My phone vibrates again. I’m not sure how long its been, but I can only imagine Dane getting stirred up thinking I’m ignoring him.
“Oh, Cort, she’s got plenty of time before she has to start popping out babies,” Judy says.
Thank you, Judy.
“Wait a year or two, sweetie. If you’re anything like me, once you start, you won’t be able to stop!” She chuckles. “Babies were like potato chips for me. I couldn’t have just one. And as cute as little Cort was as a baby? You’re in for a real treat.”
Gag me.
“Marcy!” Judy yells over toward another sister wife. “Wasn’t Cort just the cutest baby?”
“Sure was,” she yells back. “He won first place in the cutest baby contest at the Woodfield County Fair.”
Cortland blushes, smiling wide and showing off his camera-ready smile. There’s no denying he’s an attractive man, and I believe his mothers when they say he was a cute baby, but there’s no way on God’s green earth I’ll ever incubate anything of his.
“So have you always lived in Whispering Hills?” I have to change the subject. It’s way too early to be discussing babies, especially when we’ve only been courting for a couple months, and there’s not even a set wedding date yet. And because it’s just not going to happen. “I don’t recall seeing Cort at the high school, and he would’ve been a couple grades above me, right?”
“We homeschooled, Bellamy,” Walter says, his thumb hooking through the belt of his dad jeans. “That’s the McGregor way.”
“We’ll do the same,” Cortland says. “Our children will never see the inside of some government funded, institutionalized, Godless public school.”
I’m sure his parents put those words in his mouth.
“I loved attending public school.” I shrug, my eyes darting from Walter’s to Judy’s. “I think I turned out all right. You should see my sister, Waverly. Little Miss 4.0. Never so much as a tardy on her record. Gets to school early every single day. Epitome of responsible and intelligent.”
I wish my sister were here, or one of my mothers. Someone who could back me up.
“I’m going to stir the punch,” I say, stepping away and realizing Walter never did pull me aside like he wanted to. No telling what he was going to say to me, but I can only imagine it wasn’t going to be anything that might make me feel any better about the direction this situation is headed. “Be back in a bit.”
Offering a wave, I slip out of their little circle and make a beeline for the food table where Waverly’s already stirring the murky contents of the punch bowl.
“Scoot over,” I whisper, taking the ladle out of her hands.
“Huh?” She scrunches her nose but steps aside.
I glance around to make sure our immediate vicinity is clear. Dad’s several feet away, but the sizzle of the grill and the carefree shrieks of children should drown out anything I might say right now.
“I had to get out of there,” I mutter.
“Must be pretty nerve-wracking.” She nods, watching me carefully, “wanting your in-laws to like you and all.”
I laugh, tucking my chin against my chest. “I don’t care about that.”
“Cortland being too clingy today?”
“That’s everyday.”
“You don’t even act like you like him half the time.” Waverly’s statement sends a shock to my heart. I’ve been trying my damnedest to act like I like him, but if she sees through me, I’m a goner. “I mean, you act like it around them. But with me, you’re a totally different person when you talk about him.”
Thank God.
I release a harbored breath and nod. “It’s just not all raindrops on roses all the time. Relationships are challenging. They’re a lot of work. I just don’t want to give our parents any reason to worry about any of this.”
“They really want you guys to work out.”
“I know.”
“Just promise me you won’t marry him if you don’t love him.”
“I promise.” With my pointer finger pressed hard into my chest, I draw a slow ‘X.’
“Punch looks good,” she says.
When I glance down, I see I’ve created a mini tornado in the bowl. I stirred so hard it’s swirling.
“Guess so.” I tap the ladle on the side and set it down. On the other side of the yard, all the sister wives have gathered around a picnic table and are apparently ignoring the major kid fight going on over some bright green kickball. “I think your negotiating skills are requested over there.”
Waverly spots the fight and exhales loudly. She’s better equipped to deal with those things than I am with her saintly patience and sweet demeanor. I glance around to make sure I’m still alone and use the opportunity to finally check my texts from Dane.
TEN HOURS. DON’T BE LATE.
I scroll down to read his second message, the one he sent when I didn’t answer the first right away.
IGNORING ME, ANGEL? TSK. TSK. YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT ALLOWED.
I’m grinning hard on the inside, trying to think of something clever to respond with, but before I get the chance, I spot Cort walking my way. I shove the phone away again, envisioning a bathroom break in my immediate future. It’s going to be the only way.
“Burgers are ready,” Dad calls out before Cort has a chance to make any snide remarks.
“Oh, good, I’m starving.” I slip past the punch bowl and past Cort and help my sister round up our younger siblings. I’d rather be put to work than spend another moment by his side like some doting fiancé. Any other day I’d have no problem pretending, but my patience is paper-thin today.
“Let me help,” I hear Cortland say, assuming the spot next to my dad. He grabs a pair of tongs and a plate of patties, and my father splits the buns.
What a team.
“Aren’t you going to sit with Cortland?” One of my younger sisters, Gretchen, asks when we settle down at one of the tables a few minutes later. She’s only six, but nothing gets past her. She knows he’s a mainstay in our family.
“Yeah,” Gideon, her twin brother, echoes. “He keeps looking at you. I think he wants you to sit by him.”
I spin around and catch his glance. He’s sitting next to Summer at another table, but the spot next to him appears to be reserved for me.
The show must go on.
“You two are right. I should sit by him, shouldn’t I?” I climb out of the designated kid table and trek over to my rightful place, my reluctance in hand. “So sorry. I guess I’m just used to sitting with the kids when we eat outside.”
I choke down my burger in silence, focusing on the chirp of the birds in the trees and wishing they were loud enough to drown out the dreadfully boring conversation my father and Cort are having from opposite ends of the table. My father doesn’t have many friends, and most of his connections are AUB-related, but Cort has, without a doubt, secured his spot as his official best bud.
The sun peaks in the sky, and I glance at the clock on the pool house. Maybe another hour, two max, before the McGregor clan gets out of our hair.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
My mind drifts to a faraway place, one where I’m some sophisticated courtesan about to get all dolled up and spend a night ravished in some castle by some arrogant prince who could have any woman he so desired, but he chose me.
And I then I flood with electric warmth when I realize my fairytale is one-hundred percent reality.
***
It’s almost seven.
They’re still here.
Evidently the McGregor family has never heard of outstaying a welcome.
They’ve been here since noon, and no one’s showing signs of leaving anytime soon. I haven’t seen a single yawn or heard anyone utter an “It’s been fun!” or a “We better head out now.” Dad and Walter are yapping away like two long-lost friends, and the sister wives haven’t moved from their spots around their picnic table. The children are on their second wind, and no one’
s so much as mentioned anything about taking them inside for baths and bedtime routines soon.
This was supposed to be a simple cookout. A get-to-know-you lunch. Now it’s about to turn into a backyard camping extravaganza if they don’t leave soon.
I should be soaking in a hot bath right now, lathering myself with rose-scented bubbles and daydreaming about the look on Dane’s face when he sees me tonight. He’ll get that flicker I’ve seen in his eyes a couple of times, and his full lips will twitch just enough for me to catch the promise of his dimples.
Something tells me I haven’t seen anything yet. While our moments together have been bordering on intense, at least in my naïve little book, I know I’ve yet to see the full extent of his dominance.
My cheek rests against my hand as I peel chipped paint off the top of the picnic table. The hot slickness between my thighs mixes with the sudden realization that if the McGregors don’t leave soon, tonight might not happen.
Dane would be furious, and that would be an understatement.
I’m not sure how I’d even explain something like that.
And he buried his uncle today. The man needs a release. I bet he’s craving me just as much as I’m craving him right now.
I spring into action and trek over to the sister wives.
“Should we get the kids ready for bed soon?” I deliver my suggestion gently, resting my hands on my mother’s shoulders like some dutiful daughter before turning to Kath. “I’m happy to run a bath for the twins.”
No one says anything for a moment. They all exchange looks like I’ve just called curfew and ended the most exciting party in the history of the world.
“Didn’t Cort tell you?” Judy says, batting her eyes. “We brought over our projector. We’re going to make this into a family movie night. It’s a McGregor tradition, but we figured since our families will be merging we may as well share it with the Millers.”
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
This isn’t happening.
“No.” I swallow the hard lump residing in the center of my throat. “Cortland didn’t say anything about it.”
“We brought over The Little Rascals.” Marcy claps her hands together. “The nineties remake. Have you guys seen it?”
“We have it!” Summer laughs. “The children love it.”
“Ours too.” Marcy bats her hand like a playful kitten, and I’m pretty sure they just became best friends.
“Oh, Bellamy,” Mom says. “Can you and Waverly grab some of the lounge chairs from the pool shed? Let’s make sure everyone has a seat.”
I’m going to be here all night unfolding lounge chairs.
And then I’m going to be here all night watching Little Rascals.
After that, I’m going to be here all night, lying wide awake in my bed and stewing about the night that never happened and all the delicious things Dane was going to do to me. I was almost looking forward to being tied up.
Almost.
And now I know it’s not going to happen, I want it even more.
I’ll have to make it up to him on Monday.
I disappear into the pool shed and slip my phone out to fire off a text.
WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO RAIN CHECK TONIGHT. CAN’T GET AWAY. SO SORRY!
It’s impossible to express just how sorry I am via text, but I don’t have time to hem and haw over wording. I’ve barely enough time to send the text as-is and not get caught.
I yank out a folded lounger when my phone goes off.
That was quick.
EXCUSE ME?
I don’t have time to argue with him or play these back and forth games where he reminds me he’s in charge, and I just crossed him. I fire back a quick message and put my phone away.
CAN’T EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW. SEE YOU MONDAY.
Lingering another few seconds, I wait for him to reply.
CALL ME. NOW.
My heart sinks. He’s upset. I get that. I want to be there with him more than he could possibly know.
I CAN’T TALK. I’M SO SORRY. SEE YOU MONDAY.
I switch my phone off because I know he’ll keep texting me, and I’ll keep responding, and the night will only become ten times worse than it already is. None of it is in my control. I can’t make the McGregors leave, and I can’t disappear without someone noticing Elvis has completely left the building.
I’ll explain as best I can on Monday. I’ve got all day Sunday to figure out a way to explain all of this in a way that’ll make sense to him without giving away my family’s secret. I’d love more than anything to be honest with him about it all, but most people wouldn’t understand. They’re weirded out by this. They don’t understand it.
Dane looking at me like I’m some circus freak is the worst thing that could happen.
No.
Scratch that.
Dane firing me is the worst thing that could happen.
NINETEEN
DANE
She’s so fucking fired.
I reach for the pewter desk clock and push it aside. She’s not late. Yet. And any minute now, she’s going to burst through my doors and tell me how sorry she is, and I’m not going to give a flying fuck.
My gaze flicks to the ceiling, and I push out a full sigh as the tick of the clock fills the room.
It was bad enough I spent Saturday morning burying my beloved uncle, the man who raised me when everyone else had dropped me off on the side of the road and left me for dead. But for Bellamy to discard me so easily?
Obnoxious.
Uncouth.
Boorish.
She’s clearly not taking her job seriously. I was wrong about her, and that never happens. I suppose I saw something in her that day. A mix of beauty and innocence in the way she carried herself, and a fierceness in her attitude that seemed to overcompensate for the rampant sweetness that made up every other part of her.
But I digress.
There’s only one reason a submissive would place me on the backburner.
My doors swing wide and an exasperated Bellamy donning a push-up bra and red-slicked lips saunters in like a woman on a mission. She closes the doors behind her and pushes the lock before rushing toward me and falling to her knees.
A delirious smile claims her ruby mouth and her hands reach for my belt buckle.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I push myself out of her reach.
“Making it up to you, Master,” she says without pause. Her hands linger in the air, mid-grip, and the shine in her eyes is intense.
“No.”
Bellamy’s brows raise, a silent question mark, and I rise up and step away, straightening my belt. She has another thing coming if she thinks I can be bought off with some mind-altering mouth fucking on a Monday morning. I’m not that easy.
“Get up…no,” I seethe. “Stay there. On your knees.”
Her palms rest flat on her thighs, and her spine curls to match her slumped shoulders.
“You’ll stare at the ground while I talk to you, and listen closely because I’m only going to say this one time.”
“Wait.”
She’s got a lot of fucking nerve this morning.
“Are you asking for permission to speak?” I refuse to call her “Angel” today. She doesn’t deserve the honor, and there’s nothing angelic about a filthy con-artist.
“I just want to explain.” She glances up at me, and for a millisecond, I consider it. “Please? Can I explain?”
“Absolutely not.”
Her jaw unhinges. “But you don’t understand–”
“You’re fired, Bellamy. Take your personal belongings and leave the building. You have thirty minutes, and I strongly advise you not to make a scene.”
I flatten my black tie and head to the window, turning my back to her in the figurative and literal sense.
“You’re firing me because I couldn’t make it to a date with you.” Her voice breaks. “A date you sprung on me at the last minute, after I’d only been you
r employee for a handful of days. Do you realize how insane your expectations are? Cut me some slack. I mean, I blew you not once, but twice. I pranced around here in some bustier with my breasts hanging out, and I let you finger me in some fancy restaurant. I wear what you tell me to wear. I do what you tell me to do, and now I’m fired because I had absolutely no way of getting to you Saturday night? Do you even know how badly I wanted to be there?”
I turn to face her though I won’t look at her yet. She’s standing tall now, and the strain that accompanies her words tells me she’s seconds from a melt down.
“No, of course you don’t know,” she continues. “Because you don’t let me talk. You don’t let me say anything unless you give me permission. I guess because I’m a woman, my opinions don’t mean anything to you. I’m just some holes to fill and another way for you to feel like you’re the king of the world because apparently it’s not enough to run a multi-million dollar company and look the way you do and have the world at your fingertips.”
Correction. Multi-billion dollar company...
“Your opinions are important, Bellamy.”
“Then why don’t you act like it?”
“I was afraid this was going to happen.” I turn to face the window again, resting my hands against the ledge and hanging my head. If it weren’t so fucking early in the morning, I’d pour myself three fingers of Macallan and pass out on the sofa the rest of the day. It’s been a long week, an even longer weekend, and a doubly as long Monday morning already.
“What?”
“I made my expectations to you perfectly clear. Did I not?”
“I guess.”
“I told you, you’re my release. This is purely a professional relationship. No feelings. No complications.” My gaze narrows at the gray cityscape on this rainy April morning. Droplets bead against the window and condensation fogs up the glass. “I spent the better part of last week training you, breaking you in. You were doing so well, too.”
“You’re overreacting, Dane.”
“Oh, but I’m not.”
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