Hitched(20)

* * *



Cassie: No, actually, LOL. Ryan didn’t seem all that surprised. Jace, either. Guess they know their brother better than the rest of us.





* * *



Hope: Wow. Really? They’re not just being nice?





* * *



Cassie: Remember who we’re talking about here, woman. Jace doesn’t play nice and Ryan is incapable of hiding anything from me. If he were secretly weirded out, I’d know about it. Oh, and speaking of weird, Savannah signed on for another year with her cranky old English dude, even though he’s the worst.





* * *



Hope: Another year with his daughter, you mean. It’s Beatrice she loves. And living in England. And clotted cream.





* * *



Cassie: drooling emoji Omg, clotted cream. It’s almost enough to convince me to cross the pond for good. And lemon curd. And scones. And I know I’m in the minority here, but I love their gorgeous bloody breakfasts, complete with meat feast and grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and beans on the side. I mean, why not have beans for breakfast?





* * *



Hope: I’m totally open to beans for breakfast. Upon occasion.





* * *



Cassie: Me too. And I was open to Savannah nannying while she took the time she needed to heal from her divorce, but the clock is ticking. Beatrice is a treasure of a kid and I absolutely adore her, but I can’t help feeling like my sister’s signing over her life to this guy, a piece at a time. She’s still young, but she’s not that young. And if she’s spending all of her time taking care of another man’s child, she’s not getting any closer to having a family of her own. Meanwhile, Stuffy Old Colin could fire her at any time and she’d be cut off from Beatrice and her heart would be broken into a zillion little pieces again. I hate to think that way, but I can’t help it. And also I just…want her living close again. Is that awful?





* * *



Hope: It’s not awful. I can imagine I’d feel the same way. But you have to trust that Savannah’s making the best decision for her, even if you would choose differently in her place.





* * *



Cassie: You’re right. You’re so sweet and wise, you know that? Way beyond your years. And I love that I can trust you to give me an honest opinion, even when you know it’s not what I want to hear.





* * *



Hope: Thanks, but…you’d forgive me if I messed up someday, right? And did something not entirely sweet or wise?





* * *



Cassie: Of course I would, but you have to stop worrying about you and Blake, okay? If it gets screwed up, you won’t have screwed it up alone. It takes two to make a thing go wrong too. And yeah, you and Blake came out of nowhere for some of us, but a lot of people have seen this coming a mile away. Take comfort in that—and your cute new hubby—and relax. Everything’s going to work out for the best. It almost always does, especially when you’re putting love first.





* * *



Hope: Okay. Love you. Give me an update on George in the morning okay?





* * *



Cassie: Will do. And love you too. I may not have my blood sister here, but I’m lucky enough to have you and Olivia, so I really shouldn’t complain. winking emoji See you at bingo tomorrow night. Sleep well!





Nine





Hope





* * *



I do not sleep well.

I’m up most of the night, plagued by crazy dreams, guilt over lying to Cassie and the people I care about, a hyper-active awareness of the sexy-as-sin man sacked out on my couch—with the blinds pulled in case the detective tries to sneak photos in the middle of the night—and the very real terror that if I fall asleep I will wake up to find I have sleepwalked myself on top of him and am making out with his stupid face.

And I will not make out with his stupid face in private.

Any kissing that takes place will be for the benefit of Kyle and his spies. And I most certainly won’t let Blake O’Dell get me all tingly again or give him any other reason to think this marriage is real enough to warrant his protection or devotion.

Admittedly, hearing him vow to annihilate my enemies was insanely hot, but it was also scary.

I’m not ready to be anyone’s wife for real, and I don’t know that I ever will be.

It’s like I grew up in that scary hotel from The Shining, and now someone’s asking me to move into a building that looks exactly like that one and get snowed in for the rest of my life.

It’ll be fine, they say. No ghosts or demons or blood in the elevators or creepy twins this time around, and absolutely no one will go insane and try to kill you with an ax.

They’re probably right, but I’m still not setting foot in that hotel anytime soon.

Maybe ever.

It’s a relief when my alarm goes off at five. Now I can get up and get out of the house and away from Blake and his super-powered pheromones. They are every bit as potent as my whacked out personal electromagnetic field, the one that shorts out the kitchen radio when I get too close to it as I’m making my coffee.