Hitched(14)

“But I apparently lie all the time these days,” I mutter, feeling terrible for misleading my best friends, who are meandering over to the pasture to visit with Chewpaca instead of crossing paths with Kyle, while I try to finish mucking the last stall before he reaches me.

Unfortunately, the lying can’t be helped. The fewer people who know that my marriage is a sham, the better. At least until Mr. Ashford gets back to us on what the legal precedents are in a case like this.

And my friends will hopefully understand why I’ve had to be less than truthful. They both love Chewpaca and would be on board with whatever it takes to protect him from falling into the clutches of Kyle the Wretched.

Although they’d probably prefer I hadn’t picked Blake as a husband, if I had to get married for an alpaca and have no intention of staying that way. Because they both also adore Blake.

Everyone loves Blake.

It’s hard not to.

He’s a total sweetheart to everyone but me.

“There you are. Figured you’d be up to your elbows in animal feces,” Kyle says, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Nope, just up to my knees at the moment,” I say with a saccharine grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to your senses and realized you’re unfit to be an alpaca parent?”

He rolls his ice blue eyes. “We own animals, Hope. We parent children. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me,” I say, stabbing my shovel into the ground and fisting the handle while behind me Biscuit, Mickey, and Dorito bleat in baby-goat distress at having a big ol’ meanie in their home.

“Right. That’s why you fry up a half pound of human infant in your skillet every Sunday.”

I recoil. “Jesus, Kyle. What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he says, his cold eyes as emotionless as ever. “I’m making a logical argument.”

“Well, go make it somewhere else. Until Mr. Ashford gets back to us with more information, I don’t see that we have anything more to discuss.”

“You’ve always been so short-sighted.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth going soft at the edges in a way I haven’t seen many times before. Not since we were kids, anyway. “But I need to consider the bigger picture, cousin. Cara really wants to go on safari for our honeymoon. She’s got vacation days saved up that she has to use by the end of September, and I’m taking leave from work for the rest of the year until I figure out what I want to do next.”

I bite my lip, holding in a taunt about seeing how fast he can spend the trust fund money our grandfather left him. Grandpa was a sexist from way back. When he went into the nursing home a few years ago, he gave Kyle unrestricted access to his accounts. And when he died, he left Kyle, the only male cousin, an obscene amount of money to “help him start a family.”

The three girls each got one of his grandmother’s historically significant quilts. Sabrina and Vivian immediately sold theirs on eBay, and were disinherited from Gram’s will as a result.

I donated mine to a museum, and moved on.

I don’t resent Kyle for winning the Our Grandfather Thought Women Were Only Good For Being Barefoot and Pregnant lottery, but I sure as heck resent him fighting to get his greedy hands on Chewpaca too.

He already has more than his fair share of resources.

“So you’re ceding that I’d be the better alpaca parent since you’re unemployed.” I smile. “Excellent. I accept.”

“I’ve already picked a breeding facility, and they’re prepared to take the animal immediately. They’ve got several paying customers lined up and waiting.”

My throat tightens. “And they’ll keep waiting while I see you in court.”

He frowns. “A lengthy court battle would cast a pall over our month abroad.”

My eyes go wide. “A month?”

“A honeymoon isn’t something that should be rushed.” He sniffs. “It sets the tone for the entire marriage. Grandpa took Gram to Paris for six weeks when they were first married.”

“And look how great that turned out,” I mutter.

“They were together for fifty years.”

“But miserable for at least half of it.”

“Not everyone needs to be happy all the time, Hope. Your view on marriage is so bourgeoisie,” he says with a sigh. “Blake would probably be a great fit for you. Too bad you’re faking it.”

“I am not,” I say, lifting my chin. “We’re ridiculously in love.”

“You are not, and as soon as my attorney proves it, we’ll be taking possession of the stud.” He smirks like it’s his job. And maybe it is—I can’t see that he’s done much else since he quit his investment firm last year. “He tells me that because we were both married on the same day, we can either agree to split the estate, or the courts can decide whose marriage is more valid.”

“Great. Leave me the animals, and you can have everything else.”

“Cara and I don’t want everything else. We want the alpaca. And we’re going to get it before we leave for our honeymoon next month.”

I narrow my eyes. “You really expect me to believe the courts will think you’re madly in love with a woman you met five days ago on Tinder? What about the validity of your marriage? Why isn’t that in question?”