by Carian Cole
"No, we'll do it together."
He nods as he pulls into a driveway and puts the truck in park. "Okay, together, but I'll leave the creative direction to you. And we're here."
Wow. The property is gorgeous, with perfect landscaping featuring a huge weeping willow tree on the front lawn surrounded by gorgeous flowers and shrubbery. The guesthouse is pretty big judging from the outside, and the main house it's set apart from is a huge, sprawling L-shaped brick ranch.
"Hang on and I'll come get you," he says, jumping out of the truck and coming around to open my door. I hand him Pixie in her carrier and then he holds my hand as I jump out. Getting out is much easier than getting in.
"We should really switch up the cars so you don't have to keep manually getting me in and out," I say, taking the cat carrier from him. Although, I kind of like him lifting me into the truck and being able to watch his arm muscles flex.
"Let's put your stuff inside and get the creature situated, then we'll walk over to Gram's and say hello."
"Do not call her 'creature.' You should address her as Princess Pixie or she’ll get mad," I tease, peering at her in the small carrier. She doesn't look too happy about all this activity disturbing her usual daily naps.
He regards me with one of his smirks while he grabs some of my things from the back of the truck. "I will never refer to her as Princess anything. I kinda like the idea of you calling me Lord and Master, though."
Laughing, I follow him into the guesthouse and set up the litter box, food, water, scratch tree, and bed for the cat while he brings in the rest of my bags. I didn't bring much—just what I thought I would need for about a week as he suggested. I have some soap orders to fill, and I had to bring some of those supplies so I don't lose any customers. Right now, most of my customers are by word of mouth and referrals, so the last thing I want is for someone to get frustrated with a late order.
"She never goes outside," I advise while Princess Pixie timidly explores her new surroundings. "So please be careful opening and closing the door. I don't want anything happening to her."
"No outside. Watch doors. Got it," he says. "Let's go to Gram's. I'm starving."
WE FOLLOW a stone pathway outlined with colorful flowers, leading to the main house. On impulse, I slip my hand into his at about the halfway mark, hoping it doesn't invite another of his sexual innuendos, but he surprises me by glancing down at me, winking, and squeezing my hand affectionately.
The front door swings open just as we approach and his Gram comes out, all smiles. I remember her from the wedding because she hugged me so tightly and held my hand in both of hers while she talked to me. She's the kind of grandmother we all dream of—sweet, accepting, and adorable.
"There you are!" she exclaims. Talon leans down and gives her a long hug, my heart practically exploding at the sight of this tall, long-haired guy covered in tattoos embracing this tiny elderly woman.
When he lets her go, I move in and give her a hug too.
"Come in, come in! I have lunch all ready for you."
"Thank God," Talon says as we go inside. "I'm starving, Gram. Asia's not feeding me."
I open my mouth to protest, but she beats me to it. "Tally, don't you start giving her a hard time already or you'll scare her away."
"I don't scare easily, thankfully." I smile at the two of them.
"This one is the brat of the family," Gram says as she leads us to the kitchen table. "Have a seat and I'll get everything."
"Can I help?" I offer, not wanting his grandmother to be slaving over us.
"No!" she protests. "You just sit and let me."
Talon pulls out a chair for me. "She loves to wait on people," he says. "And I'm not a brat." He flops into the chair next to me and stretches his long legs under the wooden table.
"He's the youngest boy and was spoiled," Gram explains as she returns from the refrigerator with a small platter of assorted sandwiches, and then she goes back to get a large, fresh, garden salad. "He told me you don't eat meat, so I hope this salad and veggie wraps are okay?"
"They’re perfect. You didn't have to do all this!" I exclaim, not used to this sort of family treatment. "Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."
She waves her hand at me as she slowly sits in one of the chairs across from us. "I love to feed people. Dig in."
Talon does just that, piling several sandwiches on his place. "I don't know how you can be hungry after the huge breakfast you ate," I say playfully.
"He eats nonstop. He always has," Gram says.
"I have a voracious appetite for food. And other things," he hints, giving me the side-eye.
"Talon!" I can't believe he would hint at sex right in front of his grandmother. I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Gram folds her hands on the table in front of us. "Speaking of, I see you decided to postpone your honeymoon. Are you two getting on okay?"
I nearly choke on my sandwich. Are we really sitting here discussing our non-sex life with his grandmother?
"Gram, this is the most fucked-up situation ever. I have no idea why they put us together. We don't have shit in common, and we're not even attracted to each other. Look at her. Does she look like my type to you?" He takes a bite of his sandwich. "And I'm not her type either," he adds with his mouth full.
She studies us for a few moments. "You know what, sweethearts? Sometimes what we think we want is not at all what we actually need."
Talon groans around his sandwich. "Gram, I need boobs, and apparently, she needs short hair and no ink."
I want to die right here at the table.
"Oh, poo! That's ridiculous."
I smile weakly at her. "I don't need those things," I explain. "I just wasn't expecting a man like him."
"I think, once you two stop thinking about what you were expecting, that you'll see what you were given is even better."
Ah. I could easily love this woman. "Now, that I like. I hope you're right, because I want us both to be happy together."
"She has a cat that wears a tiara," Talon announces. "I wasn't expecting or wanting that."
Gram takes a tiny bite of her sandwich as her eyes brighten. "Now, that is fascinating! I love cats. I always had cats, but my last one passed away two years ago at twenty years old and I'm just too old to get another."
"Well, it's over in the guesthouse if you want to see it," Talon offers. "You can cat-sit while we hunt for houses."
She smiles warmly at me. "I would love to come over tomorrow and visit your cat."
"She'll love you; she's very affectionate. And thank you for letting us stay in your beautiful guesthouse. It's extremely generous of you."
"You can stay as long as you need to. All my grandchildren practically live here. I would love it if you came over for dinner while you're staying here."
Talon pipes up. "We'll definitely take you up on that. I haven't had a chance to test out the wife's cooking yet, but I'm pretty sure she's going to try to poison me with tofurkey." He folds up his napkin and places it on the table. "I have some extra clothes in one of the bedrooms here. I'm gonna go grab some so I don't have to go back to the condo today and deal with Mikah's drunken idiocy."
As soon as he's out of earshot, his grandmother smiles broadly at me. "You're worried you made the biggest mistake of your life?" she asks. "It's okay, you can be honest."
"I'm not sure what to think yet," I answer truthfully. "We don't seem to be well-matched."
"Give it time. I know he can be a handful, but behind his goofy, sarcastic front is actually a deep, passionate young man. He just hides it well."
"Well, we're both committed to the process of trying to make this work, so that's a start. I'm hoping after we spend more time together, we'll start to have feelings for each other."
"Honey, I’m positive you will. I practically raised all these kids, I know all of their hearts like my own."
That definitely sounds like a small glimmer of hope at the end of this strange
tunnel.
AFTER OUR VISIT WITH GRAM, we walk back to the guesthouse so we can do our first video chat with Dr. Hollister, which we had to agree to in order to be selected for the experiment, in addition to keeping our written journals. Once a week, we have to meet via online video separately, and occasionally together, to discuss how things are progressing. After the first month, the chats are spaced out to every other week.
"There's a laptop here so we can just use that in the guest room," Talon suggests. "That'll give us each some privacy for the video chat."
"That sounds good," I agree. "Do you want to go first?"
He shakes his head as he digs the laptop out of a desk drawer and grabs the power cord for it. "No. I'll set it up, but you get to go first."
Great.
I close myself up in the guest bedroom with the laptop and connect to the video chat five minutes later than the scheduled time. Suddenly, I'm staring at Dr. Hollister's face on the screen.
"Asia! Nice to see you. How’s everything going?"
I feel strange talking to a computer screen. It feels like I'm talking to a television.
"It's been interesting."
"Interesting?" she repeats, jotting something down on a notepad she's holding. "Can you tell me what you mean by that?"
"Well…we're both a little confused, because neither of us seem to have the qualities, or even the physical attributes, we described in the questionnaires and the meetings."
"I see. As we discussed during the interviews, we went to great lengths to match up partners we felt would complement each other and connect on a deep level."
"He's a millionaire rock star who's covered in tattoos. His hair is longer than mine. He drinks alcohol, he eats meat, he smokes, he drinks soda, and he seems to be preoccupied with sex and everything big. That being said, he's admitted he's not attracted to me, and he was boning all sorts of women right up until about four weeks before the wedding. Have you met me? None of that is what I wanted in a husband. I'm not exactly happy about any of this. This is worse than the dating disasters I was already experiencing."
Dr. Hollister is scribbling like a madwoman in her notebook. "And how do you feel about him?"
"I just went over that. He's nothing like what I expected or wanted, and he feels the same way toward me."
She peers at me over her glasses through the laptop. "I heard all of that, but I want to know, despite all that, do you like him? Are you attracted to him? Any sort of feelings happening?"
"I kinda like him. He's funny. And he has moments of extreme sweetness that are quick but notable. He seems to very generous, and I do like that. He let me have the bed last night, and he slept on the couch."
"So you didn't sleep together? Is it safe to assume you did not have sexual relations?"
Jesus. Why did I agree to this? This probing is embarrassing and unnatural and just so awkward.
"No. I don't feel comfortable having sex with him yet. I need there to be some feelings first. I thought there would be, but it's just not there right now."
"Understandable. And you opted to postpone the honeymoon?"
"Yes."
"There can be no more separate sleeping. You're married, not roommates. You can wait to have intercourse, but I'm going to insist you sleep in the same bed. It helps build a bond."
"Are you serious? That's going to be very awkward," I protest.
"I understand, but that's part of the experiment."
"Fine. I'll talk to him about it tonight."
She looks over her notes and then back up at the camera. "How about living arrangements?"
"Right now we’re staying in his grandmother's guesthouse. He contacted a Realtor. He wants to actually buy a house."
"That's a positive step, and it shows he’s taking this seriously. I can tell you're stressed out, Asia. Just try to relax and let things happen, okay? This is all part of the process. We really didn't expect the couples to fall in love at first sight."
Letting out a deep breath, I nod. "You're right. It's just harder than we thought."
"Stay positive—and open-minded. Remember to write in your journal, and we'll chat next week. If you're feeling extra stressed, you can text or call me at any time. I don't want you to feel alone or be too overwhelmed, but I also want you to talk to him about your feelings as much as possible."
"Okay, I'll do my best. Should I send him in?"
"Yes."
I LEAVE the guest room to find him sitting on the couch having a stare-off with Princess Pixie, who's perched on the arm of the couch, holding her own.
"You can't win," I tell him. "Just give up now."
"I'll break this cat. I'm king of the castle now. That makes me above her."
"Tell yourself what you want, oh great one. Dr. Hollister is ready for you."
Breaking his stare from the cat, he turns to me. "How did it go?"
"Okay, I guess. She didn't say much. She's insisting we sleep together immediately."
He claps his hands together. "Woo-hoo. Go put something sexy on."
"Sleep, Talon. As in, in the same bed. Not sex."
He rises and scowls at me. "What the fuck? Don't tease me like that, baby. My dick can't take this shit."
"It's only been two days. Your dick will be fine. You better go before she disconnects."
I have a moment of inner debate as he disappears down the hall and closes the door, and Good Asia loses. I tiptoe down the hall and press my ear against the door. So very wrong.
"…what the fuck you idiots were thinking. Not sure how you expect us to take this thing seriously when you purposely set us up to fail."
I can't hear Dr. Hollister at all, but his voice is pretty loud and clear.
"…Well, yeah, I get that. But she's just not my type. She's too fucking cute. It's like fucking a puppy."
My heart plummets practically to my feet. Fucking a puppy? That's how he thinks of me? Not only is that a huge insult but pretty damned twisted.
His voice continues. "…Okay, not a puppy, but you get what I'm saying. She doesn't have the bang factor I'm used to."
Bang factor?
"…She's sorta sweet, and I like how creative she is. Did you set us up because I have money? I don't mind getting her out of the ghetto, but I'm feeling a little like that's the reason you stuck us together. I wanted a wife, not a charity case."
I pull away from the door and slowly and quietly make my way back to the living room, my eyes and chest stinging from that unexpected blow. A charity case. That's even worse than the puppy comment.
Could that be true? Is that the only reason they put us together? I wonder if Kat somehow had something to do with this and convinced Dr. Hollister to set me up with the richest guy in the program. Dr. Hollister is her boss, after all. I'm sure she could have thrown her opinion in there. And, from an experiment standpoint, how interesting would it be to see the plain, poor girl matched up with the sexy, hot, megarich rock star?
Cradling Pixie, I wander out to the screened porch and settle into one of the blue-cushioned chairs. This all feels so wrong. My whole reason for participating in this crazy experiment was to find someone to love me, someone who wouldn't hurt me. To find someone to share the rest of my life with. I never expected to be insulted and have my soul torn apart, or to have my lifestyle sliced and diced and judged by someone who was born into a famous family and has loads of talent.
"There you are." His booted feet appear on the floor in front of me, but I can't look up at him because I don't want him to see how hurt I am. "What's wrong?" he asks.
"Oh, not much. I'm just sitting here being a puppyfuck charity case with zero bang factor."
Sarcasm has always been something I seem to have no control over, and today is no exception. When I'm hurt, it’s my first choice as a self-defense weapon.
13
TALON
SHIT.
"You were listening to my conversation?" I demand, keeping my voice low so Gram doesn't hear me. The last thing
I need is her over here playing referee or calling Asher or my mom here to counsel us.
"Yes." She leans her chin against the top of the cat’s head, and the cat in turn rubs up against her neck. "I know I shouldn't have been, and it was really immature of me. But I wanted to hear what you said about me. I just wasn't expecting to hear all that."
Her head finally rises, and I'm looking into watery, purple gems that literally stop my heart for a few seconds.
I've never hurt anyone before—or made a girl cry. Well, not since in third grade when I refused to sit next to Jenny Mallow on the school bus. But since then—nope. I've never been through a messy breakup or broken a girl's heart, because I've never been with a chick who cared about anything other than sleeping with a guy in a band.
But just one day after my wedding, I've already made my wife cry.
Marriage isn't easy.
It's a whole lot of fucked up.
It's a fucking melting pot of emotions.
And a ton of damage control.
How the hell do people do this for twenty-five years or more?
"I didn't mean it."
"Yes, you did."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"No, I didn't." This convo is reminiscent of how I fight with my little sister, and methinks that can’t be good on any level.
"You did. Be honest," she says.
I kneel down on the floor in front of her chair so I'm not towering over her. "Okay, I sorta meant it, but not as bad as it sounded. I really do think you're cute. I'm sarcastic, just like you. It's how I express myself."
"I get that. I'm not after your money, Talon. I was doing just fine. If they put us together because you have money, then I'm sorry, but I don't want to be with someone who feels sorry for me."
"I don't feel sorry for you, Aze. But I do feel bad that I obviously hurt your feelings, which I never meant to do."
Her eyes drift from mine to stare out into the yard. "It's my own fault for eavesdropping. I'm sorry I did that; it was wrong."
"Don't apologize to me. I'm the asshole here, not you."
