I wish I could have met Bailey in Blackhawk Valley to help her load up her stuff and keep her company on the drive back down here, but between her insistence that she didn’t want my help and the fact that I’ll be in deep shit if I miss practice or meetings this week, I had to let her handle it on her own.

I meet her in the driveway with what I hope is a casual smile. The truth is, I couldn’t be more nervous about our arrangement. We’ve hardly talked since the last time we were together down here, and every time I sent her a text, I got the impression that she was irritated with me. It’s one thing to move her in and get Lindy off my back. It’s quite another to think I might make one of the most stubborn women I know give up her life in Blackhawk Valley.

Bailey climbs out of the car and stretches onto her tiptoes, her hands reaching high as if she’s trying to grab handfuls of the perfectly blue evening sky. Her shirt creeps up, exposing her tan midriff and making me itch to move closer. To touch. To claim.

I walk to the trunk, and she cocks her head at me.

“I can get my own bags.” She pops the trunk and reaches around me to pull out two suitcases. She sets them on the ground before shutting it again.

“Where’s the rest?”

“This is it.”

I look between her and her two modestly sized suitcases. My mom would require more luggage than this for a weekend away. “That’s all you have? For four-plus months?”

“You have a washer and dryer, don’t you?”

“I expected you to bring more.” I expected you to move in. But in her mind, this is just a visit. And in my naïve fantasies, it’s forever.

“I’m low maintenance, remember?”

I grunt. I’m not touching that. I grab the bags from the ground before she can and lead the way to the front door. I hear the soft pad of her tennis shoes on the tile behind me as I take the bags straight to the master bedroom.

“So, are you going to chain me to the bed while I serve my time, or am I free to roam the house?” Her words hit my gut hard, and I drop her suitcases and swing around, only to find her smiling.

“I didn’t ask you to stay with me because I need a play-toy.” Though I could get used to the idea of her tied to my headboard, her eyes watching me and hazy with pleasure as I work my way down her body. That isn’t a bad idea at all. Except that it is. “It’s really hard for you to believe someone might want you for something other than sex, isn’t it?”

“Right,” she whispers, looking around the room. “And you want me because you don’t want your boss to set you up with his daughter. That’s so much better than being wanted for sex.”

“Maybe I have other reasons, too.” I step forward and take her chin in my hand, forcing her to meet my eyes. I don’t like the pain and betrayal I see in hers. “Don’t you want to be here? Even a little?”

Her lips part as her gaze drops to my mouth. “I’m here to help.”

It would be so easy to slide my hand from her chin into her hair, to lower my mouth and coax hers open. We could start day one in bed and stay there until my alarm buzzed for tomorrow morning’s team meeting.

And if I did, I’d lose any chance of not falling apart when she left me in four months.

She steps back, seeming to shake off the moment. “I guess I should unpack.”

I reach out to keep her from turning away, then drop my hand, stopping myself. “Bailey?” When she turns to me, I say, “Thank you for doing this. Thank you for staying here when you’d rather be home. It means a lot.”

She gives a shaky smile. “What are friends for?”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the small black velvet jewelry box.

“What’s that?” she asks, her eyes widening.

“Your ring.”

She holds up a hand to show me that she’s wearing the thin gold band I put on her finger in Vegas. “I have a ring.”

“I thought you should wear something a little more convincing.” I pull the princess-cut diamond solitaire from the box.

Her breath hitches as I slide it onto her finger. “Is that real?”

I laugh. “Better be.”

“What the hell? Why would you waste your money? Are they going to let you return it?” Her voice is laced with panic.

“It’s not a waste. I promise it’ll hold its value just fine.” I knew she wouldn’t want anything too fussy, but she needed a ring as bold as her personality. I know I bought it with no intention to return or sell it, so I have no idea what will become of it. I’m not willing to look that far into the future yet.

“Jesus, Mason. What if I lose it or something?”

“It fits great. I don’t think it’s going to fall off.”

She stares at it, her eyes wide, and I want a do-over. From the beginning. I would fight harder to win her heart from Nic before he died. I would tell her his secrets instead of trying to protect her from them. I would handle everything differently so we could get here the right way. Married because we wanted to be, not because we were drunk in Vegas. And both of us in love, not her with her heart in the grave with a dead man.

“Wow,” she whispers. “Just . . . wow.”

“There’s a party Friday night. Kind of a welcome thing for Lindy. I really don’t want to go, but Bill will be pissed if I skip out.” I watch her as she takes in this information. “Will you come with me . . . as my wife?”

She finally tears her eyes off her ring and looks up at me. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for, right?” She fidgets with her ring. Normally, Bailey faces the world as if she’s ready to attack, but right now she looks so vulnerable that all I want to do is pull her into my arms and protect her from the people who want her out of my life—the very people I’m asking her to face on my behalf.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know how to do this.” She grimaces as she meets my gaze. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I’ve worked my whole life. I can’t just move into your fancy house and . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know. What do rich women do? Plan parties? It’s not like you need me to decorate—not that I’d be any good at it if you did.”

“Do whatever you want to, Bailey. Walk on the beach. Swim in the pool. Join a book club and make some friends. You work all the time. You deserve a break.” She stares at me with a wrinkled nose and curled lip, as if I just suggested she spend her leisure time dining on rodents. “Think of it as an extended vacation.”

“I think I’ll find a job,” she says. “Will you be embarrassed if your wife is working? Is that, like, a faux pas in your circle?”

What kind of circles does she think I travel in? Honestly, Keegan’s one of the two guys down here I actually trust, and he’s her best friend too. “I just want you to be happy. You could work the drive-thru at the Taco Bell across 30A if that’s what makes you feel good, but don’t do it because you need the money. I already told you I’d pay you for your time here. You’re doing me a favor, and the least I can do is cover your bills.”

She rubs her arms as if she’s cold. “I don’t want your money, and I wish you’d quit offering it.” She chews on her lip and turns to look out the sliding glass doors that lead onto the second-floor balcony. “I want to help you, to be by your side and whatever else you need, but I also don’t want people thinking I’m . . .”

“Thinking you’re what?”

“Bought and paid for.”

I flinch, suddenly seeing my offer to pay her as she seems to think others might. “The only thing anyone will know is that you’re my wife.”

 

Married life: day one couldn’t be more awkward.

The only thing breaking the silence at dinner is the sound of our forks clacking against our plates as we eat our takeout. More accurately, as Mason eats and I push my food around. I have no appetite, and the heap of pad thai has cooled on my plate. Mason, on the other hand, seems completely normal. He finishes his inhuman quantities of food and politely sips his water as he waits for me to finish.

“Is it okay?” he asks. “I can order you something else, or—”

“It’s fine,” I blurt. “I’m not very hungry because I ate a lot of snacks on the drive. I’m sorry.” I hop up from the table and take my plate and glass to the kitchen, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. I dig through the cabinets to find a storage container for my leftovers. He joins me in the kitchen and rinses his dishes. He loads them into the dishwasher and does the same with mine before I can get to them.

The tension between us is insane, and I’m embarrassed, because I know it’s mostly one-sided. Mason seems at ease with our arrangement, whereas I feel as if I’m walking a tightrope. When his phone rings, I literally jump.

He puts a warm hand on the middle of my back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He frowns but doesn’t call my bullshit. “I have to take this. It’s my agent. Make yourself at home, okay?” He puts his phone to his ear and walks into the office, closing the door behind him as he asks, “Any news?”

I wipe down the counters—not that they need it—and wander around the main floor. I don’t know what to do with myself. I could pull out my laptop to edit some photos and reply to emails, but suddenly, the day’s travel and stress seem to have caught up with me, and I don’t have the energy for that.

I bite my lip as I stare at the door to Mason’s office. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the low rumble of his voice on the other side makes something stir in my chest. I’ve been walking around half panicked since the news of our marriage broke. Panicked he would find out the truth about my deal with his father. Panicked that there was no way out of this that didn’t involve him hating me forever. But now it looks like that panic was all for nothing. This doesn’t have to be complicated. I can live here and be the garlic to fend off the vampire would-be bride, and when she leaves, so will I. It’s not that I have an amazing life waiting for me back home, but I sure as hell don’t belong here.

I decide that the only cure for my mood is pajamas and a movie. I pull out the Wonder Woman sleep set Mia bought me, grab the throw off the back of the couch, and sink into the couch in the living room. I scan the offerings on cable before flipping over to Netflix and choosing The Princess Bride. When in doubt, go with the classic.

Princess Buttercup is still ordering around the farm boy when my eyes start to feel heavy. Maybe I’ll turn in early tonight. As soon as Mason gets off the phone, I’ll say goodnight and go to bed.

I force my eyes back open only to see the movie must have finished, because the TV has flipped over to the menu screen. The clock on the wall tells me it’s after midnight. I’ll take that as a blessing in disguise. As short as it was, marriage, day one, was awkward enough. Night one didn’t need the additional weirdness of getting ready for bed together and trying to figure out how we’re supposed to sleep. He didn’t sleep with me last time I stayed here, but if we’re presenting ourselves to the world as a happy couple, I can only assume we’ll sleep together. Does one snuggle with one’s temporary husband? Or are we supposed to fuck like old times while pretending we don’t have emotions tangled up in it?

No, this is better. I turn off the television and return the blanket to the back of the couch before heading to the master bedroom. The bedside lamp casts shadows along the far wall and illuminates an empty bed.

“Mason?” I say softly, which is stupid. I know I’m in here alone. The bathroom door’s open, and I click on the light and look around the gleaming white space as if he might have been hiding in there in the dark, but of course it’s empty.

I head toward the stairs to check his office and spot a light coming from under the guest bedroom door at the end of the hall. The door is cracked, and I knock softly before nudging it open.

He clears his throat. “Come in.”

When I open the door, my breath leaves me in a rush at the sight of him. He’s sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. He’s in nothing but a pair of boxers. His broad, dark chest is bare, and his long, muscular legs are stretched out in front of him. He puts his book down on the bed beside him as he looks at me.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He smiles softly. “Sure. Sorry I was on the phone so long. I was going to say goodnight, but you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So you’re not going to bed yet?”

He skims his eyes over me, a vague smirk twisting his lips as he takes in my PJs. “I am in bed.”

“We’re sleeping in here?” I’m confused, but hell, I don’t know, maybe this bed’s more comfortable? Didn’t he say the place came furnished?

“Bailey.” He puts a hand up as I step toward the bed. “I’m sleeping in here. You can have the master.”

My mouth works—lips opening and closing stupidly, like a fish out of water. I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. “I’m confused?” It sounds like a question, as if I don’t even know how I feel, and I suppose that’s appropriate.

“If we sleep together”—he drags his gaze down my body again—“we might actually sleep together. So you take the master, and I’ll sleep in here. I have an early morning. I’ll be gone most of the day, so I won’t be in your hair.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I sound like a whining kid complaining about being bored on summer vacation.

He cocks his head and studies me. “You mentioned wanting to get a job. What about doing your photography sessions down here?”

I look away. “I don’t have any formal training. No one’s going to want to hire me.”

“Don’t be so quick to write yourself off. You have a portfolio, right? When you have examples of what you can do, I don’t think people care about formal training.”

I shake my head. This area is so upper-crust, and there are hundreds of photographers who have way more talent than I ever will. His faith in me is sweet, but misplaced. “When I’m not job hunting, do you need me to do anything? Like run through the streets and make sure all the rich bitches know I’m your wife?”

He chuckles. “That shouldn’t be necessary. I don’t need you for anything until the party on Friday.”

“Okay, listen, I have no idea how to be your wife.” I prop my hands on my hips. “I don’t know how to decorate a fancy house, or whether I’m supposed to tip the gardener, or even how I’m supposed to dress at this stupid party Friday night. But the one thing I know how to do, you’re saying you have no interest in? Not gonna do it?” I don’t know why I’m so angry. I’m being ridiculous. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to sleep with him—tonight or at all during our stint as husband and wife—but suddenly his plan to make sure we don’t sleep together is the most insulting thing he could have done. “Jesus, Mason, do you get off on not getting off?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head as if he’s not sure what to make of me. “What part of our arrangement made you think you needed to fuck me, Bailey?”

“I—I—I thought . . .” My cheeks heat, and I’m sure if I looked in the mirror right now I’d see a bright red flush covering them and creeping down my neck. “Wow. You sure know how to make me feel like a dirty slut.”

“Shit.” He climbs out of bed, and I’m struck by the sheer size of him. He’s so tall and built, and his boxers hang low on his hips. He walks toward me and cups my face in his hands. “If I thought I could win you, if I thought at the end of this season you wouldn’t happily pack your bags and head back to Blackhawk Valley, I’d take you in this bed and that bed and twice on the kitchen table. I’d fuck you in the shower, then from behind as you held on to the bathroom counter so you could watch yourself get off in the mirror.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and his gaze dips to my mouth. “So tell me, is there any chance for us?”

How many times will I have to refuse the thing I want most? “You know there isn’t,” I whisper, and it’s like cutting my own heart in half.

He pastes on a smile as he drops his hands and steps back, but his jaw is hard. “Goodnight, Bailey.”

I’ve hurt him, and I hate it. I want to patch the tense silence with excuses and false explanations, but I know how useless a Band-Aid is for heartache, and I’m suddenly far too tired to go through those old motions. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well.” He looks me over one more time. The heat in his eyes is so intense, I feel it long after I’ve climbed into bed.