Be My Forever: A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  The mystery’s been unraveled.

  The culprit has a name.

  Rita.

  I can finally get to ask her what the creepy note on my door was about.

  I grin.

  Troy scowls. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because that’s great.”

  “Great?” He frowns harder, looking even more grouchy and miserable than usual.

  I lean into him. “We know who we’re after. This nightmare is almost over.”

  His eyes soften. “You’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll be safe,” I whisper.

  “And,” he clears his throat and takes a giant step back, “you can move back home.”

  The words hang in the air, dark and heavy.

  Move back?

  I barely made it in.

  I shake my head. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Rita might be innocent.”

  “Singing a different tune?” He smirks.

  “I only got to use your bathroom once.”

  “Stay out of my bathroom, Venus.”

  “You’re the one who dragged me in here.”

  He opens his mouth, probably to tease me about how I hadn’t been complaining before, when there’s a knock on the door.

  Kayla’s sweet voice croons, “Venus? You good?”

  Troy’s expression tightens.

  I glance at him and then at the door with panic.

  We’re alone.

  In the bathroom.

  A man and a woman.

  A client and a matchmaker.

  Damn. This doesn’t look good.

  I’m innocent.

  Sort of.

  Technically.

  Emotionally? Mentally?

  Not so much.

  In the safety of my imagination, I’ve had my hands all over Troy.

  My flesh-and-blood hands are technically clean, but it won’t seem that way to Kayla.

  I know how she is.

  Those perceptive eyes will see right through me.

  But it’s not like I can ask Troy to go duck into the shower.

  Or should I?

  To my surprise, Troy strides ahead and opens the door.

  Kayla’s jaw drops when she sees us both standing there.

  Her eyes whip from Troy’s indifferent expression to my, undoubtedly, guilty-looking one.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, hard.

  “Hi.” I wiggle my fingers.

  Troy doesn’t bother with a greeting. He nods at Kayla and then heads down the hall, taking his sexy presence and all the electricity in the room with him.

  I try to follow.

  Kayla slips into the bathroom and closes the door.

  I’m trapped. Again.

  My fingers roll together.

  My heart is still beating fast.

  I’m still throbbing.

  It’s not like Troy touched me.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I can’t meet Kayla’s eyes.

  A mixture of shame and…

  What is that? Embarrassment?

  I feel exposed.

  It’s a potent mixture in my chest.

  “You want to explain what that was about?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Venus…” In that one word, I hear her frustration, her concern and all her worry.

  “It’s not what it looks like, okay?” I push past her. Maybe my exit won’t be as cool as Troy’s, but I need to get the hell out of there.

  Kayla snatches my arm before I walk out.

  My feet plunge into the tile.

  I stiffen, staring straight ahead.

  “Venus, he’s a client,” Kayla hisses.

  “I know.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I know that too.” I turn to her. Drop my eyes to her fingers.

  She loosens her grip.

  I wrench my arm back and stalk through the door.

  She doesn’t have to tell me.

  My body, my mind—every part of me knows—I can never have Troy Maddox.

  Eighteen

  Troy

  My early morning exercise routine does jack to get my mind off Venus. I’m still susceptible to her. To the little things—like her laughter, her fragrance, her habit of biting down on her bottom lip when she feels cornered.

  The way she did yesterday when I pressed her into the sink.

  She’d felt so soft.

  Looked so star-struck.

  Enamored, even.

  I’m glad she couldn’t see into my head.

  She would have seen how much I want her.

  It’s dangerous.

  I’m walking a tight rope and I’m about to plummet.

  Any second now.

  No safety net beneath me.

  Venus is…

  She’s…

  Everything.

  My desire’s only grown worse knowing she’s relying on me.

  Knowing I mean something to her.

  What?

  I don’t know.

  Doesn’t matter.

  I’m something.

  Even if that ‘thing’ is just a bulletproof vest.

  I’ll gladly stand in front of her. Take the pain for her.

  Just to see her smile.

  That soft and gentle grin.

  Or the dark and seductive smirk.

  All equally tantalizing.

  Just thinking about her plump lips gets my engines revving. It’s a hell of a lot more enjoyable than sweating through squats and deadweights with the latest stock numbers in my head.

  Nothing wakes my muscles more than Venus does.

  I set the weight back into its cradle and wipe my hands on the side of my pants. I’m in the garage today. Figured I’d stick close to home instead of leaving Venus alone.

  Whether that’s for her safety or my own peace of mind, I’m not sure.

  I can’t help the obsessive side of me that she’s awakened.

  I mean, it was always there, but now…

  It has a way to be released.

  Protection-mode on.

  Dial turned up to ten.

  Just like it was back when I was a kid and looking after my mother.

  She spent half her time high as a kite or screwing losers. I lost track of the times I’d come home to a trailer rocking on cement blocks and loud, obnoxious moaning.

  Her boyfriends of choice were devoid of personality and character.

  Except one.

  He was full of diseases.

  Probably gave her the STI she died from.

  It’s not a pretty thought.

  Even though she was a pretty woman.

  Beautiful.

  Everyone said so.

  I remember her face every time I look in the mirror. I have her dark hair. And her brown eyes.

  The same habit of keeping things inside.

  The same bitterness.

  Mom always blamed the world for her problems—the government, the public worker who wouldn’t give her any more stamps, her boyfriends.

  And I…

  I blamed her.

  For everything.

  Took a long time to stop hating her.

  No, hate is a strong word.

  I… resented her.

  Deep inside, I wanted her to be better.

  I wanted our lives to be better. Something close to Evan and Venus’s. Something warm, happy and safe.

  I knew it was possible.

  I knew it didn’t take much.

  Mrs. G wasn’t rich or influential. She cleaned houses for years. But I was so proud of her. Sometimes, I wished she could be my mother. I spent enough time at her place it was starting to feel true.

  Then I’d go home.

  To the real world.

  To the one that was cold, hard.

  And Mom would disappoint me all over again.

  I still remember the day I finally accepted that things would never change—the day she brought her drug dealer home. The sounds they’d made
in the room. The feeling of utter hopelessness as I cleaned up all the needles.

  When the drug dealer left, he slipped me a hundred, messed my hair and told me to buy myself a few maxi condoms.

  Condoms.

  I was eleven.

  As soon as the door closed, Mom took the money from me and slipped it in the pocket of her robe.

  I didn’t say anything.

  I just looked at her. She was shaking from withdrawal and avoiding my eyes.

  It struck me then.

  I realized she’d die in this state. Probably in a bed with a jerk like the guy who’d slapped the hundred in my hand and told me to get rubber instead of snacks or a video game.

  That’s the moment I gave up.

  Sometimes, I wonder if I’d done enough.

  Would she have changed if I’d grabbed the hundred out of her hand and insisted we buy groceries instead of drugs? Would she have listened if I’d fought harder to be enough for her?

  If I’d been better at school or good at sports, maybe I would have mattered more than that desperation for her next hit.

  Maybe not.

  Letting go was self-preservation.

  I was a kid. Not her therapist.

  It’s hard to imagine making any other choice. Even if it’s easy to beat myself up for the decision I did.

  I toss my towel over my shoulder and let out a deep breath.

  Mom’s gone.

  As messed up as my childhood was, I’m at peace with it.

  For the most part.

  On the way to the main room, I pass the stack of paintings I’m keeping stored here while Venus is staying over. They’re the ones she shouldn’t see. I make sure to lock the garage door securely before heading to the kitchen.

  The smell of coffee is calling my name.

  Venus is at the table, a mug and a plate of eggs in front of her. She’s wearing a fitted white top and a flouncy little skirt.

  I grab a bottle of water despite the urge to go straight for the coffee. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” She rests her chin in her hands. “Someone’s been working hard.”

  “I work out everyday.”

  “I’m not talking about your muscles.” She rises. Folds her arms over her chest. “Rita Meeks?”

  I shrug.

  She smirks. “You’re a social media detective. Consider a career change. Troy Maddox, PI?”

  “How do you know I was looking her up?”

  It’s her turn to shrug.

  “You used my bathroom, didn’t you?”

  Her eyes spark. “I happened to see your research this morning, yes.”

  I narrow my eyes. “It was a dead end.”

  “I hit a snag too.” Venus leans against the counter. “I called Victor, but he hasn’t been in contact with his ex-wife for weeks and he says she’s not at the house either.”

  “I bet she’s still in the country. It shouldn’t be that hard to track her down. We have to get access to her accounts. Prove that she’s the one who sent the texts.”

  “Oh, you’re a hacker now?” Venus smirks.

  It lights me up inside. “No, but Brendon’s best friend is. Teale Landry. I shot him a message last night.”

  “You work fast.”

  “I rush the unpleasant so I can savor the good.”

  She tilts her head. “Sounds like a line from a fortune cookie.”

  “I just made that up.”

  “Hm.”

  “Are you ready for work?”

  “Almost. I made breakfast.”

  I glance at the charred-looking eggs. “I’d rather not take any chances.”

  She laughs.

  I smile in response. Move closer. Enjoy the sound as it fills the air, the brightness in her eyes, the gentle shake of her shoulders.

  “Rita’s not getting away with it.”

  Her eyelashes fall softly. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “Right.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  I sit around the table. Stretch my legs. “It’s almost over.”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.” She tilts her head. “Don’t forget your end of the deal. You’re getting set up soon.”

  I frown.

  That part of our agreement was a big mistake.

  There’s no way I can invest even a crumb of attention in any other woman when my head’s so full with thoughts of Venus.

  She studies me. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t want to do it?”

  No. I want you. I don’t want anyone else.

  But that’s not an option.

  Venus isn’t on the table.

  Even if I want her there.

  Her skirt at her ankles.

  Her legs spread apart…

  I’m not thinking about that.

  Focus, Troy.

  I clear my throat. “There’s a lot going on right now.”

  “True.”

  “We need to catch Rita.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And I’m booked solid for cover designs. My agent wants a new exhibit.”

  “Sounds like a lot.”

  “I wouldn’t have much time to dedicate to dating. It would be unfair to that woman.”

  She nods. “Very unfair.”

  Silence falls between us.

  Even to my own ears, it sounds like an excuse.

  If Venus were my woman, I’d drop everything to spend time with her.

  My business, my paintings—she would be my priority.

  This has nothing to do with my time and everything to do with my hesitation to have anyone else.

  “You know,” Venus’s eyes slide to the floor, “if you’re so busy, we can put off making a match.”

  My eyebrows hike.

  “Just until things calm down.”

  “Right.”

  “Or...”

  “Or?”

  She clamps her lips together. Or never.

  That last part hovers in the air.

  A whisper of a promise.

  A thread of mutual understanding.

  My heart beats faster. I’m starting to think I’m not reading her wrong.

  That Venus wants me as much as I want her.

  It can’t happen.

  It won’t.

  The faster we both accept that, the better.

  But I still smile like a fool when I say, “Postponing would be great.”

  Nineteen

  Venus

  I hum as I skip into work after breakfast. My co-workers stare at me like I’ve gone crazy, but I don’t care.

  My strides are long and bouncy. “Janet, is that a new sweater? It looks fabulous.”

  “Uh…”

  “Bye!” I flutter my fingers.

  Ten more steps to my office.

  Another group of co-workers approach.

  “Asia, please tell me where you did your hair. It’s stunning.”

  “Thanks.”

  I flash her a smile.

  She gives me a hesitant one back.

  Five more steps to my office.

  The mailman exits the break room.

  I wink at him.

  He blushes.

  Three more steps to my office.

  I stop short of doing a little twirl and open my door.

  Sunlight streams through the windows.

  I suck in a deep breath and glide to my desk.

  The files Kayla gave me—the one featuring top tier female clients—waits on the surface. I open my drawer, drop the files inside, and bump it closed with my hip.

  I’ll find some other high-profile couple to match.

  It doesn’t have to be Troy.

  It’ll never be Troy.

  I’m about to move out of his house, but I was deluding myself to think I could give him to someone else.

  Not give.

  He was never mine.

  He’s still not.

  But…

  What?

  I’m not
sure.

  I don’t want to think about it too deeply. It just felt like we’d taken a teeny-tiny step toward each other this morning and I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

  Who knows?

  Dropping the matchmaking agreement today. Sneaking into his bed tomorrow. The opportunities really are endless now that I don’t have the matchmaker-client boundaries breathing down my neck like a giant prison ward armed with a taser gun and a grudge.

  The promotion isn’t going anywhere.

  There are tons of ways to skin that cat.

  No offense to cats.

  I grab my laptop to do some research when there’s a hesitant knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I call and glance up, expecting to find my new officemate. There were whispers around Make It Marriage that HQ had hired a new, up-and-coming matchmaker.

  But it’s not my mysterious co-worker.

  It’s Kayla.

  “Hey.” My grin stretches across my cheeks.

  Kayla’s lips stay flat.

  I really don’t care. We left Corrine and Evan’s dinner yesterday on a… tense foot, but I’m in such a good mood that nothing could bring me down.

  “Hey.” Kayla slips inside. Her heels hit the floor. She walks past the sofa and stands directly in front of my desk.

  I crane my neck to meet her eyes. My grin deflates a little. “You look serious.”

  “I did something.”

  “With Brendon?” I grin wickedly. “That position? The one in the video I sent—?”

  “With Troy.”

  All the mischief leaves my body like it got hit with a sucker-punch. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. It was for your own good.”

  I rise slowly. All humor gone. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  “I matched him.”

  My jaw drops.

  For a moment, the words don’t even make sense.

  Kayla sighs. “I set him up.”

  As if on cue, my phone starts buzzing.

  I don’t answer.

  “Charisma Ellington. Former ballerina. Sweet human being. Troy is everything she’s looking for on paper and I’m sure they’ll get along even if they don’t click romantically—”

  “Why the hell did you match Troy?” I bellow.

  Kayla winces.

  “How could you betray me like this?”

  “Betray you? Venus”—she smacks her hand on the desk—“three days ago, you were moaning about losing the promotion and doing everything you could to be noticed.”

  “So?”

  “So I told HQ Troy and Charisma was your match. I did that for you.”

  “Call them back. Tell them you made a mistake.”