There’s a startled look in Rose’s eyes, and fuck, I feel guilty for it. Because while she knows I’m right, I just did the one thing I said I wouldn’t. I’m using my knowledge to get my way. Not that anything I said isn’t the truth. I know exactly how this will all play out if she folds. Her grandparents are never going to simply let her walk away. Up until recently, they got an annual allowance to care for Rose and run the estate. But tomorrow when she turns twenty-one, the entire fortune is up for grabs. Unless she’s married, they will control all of the money until Rose is deemed by them as “fit to administer the Lana Hale estate.” They decide when, and that will be never.
I’ve done my research. Gertie and Mel are psychopaths with expensive taste, and up until they lost their shirts in some gambling operation, they were the equivalent of mob bosses. Rumor has it, anyone who crossed them disappeared. Yes, they’re now seniors, but their violent greedy ways are still a big part of them, which begs the question: How the hell did Lana Hale, their daughter, end up becoming a world-famous romance author? Her business was telling stories of love. Family. Friendship. Romance.
One could argue that children become their parents’ polar opposites all the time, but what I find unusual about this situation is that Lana didn’t abandon her materialistic, coldhearted parents. She stuck by them, supported them until the bitter end. She entrusted her baby daughter to them. Why?
“Shit.” Rose looks down at the floor, and I sense I’m close to getting through. She may not know or believe I love her, but she knows I’m right. She’s got to put these two criminals away and leave them penniless if she has any hope of surviving.
“Rose, I promise I am offering this because I deeply—”
“You need to go now.” She heads straight to her front door and opens it.
I’ve upset her, and she needs time to process. Fair enough. Either way, if by tomorrow morning she doesn’t change her mind, I’ll make my case one last time. I am her only chance to walk away. She has to see that.
“Sleep on it,” I say, walking past her, thinking about how I’d very much like to kiss her. I know we belong together. She’s the one who opened my eyes to that fact.
Rose bobs her head but doesn’t say anything before closing the door behind me. I hear the deadbolt slide, punctuating the divide between us.
Fuck. I hope I made the right choice, because the last time I decided she needed space, it didn’t work out so well.
CHAPTER THREE
Rose
Did he just ask me to marry him? For real? I plunk down on the couch and stare at the blank wall. Did that just happen?
I glance at the ring, which is still sitting on the couch next to me, right where he left it. It feels like a dare or an unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
Well, screw that. I’m not going to open the box. I’m not going to play into his hands or try it on or “sleep on it” or anything else.
That’s right. If he wants me, he can wait a year. Then I’ll tell him that his feelings aren’t real and pat him on the ass.
“But if you still feel the same way in twelve months, baby,” I mutter, mocking his deep voice, “maybe I’ll think about it.” Asshole. Where does he get off coming here and pulling this?
Clearly, Bex has a hero complex, which makes him a hypocrite. He once mentioned that his job wasn’t to fix people’s lives or come to the rescue, but to teach them how to be the heroes of their own story—give them the tools to take control.
Or was it his father who said that? Can’t remember.
I actually met Bex through Murdoc, his father, after attending a lecture at my college, where I was studying English literature. Murdoc gave an interesting talk about the similarities between classic literature archetypes and being a psychologist. In any case, his take on villains, victims, and heroes stuck with me, which was why I reached out to him a few months later. Sadly, though, Murdoc was already ill and on his way out, but he made me promise to call his son, the “best psychologist money can buy.” The way Murdoc Hughes spoke about Bex, with so much love and pride, convinced me that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. If I could trust Murdoc Hughes, I could trust Bexley.
I wasn’t wrong.
Not exactly.
But I quickly learned they were two different men. Mostly, Bex is rigid and stubborn and follows his own strict rules of conduct. His father was warm and comforting, but apparently liked crossing ethical lines. A lot. Specifically, banging his patients. I think that’s why Bex tried so hard to keep his distance from me personally. Not that he was really my therapist. Like I said, I only saw him a few times as part of our arrangement. He gave me an alibi in exchange for me spilling my guts so he could “help” me.
See. Right there! Hero complex. And the bastard hasn’t changed a bit. He thinks he knows what I need—what’s best for me. But really? He only wants to feel important. He pities me and there’s nothing more degrading than knowing the man you look up to, whom you want and love, feels that way. It’s humiliating. And so is his proposal.
I mean, seriously. Marriage? Why in the world does Bex believe I’d marry a man who doesn’t love me?
Furious, I stand and swipe the ring from the couch. I march to the kitchen and reach to chuck it in the trash can, but my hand won’t seem to let go. Every nerve ending in my fingertips trembles.
“Dammit.” I open the box and look inside. “What the hell?” I stare at the thing, unable to breathe. It’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen, mounted on a sleek, elegant band with more diamonds. It’s beautiful. Fairytale beautiful.
Bex
It’s morning, and I’m lying in bed next to Sophie, but I might as well be camped out in front of Rose’s goddamned door, because that’s where my head’s been all night—standing there knocking, waiting for her to answer.
I groan and kick off the covers. It’s freezing outside, but my small house always seems too warm, no matter the time of year.
Sophie whimpers, and I pat her soft golden fur. “No walk today, girl. But I’ll make it up to you tonight.” Better yet, I’ll pay the dog walker an extra twenty to go to the indoor dog park. Sophie loves that place, and I have a feeling today is going to be busy.
I swing my feet to the floor and spear my fingers through my hair. Crap. I still need that haircut. I’m getting married today.
A bitter chuckle booms from my mouth. “Yeah, right.” My chances of Rose marrying me are somewhere between never and over-her-dead-body.
I grip the edge of the mattress and squeeze, thinking. I know, know I can convince Rose to marry me. It’s the easiest solution and the safest for her. On the other hand—and this is the part that makes my stomach feel like it’s grinding nails into dust—there isn’t one person in Rose’s life who hasn’t manipulated her. Am I willing to add myself to that list in order to protect her?
Hell yes.
I can save her from years of struggle—she’ll have enough money to live, study, and find herself, which is my biggest concern besides her safety. If she’s not given a chance to be free of her past, she won’t learn to trust herself. Without that, she’ll never trust others and end up like that heroine in Lana Hale’s final book, The Boyfriend Collector.
Yeah, I read it. The woman dies all alone in a depressing ending that no one understood. Not even Lana’s biggest fans, from what I read in some of the thousands of online reviews: “Not a romance!” “A miserable piece of shit that ends in a dark pit.” “What the fuck? Did Lana want us all to hang ourselves? Fuck this book!” “A slap in the face of love.”
The irony is that Lana Hale passed away the day Rose was born, just a few weeks after the book’s release. I believe, however, that this last work wasn’t a slap in the face of anything. It was… Jesus, I hate to say this, but I think Lana knew something was going to happen, and she wouldn’t make it through the birth. She wrote the book as a message. But what was it? Don’t love? Don’t trust? All I can say is that out of everything this woman wrote, this book
doesn’t fit. No happy ending in sight.
Regardless, that’s all I want for her daughter. I will love Rose always. Unconditionally. I’ll take the brunt of ugliness that comes her way, including any legal challenges. I will, after all, be equal owner of her inheritance if we’re married, though I don’t need the money. My family has plenty, and I’ve never asked them for a dime even if it’s always there. I provide for myself and take pride in that. But I can put a wall between Rose and the media cesspool scratching for a piece of her flesh. I have no qualms about enduring hell so the woman I love can move forward, free and happy. My only issue is that she and I seem to be miles apart now.
I grumble out a breath. If only I hadn’t fucked this all up. “Coffee. I need coffee.” And then I’m going to convince Rose to marry me no matter what it takes.
Six hours later, we’re on the steps of city hall. I bend down and kiss Rose on the cheek. I never imagined I would agree to her terms or that she would agree to mine, but I’m relieved. Okay, and I’m worried. I said I’d do anything for her, and I just did. Even so, this is extreme.
CHAPTER FOUR
“So. Where do you want to start?” I ask.
Wearing a white sweater and faded jeans, Rose sits down and then stretches back on my office’s white couch. Funny how she has a similar one in her apartment. Could be a coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe it reminds her of me, in which case she hasn’t thrown it out. A good sign. Either way, my couch is a piece of lumpy crap that belonged to my father when he occupied this office. I took over his practice after he became ill, before I learned what kind of person he really was. Regardless, as much as I hate what he did to my mother and me, he brought Rose into my life, and for that, I have to be grateful.
Rose crosses her arms over her chest and stares up at the wooden beam on the ceiling, like she’s hoping for something to drop from the sky. “This isn’t a therapy session, Bex. I just wanted to sit down and get more clarity on our arrangement. Everything happened so fast this morning. My head’s spinning.” She lifts her finger and glances at the large diamond solitaire sitting snugly against a white gold wedding band that matches my own.
The engagement ring belonged to my grandmother, and the wedding bands, well, that’s why I went to her apartment so late last night. By the time I got to the jewelry store across town, it was already closed. I went to another, and they didn’t have anything in such a petite size for Rose’s slender hand. I ended up having to drive an hour and a half to a place that stayed open late. Then I bought two different sizes for her. Luckily, one fit and so did the solitaire. I try not to take it as a sign. It’s not.
“You don’t have to wear the rings if you don’t want to,” I say, noting the intensity in her eyes as she stares at the thing.
“I’m more worried about what you really want in exchange.”
“It’s like I said, I would like you to stay in therapy with me. Not a demand. Just a request. That’s it.”
Rose sits up and swings her feet to the floor. She’s wearing pink tennis shoes that look like they just came out of the box, which makes me happy. Before, she only had a ratty pair because she couldn’t afford new ones.
“But that’s the thing, Bex. I don’t get it. Why are you willing to do so much for me and expect nothing in return?”
I’m not. I expect to suffer immensely. “I feel you deserve to be free and happy, Rose. Our marriage was your best shot at getting that.”
She shakes her head. “And you’re really okay if I just go about my life? Even if I’m dating other men?”
I can’t answer with the truth, that it’s going to tear me up, so I simply nod.
Doubt flickers in her eyes. “What if a photo of me with another guy pops up in one of those stupid magazines? What if I sleep with someone and it gets leaked on social media? Are you still going to be okay with it then?” She quickly adds, “I mean, I know our relationship is platonic, but people will talk, and it won’t just be about me.”
I get that this is going to be a messy situation, but, “What the public thinks is the least of my concerns.” Rose is all that matters.
She watches my every move judiciously. I know she’s skeptical, and I don’t blame her. I’m not exactly being truthful, now am I? Yeah, sure, I meant what I said this morning, “No strings attached,” but I don’t want her seeing other men. Not even for casual dates. Nevertheless, when I made my case again, about our marriage keeping her safe, she said no. Adamantly. She said she wanted to be single and free and have a chance to grow into a woman who would make her mother proud. So I did what I had to. I promised she could carry on like she’s been doing. No questions asked. I only requested that she keep up our sessions. Once a week. No secrets and no judgment.
So while I don’t want this marriage to be an arrangement—a marriage of convenience—that’s what I promised her. She is completely free. Unmarried except for the piece of paper. It’s the same for me.
Of course, she’s unaware that I don’t want anyone else, but those were her terms, and I’m not willing to walk away. To do so means handing over millions of dollars to her grandparents, and I have no doubt they’d use the money to free themselves and kill her. In short, any mental anguish I’m about to endure is worth making sure she’s safe.
“So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me what you plan to do with your life,” I say, my voice level. On the inside, my stomach is wound tight. But boo-fucking-hoo. My discomfort is a spit in the bucket of what Rose has endured.
“Well, I’m going to enroll for the fall semester.” Her voice lifts with hope.
I nod. “Excellent. You should finish your degree in English.”
“And I have a date with Markus tonight.”
Ah. I should’ve known Rose would test me. She doesn’t trust so easily and I’ve offered her a deal that sounds too good to be true. Nothing in return for me. Everything in return for her.
“Markus. I don’t think you’ve mentioned him before,” I say, trying not to imagine her kissing him. Instead, I imagine her kissing me. Perhaps that’s the only way I’m going to get through this. When she speaks of another man, I’ll pretend it’s me. I’ll be the one making her laugh and holding her close at night. I’ll be the one kissing her breasts. I’ll be the one sliding between her—
“Markus is an English teacher. Comes from a loving family. Polite manners. Good education,” she says, without a hint of passion.
Of course not. He probably grew up surrounded by love. He can’t possibly understand Rose. Just like her namesake, she’s a magnificent beauty that grew from gritty, barren dirt. No water. No fertilizer. No sunlight. Yet here she is—a stunning example of beauty and the triumph of the human spirit. I have nothing but the deepest respect for her. And desire.
“And what do you plan to tell him if he asks about us?” Rose doesn’t know this, but the media’s already picked up the news of our marriage, thanks to the clerk who immediately recognized my name. The well-to-do Hugheses of Georgia have been in the spotlight a lot longer than she has. In the last hour alone, I’ve received three texts from family members who are wondering what the hell is going on.
What’s going on is I’m about to get a lot of bad press for marrying a patient. And the state board will call for my license to be revoked. I’m not happy about any of it, but I expected this. I’m ready.
“I don’t want to tell Markus the truth about our arrangement,” she says, “But maybe I should? We’re only casually dating, and I’m considering taking things to the next level.”
She fucking wants to sleep with him? My blood pressure slams into the floor. How many men does that make since I met her? I hate this arrangement already.
Not wanting her to catch on to my true feelings, I shove my inner possessive male down a deep dark hole. “You should tell him, then. Whatever you feel is best. I only caution you to avoid trusting anyone who might leak our arrangement to the press. The less everyone knows, the better.”
“Of course
.” Rose looks out the window again, and though her body’s still, I see her mind isn’t. The intensity in her brown eyes gives it away.
“Everything okay?” Because I’m fucking dying right now.
“Yeah. Sure,” she says unconvincingly. “It’s just a lot to process, and I’m not used to talking about my love life with anyone. Least of all with the man who…”
Her voice trails off, but I have a good idea what she’s thinking; I’m the man who rejected her. I can only hope with time, she’ll realize I’m doing just the opposite. I’m sacrificing everything.
“Rose, if you don’t want to do these sessions, I won’t force you. But in good conscience, I couldn’t just marry you and say ‘have a nice life.’ I want to be there for you.” Even if at this very moment, I’m reeling. I didn’t expect her to move on so quickly. She’s free to, but… Fuck. She’s going to sleep with him?
She turns her head to look at me. “Why?” It’s an accusation, not a question.
“Someone has to, and I would sleep better at night knowing that person actually gives a damn.” Me.
“Because you think I need saving, and you’re my knight.”
No. Because I love you. “I think you’re perfectly capable of saving yourself, but even the strongest people still need someone to trust.”
She nods but opts for staring out the window again. If I had to guess what she’s thinking, I’d say she’s still trying to puzzle out my motives.
I add, “There are no rules or manuals for a marriage like this, Rose, so we’ll have to make it up as we go. Just trust that I’m here. For you. Unconditionally.” Which I have just proven by not going ballistic over the news of her wanting to get in bed with another man. I am going to need my own damned therapy now.
The Boyfriend Collector, Two Page 3
