Marriage For One

“I wouldn’t say need—”

When the wind kicked up, pushing at her hair, she lifted her hands to get it out of her eyes and the blanket started to slip down from her shoulders. I straightened and caught it midway to her waist. Suddenly we were standing too close and she was trapped between me and the damn blanket. My eyes met her surprised big, brown ones, and I halted, not so sure what to do with the blanket and her.

I cleared my throat. She dropped her hands after having pulled all her hair to one side, and I let her grab the edges of the blanket from me.

“Thanks,” she murmured as I took a step back.

Goddammit!

After a brief pause, she went back to answering my question. “It’s not so much a need, but it would be good just in case Jodi or Bryan show up. I don’t think they will, but after tonight who knows.”

“I’ll try to free up my schedule if you think I need to be there.” A quick glance at my watch, and I noticed the time: almost five. After not wanting to talk to her, I had spent an hour doing the exact opposite. I straightened up. “I’m heading back inside.”

“Oh, okay,” she mumbled, still holding on to the blanket I had almost reluctantly let go of just a few seconds earlier.

“If I’m going to paint an entire coffee shop, I need to get some sleep,” I added at her puzzled expression regarding my abrupt exit.

“Wait a minute—you were serious about that?”

“I’m not sure how many times I’ll need to repeat this, but if I say something, I always mean it.”

“I thought you were just…”

I raised my brows. “You thought I was what?”

“Never mind. You won’t be painting an entire coffee shop, though—I’ll be painting too.”

“We’ll see how you do first before I let you do that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’ll show you how it’s done tomorrow then.”

“Meet you downstairs at seven? Or would that be too early for you?”

“Seven is perfect.”

“Right. Good night then, Rose.”

“Good night, Jack.”

Chapter Five

Rose

Two weeks later

I had officially moved in with Jack Hawthorne, AKA my beloved fake husband, the night he had returned from his London trip, which could also count as the beginning of my sleepless nights. The next day, just as we had discussed, he accompanied me back to the coffee shop because he didn’t trust me with the walls of his newly acquired free property. While I did get him to agree—after a very convincing and long talk—that I could, in fact, do a beautiful paint job, he ended up painting most of the place himself, souring my victory.

He exasperated me to no end the entire time and I had no clue what to do with him.

He also wanted me to clear out my apartment in the East Village right away, but I ignored his wishes and slowly packed everything during the painting business. The hell with Bryan’s threats.

Sitting alone in the middle of the coffee shop, munching on a sandwich I had put together in the back, I was waiting for the IKEA delivery guys to bring me my bookcase. Soon after, they arrived, but before I could tackle that project, the chairs were delivered.

When everything was said and done—the bookcase assembled, the chairs where I thought they should be—hours had passed, and I’d only just then sat my ass down for the first time. I groaned and leaned my head back against the wall. I thought closing my eyes just for a few seconds wasn’t a bad idea because my eyesight was starting to get alarmingly blurry.

Of course doing that only reminded me of how much I needed more sleep. Every morning, I quietly got dressed and, as if I were an intruder, tiptoed out of Jack Hawthorne’s little mansion to get to the shop. At night, I chose to disappear into my room the moment I stepped into his apartment.

All my attempts at talking with my husband had failed, one after another, so I had stopped after attempt number four. The more questions I asked, the more I tried to talk to him, either the quicker he annoyed me or the quicker he walked away from me. The short conversation we’d had on the terrace that first night had been our longest one.

Yet…yet, even after the painting was done, he had shown up every single night to pick me up on his way to the apartment. Was it to check on the property?

To say I was confused about my husband would’ve been an understatement. I had no idea what to think about the man.

He had been the one to make the marriage offer, but with the way he was acting, so cool and distant at all times, you’d think I’d held an invisible gun to his head to make him say I do.