Hitched(17)

“Sorry for your loss,” I say gruffly, extending my hand. “And thanks for your understanding.”

“Of course.” We shake—firmly, but with mutual respect, no alpha male posturing in the grip—and he backs away with a wave to Hope. “Have a great night. And remember to be good to each other. Being a newlywed can be stressful. Love isn’t always as easy as they make it out to be in the movies, you know?”

“Thanks. We will. Goodbye.” She returns his wave, waiting until he starts back across the road to his battered station wagon before she turns to face me and whispers, “Was that weird?”

“Dunno. I’ve never been trailed by a PI before.”

“They never introduce themselves in the movies. And how does he think he’s going to catch us when he told us he’s watching?”

“Maybe it’s a ploy to make us relax our guard?”

She shivers. “I don’t think he needs it. He’s got our number already, doesn’t he? I swear I felt like his moustache was looking straight through me.”

I arch a brow. “His moustache?”

“My dad had a moustache for most of my childhood. Nothing got by that man or his lip toupee,” she says, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I’m very bad at lying to well-groomed facial hair.”

I smile. “Then let me do the talking, you can do the snuggling, and we’ll be just fine. When did you say Kyle’s leaving?”

“In a month.”

“Easy. What can go wrong in a month?”

Her eyes widen. “Everything?”

“No. Not everything.” I glance over her shoulder to where Dean appears to be reading a book in the driver’s seat. But even with his attention fixed on something else, I feel watched and I’m pretty sure every second of this interaction is being scrutinized.

Maybe he’s the decoy PI and there’s actually someone else watching us too.

Great.

Now I’m getting paranoid. And I suddenly feel a desperate need to go check on my grape vines.

“But don’t feel obligated to be friendly to him,” I say. “As nice as he might seem, he’s not on our side.”

“Right,” she says, nibbling at her bottom lip.

“What?”

“I just…” She shrugs. “Our side. It’s strange to hear you say that, to think that we’re actually on the same side for once.”

“You’re my wife,” I say, my brow furrowing.

“But not really,” she huffs.

“The ceremony was legal. So yes, Hope. Really.”

“But it’s not the same.”

“It’s the same to me. I don’t take promises lightly, especially promises made in a court of law.” I catch her chin lightly in my fingers, tilting her face up to mine. “So until such time as we obtain a divorce, you’re my wife, and I will personally destroy anyone who even thinks about fucking with you.”

Her eyes narrow. “Except for you, right?”

My mind dives straight between the sheets, imagining all the ways I would love to fuck with Hope as soon as possible, but before I can say something suggestive and make a fool of myself, she adds, “You’re still going to do your best to make my life miserable?”

Her words hit me in the gut and the pride with collateral damage to the integrity. Have I really been that awful to her? “I don’t try to make you miserable on purpose.”

“No?” she asks. “Because I’m the only person in town that you don’t get along with. And it’s not like I’m not a nice person. I have friends. I don’t cuss around babies or tap dance in church. Animals love me, and animals are very good judges of character. But I blow out one little toaster, and it’s all you can’t do anything right, can you, Hope? Just like my parents.”

“Yeah, well you—you look at me wrong.” Wow. That was lame.

She rolls her eyes.

“Let’s just go,” she says stiffly. “I need to check on Chewpaca, and the sooner we get your stuff, the sooner we can get you settled in the guest room.”

“And that’ll look good for our case. People come over and see my shit in your guest room. I’d be better off on the couch. At least that doesn’t look like a permanently separate situation.”

Plus, last I knew, her tiny guest room was overflowing with all the small appliances she’s blown out over the years. If she cleans that right after we got married, people will talk.

She exhales sharply. “Fine. I’ll clear out part of the closet and a few drawers in my room for your things., but you’re not sleeping in my bed. And you’re definitely not doing anything else in my bed, so you can get that out of your head right now.”

I snort, forehead wrinkling. “As if I would give you the pleasure. You think way too highly of yourself, St. Claire.”

“Felt like you thought pretty highly of me too, when we were kissing by my truck.”

I put an arm around her waist, pulling her close as I lean down to whisper in her ear. “There’s a private detective watching us right now. You want to keep fighting and screw this up before we even get started? Or do you want to get your sweet ass inside and make dinner while I go get my things?”