and oranges in its wake.

“Sunset was my mother’s favorite time of day,” Dee volunteers, after we’ve walked a few more paces, nearly to the stairs down the side of the hill on which the hotel is perched. Halfway down is the turn-off we need. “She used to make me turn off the TV and come join her on the porch for every one. Every single night. Of course, our view wasn’t much compared to this one.” Dee laughs and gestures toward the ocean.

I shrug, arm brushing against hers. “Still the same sun, and the same waves to set over.”

She flashes me a surprised smile. “That’s what my mom always used to say. Well. Not exactly, but whenever I’d complain about not having the latest phone, or not having dresses as nice as the other girls at school… She’d say we all wake up under the same sky and fall asleep looking at the same moon.”

“Smart woman.” I smile.

“She was.” Dee’s eyes soften, as she holds my gaze.

I step closer, and for a second, I think maybe she’s going to crack. Let me through that hard exterior that I know she’s projecting because she wants to keep things between us strictly professional. Even if she’s tempted to do otherwise.

But then Dee turns away and steps back down the path, tugging me along after her.

“Right here,” I say, and she leads the way, drawing me down a side path off the main road until we reach my favorite restaurant. Nestled halfway down the hill into town, with a back porch that juts out over the hill, it looks like someone’s grandmother’s cottage. If not for the uniformed staff member standing beside the door, you’d mistake it for a private residence.

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nbsp; “What is this place?” she murmurs, as we step inside and the hostess waves us through.

“Restaurant owned by the same chef who runs Sicile, back in the city.”

Her eyes widen. “Isn’t he famous?” she whispers, just low enough for me to hear, as we trail after the hostess and out onto the back porch.

“Very,” I confirm, and then smile as we step up to the little two-top I reserved for us, with a view of the bay below, the lingering pink clouds from sunset, and the lights winking on all across town in cottage and villa windows. Poised here, we could already be on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea, it looks so much like Greece. “My father is close friends with him. Their great-grandfathers grew up together.”

She flashes me a smile. “Everything seems to be about family connections with you.”

“Everything is,” I respond, and close my menu without a glance. “We’ll both do the chef’s choice,” I tell the waitress, who appeared a split second after the hostess.

Under the table, Dee kicks me. “How do you know I don’t have any allergies?”

I hold up a hand to stall the waitress. “My apologies. Do you have any allergies?”

She flattens her lips for a moment. “No. But I might have.”

I laugh and then smile at the waitress, who flashes me a wink when she thinks Dee isn’t looking and disappears to go place our orders.

“Does everybody do that around you?” Dee asks. “Or just pretty women?”

“Do what?” I ask with a grin.

“Give you whatever you want.”

“Hmm. Some pretty women do.” I study her for a long moment, making sure to let my gaze drop to the neckline of her gown. “Others are more withholding. Less open to adventure and exploration.”

She groans. “I just don’t want things to get complicated.”

“We’re faking an elopement. Things are already complicated.”

“Well, any more complicated, then.”

“Some things are worth complicating.” I wink.