Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  She pinches her lips together, giving a single shake of her head, mouthing no. No.

  “Oh, yes, she is!” May answers. “She just hasn’t honed her chops yet. She will though, soon.” Glancing at her daughter, she carries on. “Dylan asked me when you’ll have something ready for him to read and shop around.”

  “Mother!” Gwen shakes her head. “That’s not your place. Or Dylan’s. I’ll find my own agent someday, thank you very much.”

  Grinning, May shrugs. “Darling, he’s the one who brought it up. Not me. He remembers that half-written book you turned in last year. It seems you’re the only one who felt it wasn’t worth finishing.”

  “Can we not?” Gwen’s voice shifts, a sharpness in her tone.

  Then a tinkling, musical chime sounds from another room. A sorely needed distraction if there ever was one.

  “There’s our dinner!” May stands, finishing her wine and sauntering across the room.

  I rise at the same time Red does, and tell Lauren and Shane to put everything away.

  “They can just leave it and play again after we eat,” May tells me.

  “They can put it away now,” I say. “We’ll be leaving after we eat.”

  May lifts a brow and glances at Gwen.

  With a smile that’s more like a grimace, she nods. It’s no secret I’m offering her an escape.

  I can’t say May looks terribly miffed, or shocked, but the wheels are definitely turning in her head. This whole mother-daughter drama is more than I need right now, too.

  I’ll have to call Stork, tell him to find me a different plan. I can’t afford for this to fail because a world-famous romance author decides to get up in my damn business.

  “Right this way,” May says politely as the kids arrive. She sets a hand on each of their shoulders. “Let me tell you two the ground rules.”

  They glance up, wide-eyed, and she grins. “Anything you don’t like here, you don’t have to eat.”

  The relief oozes out of them. And me, but I can’t let mine show the way they do.

  “You scared me there for a minute,” Shane admits.

  May laughs loudly. “Oh, my dear boy, you didn’t wait for the other rule. If there isn’t anything you like, the chef will make you something different.”

  My son isn’t the only one who does a double take. This is too much.

  “Really?” Shane wonders, his huge eyes going to me.

  “No.” Looking at May, I add, “They’ll eat what’s put in front of them. No worry.”

  “Miller, Miller...” May guides the children forward, keeping eye contact with me. “Trust me, I can believe that’s the rule at your house, but this is mine. And it applies to you and my lovely daughter just as much, too. Don’t like it, don’t eat it. Special requests are always granted. I pay my personal chef beyond his wildest dreams for a reason.”

  Is that reason to show the fuck off?

  I wonder as I watch her touch Lauren’s shoulder and point at one of the massive paintings on the wall. My daughter smiles like the little lady she is, fully enchanted by this Beauty and the Beast magic castle bullshit.

  Gwen lays a hand on my arm. Her warm palm relaxes me, sends its heat all the way to the base of my spine, where I struggle not to let it go lower.

  “Mother’s chef is wonderful,” she says, leaning closer. “She’s not embellishing that part.”

  “Not the chef I’m worried about, babe.”

  Gwen sighs. “Me, either. We’ll leave as soon as we’re done eating, okay?”

  Her eyes search mine.

  Big and green and pleading.

  For some reason, she wants this to work. Get through dinner without another hitch. Fine.

  We follow May and the kids out of the room, and as we walk down a long hallway with more framed pictures of book covers, I ask, “So are you really an author too? Is law just a side-hustle?”

  “More like side-show,” she whispers, shaking her head. “But no. I’m not anything like Mother.”

  “Why?” We move together. There are also framed pictures of May herself on the walls, next to some people I do recognize. Movie stars. Producers. Singers. Household names. “Looks like your ma has all the connections you’d ever need to catch up to her.”

  “That’s the problem,” Gwen says as we turn a corner into a large, formal dining room that May and the kids have already entered.

  The table is set, complete with place cards. While gesturing to our assigned seats, May says, “My daughter doesn’t need connections, Miller. She needs confidence. She’s a very talented wordsmith, and someday, she’ll write a bestseller to outshine even mwah. She just needs to stop being so afraid of her own shadow.”

  This woman must have a bionic ear. “Afraid of what?” My question goes to May, but I’m staring at Gwen as I pull out her chair for her to sit.

  “Her own dear heart,” May answers with a theatrical swoop of her hand to her chest.

  I hold her chair and after she sits, move to mine, unsure what her mother means.

  “Gwen and I struggled for years, you see,” May tells us. “Financially. Just like most artists, it’s feast or famine for authors, too. My writing career didn’t flourish until nearly ten years ago. The ebook revolution changed the industry as much as TVs did for cinema. Before that, I’d had enough rejection letters from the big publishing houses. I could’ve heated our apartment all winter burning them, but then, after I started making a name for myself through a small digital imprint, all the big boys came a calling. They wanted my books, and lucky me, they were willing to pay handsomely. It’s worked out marvelously for all of us.”

  Has it? I wonder as I look over, studying Gwen, whose face is somewhere between not again and shoot me.

  “I want to be an author when I grow up, too!” Lauren’s little blue eyes dance up and down.

  “Then an authoress, you’ll be,” May says with a smile, plucking a chilled shrimp the size of a small drumstick out of the fluted bowl sitting on her plate. My stomach growls loudly. There’s no denying the appetizers look good. “All you have to do is put your mind to it and never, ever quit for anyone or anything, young lady.” She dips her shrimp in cocktail sauce. “Try one, everybody, before I eat them all. They’re delicious.”

  We all have fluted bowls on our plates that look like they came from Versailles.

  If she was worried Lauren or Shane wouldn’t like them, she’s wrong.

  I’ve been making their meals since they were born. Because I’m not a fan of mac and cheese or peanut butter sandwiches all the time, they aren’t either. My cooking and the Seattle creative scene have given them a sixth sense for good food.

  The children wolf down the shrimp – we all do – while May talks about how Gwen once won a writing contest. She’d been in sixth grade, and because her poem made it to the newspaper, technically, Gwen became a published author before May had.

  Lauren is all ears, and Shane follows along too.

  May’s stories don’t stop there during the break in courses. She tells them about research trips her and Gwen would take on long weekends.

  It’s interesting how when they went anywhere, they studied their surroundings in screaming detail: trees, birds, buildings, houses, people, words, animals, crafting whole journals about everything under the sun.

  That’s dedication. I’m not much for art, but I do admire grit.

  When she mentions Gwen describing a nacho machine so thoroughly that she still nearly gags whenever she sees one, Shane has plenty to say about that. I stop him before he ruins the meal summarizing our long ride here.

  I also don’t want him giving more details for the elder Courtney to sink her teeth in.

  He can spin a story well, too, even if he’s no writer. May and Gwen are damn near wiping the tears of laughter out of their eyes with linen napkins before I finally chuckle.

  It’s nice to laugh again.

  I’d started to forget what it felt like.

  The meal arrives in
five full courses. Sunchoke and whitefish soup follows the shrimp, then salads, steaks grilled to noble perfection alongside spicy caramelized brussels sprouts and creamy twice baked potatoes piled high with all the fixings.

  The entire meal could leave a five-star restaurant in the dust. Dessert isn’t half bad either.

  Some kind of fancy molten lava brownies with vanilla ice cream. Didn’t think I had room after devouring a steak as big as my head, but I think my sundae disappears faster than the kids’ while Gwen looks on with her green eyes twinkling like stars.

  At least the whole evening isn’t a total loss.

  Everybody at this table thoroughly enjoys every morsel. The conversation May keeps steering about her life isn’t half bad either.

  She even brings the kids back into it. Whenever there’s a lull, and they’re quiet, she asks Shane or Lauren a question, or shares another Gwen story that leaves her cheeks painted red.

  No denying it. All in all, the enjoyment on Shane and Lauren’s faces send guilt rolling around my overstuffed gut.

  They’ve never had anything like this. A form of extended family, almost.

  If Willow ever had any relatives, I never knew about them. Her parents died when she was young, and her grandma shortly after we’d met.

  My ma died while I’d been in boot camp. A heart attack, I’d been told.

  Probably brought on by smoking like a chimney, going through four packs a day sometimes. A bad habit she picked up after my old man left her, drinking himself into an early grave.

  My folks died too young, barely in their late fifties.

  Not a great inheritance for the kids.

  Willow and I both came from gnarled family trees that’d been torn out at the roots. Plenty of broken dreams, a hearty dose of self-abuse, and misery loves company ought to be etched on the family coat of arms – if they handed them out to people like us.

  Maybe that’s why I’m even more determined to make sure me and the kids aren’t the latest Rush tragedies. I’ll be damned if my boy or girl shuffle off their mortal coil early.

  Hell, with the mess we’re in, not having extended family is a good thing.

  No one can use it to chase us down.

  At that thought, I lay down my napkin, but before I can say anything, Gwen speaks up.

  “Dinner was delicious as always, Mother,” she says. “Thank you. Now, Miller has some work to catch up on, I think, so we’ll just–”

  “You’re very welcome.” May pats her lips with her napkin and then sets it aside, cutting her off. “Chef’s skills never fail, but it was the company that makes it truly enjoyable.” She points at the children while standing, one by one. “You two, you’re with me. I’d like you to pick out whatever you want to take home. The rest goes to charity. I know Gwen doesn’t have much for you to play with at her house.”

  Shit.

  I should protest, but I can read people, too. May is doggedly determined to make sure the kids won’t leave here without a few of the things she’s purchased. So, instead, I hold up two fingers for Shane and Lauren to know the limit. Two games each.

  They each pick out a couple, then say thank you and goodbye. We’re on the walkway, almost to the car, when Shane leans close to Lauren.

  “Ya know, I wish Dad really was married to Gwen. Not just pretend, because then May would be our grandma,” he says.

  Lauren answers with a muffled laugh, nodding her head.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  Not because what they said is so outlandish, but because I know who’s listening.

  Watching us like a hungry, all-too-curious hawk.

  May stands on the front steps, her bionic ear probably at full power because she immediately calls my name. “Miller?”

  “Keep walking,” Gwen hisses, tugging at my arm. “We’re almost there.”

  I should. But I don’t. May is already behind me, running at a good clip when I turn, breaking Gwen’s urgent arm-pulling.

  Her mother’s expression is beyond somber as she stretches onto her toes and leans closer, so only I can hear her. “Careful. I’m a very resourceful woman, Miller. Hurt my daughter, and you’ll find out what kind of hell money buys.”

  Like I don’t already have a good idea.

  My eyes narrow and I look at her, sizing her up.

  “Keep your change, May. I won’t be around long enough to hurt a single hair on her head, and I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, then turn around and quick-step to the car.

  May gives a parting wave, shifting back into the sweet old author lady who’d never threaten a bee, and blows kisses to the children before yelling after us, “I’ll call tomorrow, darling!”

  “Thanks again, Mother,” Gwen huffs out as she shuts the driver’s door and starts the engine.

  Her gaze settles on me as she puts the old car in drive. Obviously wondering what her mother said.

  I’m too tired to care, much less kindle more drama, so I glance into the back seat. “All buckled?”

  “Yep,” both Shane and Lauren answer.

  A moment later, I realize I shouldn’t have asked. It’s like I just gave them permission to relive the last couple of hours that were nothing short of magic to them. They gush about the games and food and fairy-tale estate all the way to the townhouse, and then race inside ahead of us to play with their new toys.

  Goddammit. This isn’t getting any easier.

  “Sorry for all that, again. Thanks for being a good sport. Mother can be a little overbearing,” Gwen says as we climb out of the car. “And by a little, of course I mean brutally.”

  I shut my door and walk around the front of the car. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Huh? What isn’t?” Her eyes light up.

  “Us staying here, Gwen.” I start for the door. “Manny’s going to have to find someone else. A backup.”

  “There is no backup. He’s clueless. Do you think we’d have even met if he really had somebody better lined up and wasn’t just flying by the seat of his pants?” she asks. “I guarantee you, we wouldn’t. Look, I know this isn’t easy, I know you’re in a lot of trouble but...I’m your only option. And I want to help.”

  I spin around. “You’re no option at all. Not when your ma will be sniffing around every move we make, and probably flipping her shit to Jupiter and back when she finds out we’ve left the country!”

  It comes out harsher than I intend. But fuck, I’ve reached my limit.

  I hate not being in control, having to rely on help like a beggar.

  Can’t even remember the last time I had all the say. Total control of my life, my fate, my kids’ futures.

  She shakes her head, disbelief turning to anger. “You’re being ridiculous, Miller. She won’t do anything crazy if she just understands what’s up.”

  “Good one, babe. She already threatened to tear me a new one if you decide to kiss this frog, looking for your prince,” I growl, too pissed off to mince more words. “What do you think she’ll do if she knows the stakes? If the assholes coming after me catch you in the middle?”

  I don’t want to scare her.

  I regret it the second it’s out of my mouth. She just looks sad. Worried. Frustrated.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe she...you know what, fine. Go ahead and call Manny if you don’t believe me. Then you can hear it from the horse’s mouth, and we can talk about how we’re going to figure this out.”

  I just about lose it.

  “Manny, that fucking idiot? He was supposed to find me a safe house. A woman who could pass as my wife to get us out of here. You’re plenty nice, but shit, with your liabilities, that sure as hell isn’t you. What don’t you understand, Gwen? Your ma’s a famous author. I’m guessing Stork knew that, too, and he still screwed me over.”

  “My mother has nothing to do with this. I’m the one trying to help you, Miller, not her.”

  I scoff at that.

  How is it possible for any girl to be this gorgeous, thi
s innocent, this persistent?

  “Like hell, she doesn’t.” There’s no way May Courtney will ever let Gwen leave the country with us, that’s as sure as the sun coming up in the morning.

  And it’s the last hitch I need. Being dragged into some tabloid drama with the internationally bestselling author – whose daughter leaves the States with a man she just met.

  I know the media. The paparazzi would be all over that shit like piranhas on a rack of ribs. I can’t even risk a flap on Instagram about it, knowing Jackie’s people watch everything.

  “The kids and I are leaving. Whether Stork can find someone else or not, it’s time for Plan B.”

  “Plan B?” she hisses, crossing her arms, glaring. “And where, pray tell, might that be?”

  “You’re the last person I’d tell. Not when it might make it back to mama.”

  Her fiery stare sharpens into hellfire. “You know what, Miller? For raising such sweet kids, you’re a big effing dick.”

  7

  Time to Fly (Gwen)

  I haven’t been this mad at someone in years, but whoa, mama.

  I’m pissed at him. We’re talking dagger eyes and the rocket’s red glare in my blood.

  Turns out, Miller Rush is kind of an asshole.

  And I guess I am too for getting involved in something so stupid, so reckless, so ridiculous. And that goes double for Manny, who roped me into this, and...ohhhh, I’m furious.

  I can’t blame Mother, but I’m mad at her, too, for butting in where she doesn’t belong. It doesn’t help the fact that while sitting at her table, I saw exactly what she’s always wanted.

  It was there on her face, in the glow in her eyes, in the almost too smug twinge of her lips.

  She’s always claimed she wanted to be an author more than anything in the world. Make a name for herself, a fortune, and she’s done all that in spades.

  But tonight, I found the last thing fame and riches haven’t given her. Or me, with my desert of a dating life.

  A family.

  She was in her glory with Shane and Lauren. Showering them with gifts she could never give me when I was that young. Even now, when she can afford to, and often insists, I won’t let her because I’m an adult and need to stand on my own two feet.