CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX RIGGS

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

RIGGS

The Markham family lived in a three-bedroom semidetached house just off Tooting Broadway’s main street. It was a redbrick, old-looking thing that definitely didn’t scream privilege. There was a beat-up Saab 900 parked out front, and a laundry-line pole with an array of old undergarments greeted us.

Poppins blushed and ducked her head as we made our way down the pathway leading to her front door.

“Sorry about that. Mum loves skipping the dryer. Saves her loads of money.”

I shrugged it off. “Feasting my eyes on the Markham clan’s underwear is a hobby at this point.”

“The house is a bit old from the inside too .?.?.” She drifted off, munching on her lip. Her eyes looked faraway, and I bet she remembered being teased about her financial situation as a kid.

I clapped a hand over her shoulder, looking her straight in the eye. “I don’t fucking care. You’re valued by more than your net worth.”

She nudged my shoulder with a sniff before pushing the doorbell. Our arrival was a surprise to her parents. Hopefully not one that was going to give them a heart attack. I was considerably older and a fucking stranger for all intents and purposes, and I’d just showed up on their doorstep with their only daughter.

We waited outside, the sun rising sluggishly behind a field of red and gray chimneys.

“Are they going to think I’m an old creeper?” I grunted, just when the sound of feet padding over carpeted floor came from the other side of the door.

Duffy turned to look at me, surprised. “Why would they think that?”

“Because there’s over a ten-year gap between us,” I drawled. “Kieran knows we’re married.”

“He won’t breathe a word,” she assured me, moving her palm over my back in a soothing motion. “And they’re going to adore my new—”

The door swung open, and in front of us stood a man in his early sixties, wearing a wifebeater, fluffy slippers that clearly belonged to his wife, and old-school Adidas sweatpants. His sleepy expression vanished at the sight of Duffy, swapped with astonishment and delight.

“Daphne-doo!” he clucked, reaching for her and then tossing her in the air like she was a toddler. I watched with confusion as he put her back down and held her hand. She gave a princess spin, flinging her stained dress, as if verifying her own existence.

He gasped. “What are you . . . how did you . . .”

“Stop it, Tim, you’ll wake Mum up.” She giggled. Giggled. Who was this person?

He shook his head. “I’m just blown away. This is the best surprise.”

“We took an overnight flight from New York and thought to spend the weekend here,” Duffy explained, clutching him by the arms, sparkling with joy and warmth and love. “Is that all right?”

“All right?” he spluttered. “I’m the happiest man alive right now.”

No, that would be me, watching your stepdaughter happy.

Tim’s eyes darted to me. “And who is we?”

“Tim, meet Riggs. Riggs, this is Tim, my stepdad.”

I reached out to shake his hand. He took it, squeezing hard to assert some kind of authority.

Too late. Already sampled her from every possible angle. And some not-so-possible angles. She almost sprained her ankle once.

“And what is Riggs to you, darlin’?”

Good fucking question. I was all ears myself.

“A royal pain in the arse,” Duffy answered, avoiding a straight answer. I inwardly groaned. The jokes were getting old, and as she liked to point out every so often—so was fucking I. “He’s also my roommate.”

Roommate.That did not feel nice at all. I could tell you that much.

“Don’t you live in a one-bedroom?”

“Riggs is crashing on my couch until he finds a place.”

“Eh.” Tim gave me a long once-over. I could read his mind. Almost forty. Sleeps on someone’s sofa. What a winner. “And he decided to tag along? Sightsee, ay?”

The conversation was turning from painfully awkward to catastrophically bizarre.

“Actually, I just got two tickets to London, and since Duffy had a place to crash, we made it work,” I said, interfering.

Tim’s forehead creases smoothed, and he nodded.

“Makes sense. Well, don’t just stand there! Come on in.”

In, we came. The house wasn’t too shabby, but Duffy was right: it didn’t look like something you’d see on a Netflix reality show. Tim offered us a cuppa, and I prayed to shit it wasn’t some code to fondling my junk. In a matter of minutes, the entire house was on its feet. Mrs. Markham came rushing down the narrow stairway in a fleece robe, howling when she saw her daughter. They exploded into a hug, crying into each other’s hair, mumbling incoherently like war prisoners reunited. Next was Kieran, who trotted down in an adult Mike Wazowski onesie, holding a half-empty jar of peanut butter and a can of beer.

After everyone hugged and kissed and cried (I did not do the third one, which, at this point in my infatuated existence, was a relief), we sat for a full English breakfast Mrs. Markham somehow whipped up in twenty minutes.

I never understood English breakfasts. Potatoes, beans, sausages, and black pudding were all lunch and dinner ingredients, unless your idea of fun was to clog your arteries with enough fat to fill a bathtub. Mrs. Markham also couldn’t be accused of being the best cook to grace this planet, as the sausage was both soggy and cold, the potatoes half-raw, and the black pudding .?.?. well, to be fair to her, I didn’t think anyone could make it edible.

Still, as we all sat at the round table, chugging screwdrivers, I was beginning to see the perks of this whole family-concept thing.

“So BJ doesn’t mind you rooming with a dashing young man like this?” Mrs. Markham motioned to me with her knife. Interesting table manners. I wondered if the Windsors approved.

Duffy rolled her eyes. “Riggs isn’t that young.”

“But he is that dashing.” Tim pointed at me with a sausage-laden fork. “And Brendan .?.?. well, I’ve met more confident blokes, let’s just say that.”

“Yeah, Duff.” Kieran sat back like a fat cat, grinning. “Doesn’t BJ care? I mean, what kind of boyfriend is he?”

Kieran and I shared a knowing glance. A nonexistent one.

Duffy licked her lips, pinking. “He’s fine with it.”

“And is he still in .?.?. what’s it called?” Her mom snapped her fingers.

“Denial about his receding hairline?” Kieran offered with a grin.

“Need to hurry up and pop the question?” It was Tim’s turn to ask.

“—Tibet, was it?” Mrs. Markham completed.

“Kathmandu,” Duffy corrected, turning bright red now. “He’s still in Asia, yeah.”

Kieran turned his attention to me.

“So Riggs, what do you do?” He chewed loudly, with his mouth open, just to piss people off, I suspected. He spoke like we hadn’t been planning and executing the Conquest of Shelby in the last few weeks. She was thawing real nice. He’d even managed to get a date with her next week.

I sipped my screwdriver, sticking to eating the eggs and hash brown on my plate.

“A photographer.” But he already knew that.

“That’s an interesting job!” Mrs. Markham said perkily.

“Not much money in it, though, right, son?” Tim popped a fried cherry tomato into his mouth.

“Not much,” I confirmed.

Tim nodded in approval. “Good. I like people who go after their heart’s desire without giving a toss about the paycheck.”

Now if only your stepdaughter was of the same mind.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked Tim.

“Fulfill my heart’s deepest, most passionate wish.” He opened his arms wide. “I make fish-and-chips.”

Laughing, I leaned in to give him a fist bump. “A divine mission.”

“I like to think of myself as a modern-day Jesus.”

“Riggs, do try your black pudding,” Mrs. Markham urged. “I know it looks a bit funny, but I swear it’s good.”

“Mum,” Duffy scolded, now bloodred with discomfiture. “Leave the man alone.”

“Actually, I was saving the best for last.” I smiled charmingly, picking up the round black thing between my fingers and bringing it to eye level. There was no way to sugarcoat it—it looked like crap. And I mean that literally. There were also yellow bits in it, which made it look like corn-infested shit. But for a reason beyond my understanding, it was important to me to win these people over.

Halting my breath, I shoved the whole thing into my mouth, chewed just enough to help it pass through my pipeline, and swallowed. I reached for the orange juice quickly, guzzling it.

“Delicious.”

“Thank you!” Mrs. Markham radiated joy. “Tesco’s finest.”

“You want to vomit, don’t you?” Duffy whispered through gritted teeth beside me.

“Very much.” I dropped my voice.

“Well, Mum, let me show Riggs to his room!” Duffy stood up, covering for me.

A minute later, I was kneeling in their bathroom, throwing up into their toilet while Duffy patted my head.

“There, there. Now that you survived Mum’s cooking, it is safe to say you are immortal.”

The Markhams had a tradition. They went apple-picking the first day of the season. Since Duffy wasn’t around for that this year, they decided to do it now that we were visiting.

“You don’t have to come, obviously.” Duffy was standing in the matchbox-size room they’d assigned for me, which used to be her room. She wore a yellow summer dress and looked like an orgasm waiting to be unleashed. “It’s just a silly tradition. You probably want to explore London.”

I drank her in from my spot on her childhood bed, arms propped behind my head. The room was so Duffy it was ridiculous. With stripy beige-and-lavender wallpaper, pleated curtains, and all her memorabilia organized in drawers labeled with the year they were from. There were also some Prince William posters I was sure she didn’t want to talk about.

“I’ve been to London twelve times. Did all the tourist shit,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Apple-picking sounds good.”

We hadn’t slept together since yesterday, when she’d received that text from Cocksucker, and I was becoming antsy. And worried. And fucking mental, as Poppins liked to call it.

“Okay, brilliant. We leave in thirty minutes. Does that work for you?”

“Let me look at my schedule.” I picked up my phone and scrolled through the blank screen. “Yup. I have an open window between today and FIFTY-SIX FUCKING MONTHS FROM NOW WHEN YOU FINALLY GET YOUR PERMANENT GREEN CARD.”

“They’ll grant it to me beforehand. The lawyer lady said so herself. She has connections with the immigration office. That’s why we’re here,” she rushed to promise me, no doubt thinking it would make me feel good. “Then you’ll be off to your next exotic destination.”

“As soon as you get your visa, I’m out of here,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth.

“Understood. And . . . thank you.”

I shrugged, putting on a cockney accent. “I’d like to think I have the patience of a saint.”

She winced. “Tim’s a character.”

“I like characters. Never apologize for your tribe. They’re your people. Everyone else is just a visitor in your life.”

Duffy loitered at the door, still not ready to leave.

I arched an eyebrow. “Can I offer you anything? A drink? Advice? Anal?”

She bit down on the edge of her fingernail, frowning at the floor.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You already have.”

“No. Not for the visa. For bringing me here. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Now go get me a couple of painkillers. My headache’s killing me.”

We crammed into Kieran’s Saab.

The journey to the apple orchard felt like being a part of a clowns in a car circus act. There were no seat belts to be found in the damn thing, and one of the windows had collapsed into itself, now permanently open. Duffy had to sit on top of me, which was great for my morale and tragic for my cock. Kieran drove like he was blindfolded, veering between lanes and casually stealing red lights, while Mrs. Markham kept whacking his neck from the back seat with shrieks of horror. Meanwhile, Tim, in the passenger seat, belted out Slade songs to a CD in Kieran’s stereo. It felt like I’d taken a molly that had transferred me back to the nineties, if I was adopted by an unbalanced yet endearing family.

“I still can’t believe that radio show rated Slade behind Pink Floyd in that greatest British bands special,” Tim complained loudly as Kieran zipped past a row of Scouts, almost running them over GTA-style. “Shoulda gone on air and given them a piece of my mind. Your mum stopped me.”

“People like Pink Floyd,” Duffy explained, wiggling her ass over my erection unintentionally while trying to pull her dress down. “They were experimental.”

“McDonald’s made bubble gum flavored broccoli once,” Tim reminded her. “That was an experiment too. It was also shite.”

“If it makes you feel any better, if the competition was about who had the better hair, Slade would .?.?. well, still lose,” Kieran offered.

Duffy laughed, her ass bouncing on my crotch.

My penis was seriously going to snap in half if Poppins didn’t get off me in the next ten minutes.

“What do you reckon, Riggs?” Tim stabbed me with a look through the rearview mirror.

I think your stepdaughter is about to inflict permanent damage on my reproductive organs.

“About what?”

“Pink Floyd. As a band.”

“Not a fan,” I said decisively. “As a band, as a racing horse, et cetera. Grossly overhyped.”

“Good man, good man.” He smiled to himself, then twisted in his seat to look at Duffy. “You should dump that posh boyfriend of yours, Brendan, and date this bloke instead. A bit old, yeah, but we like him better.”

“Tim!” Duffy’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“Yeah, Tim.” Kieran neglected the wheel in favor of thwacking his stepdad’s shoulder. “Duffy doesn’t want to hear what everyone is thinking.”

“Even if BJ and I don’t work out, Riggs and I are just friends,” Duffy announced.

“Did you move in together because you’re very poor, Duffy?” Mrs. Markham implored tactlessly, just as Kieran slowed down and peered through the windows, in search of a parking spot. Thank fuck. “Is Riggs paying your rent for you?”

“No, Mum. I still have some savings.”

“Let us know if you need anything, is what your mum’s saying,” Tim clarified. “Because we can always pull some strings and find money to give you. There’s no shame in getting a bit of help. Things are not so dreadful anymore.”

“I even got my dental done last month—finally!” Mrs. Markham squeaked. “I can’t stop smiling now. I no longer have to cover my mouth when I do.”

Okay. I was starting to see what all the hype about family was about. Must be nice to have a support system to lean on. I guess I could lean on Christian and Arsène if I really needed someone, but it wasn’t the same. These people were imprinted into each other’s existence permanently.

Kieran pulled into a gravel parking spot right in front of a sprawling wrought iron fence. There were lines upon lines of apple trees behind it, as far as the eye could see. Ribboned straw baskets were stacked neatly by an entrance booth, with a price sheet written in cursive letters.

“It’s the one bougie thing we Markhams do. And only once a year,” Kieran explained, reading my mind.

We ambled to the gate and picked up our baskets. The Markham family seemed perky, elbowing each other excitedly.

“Not many people out here, eh?” Tim beamed. “Got the place all to ourselves. This is what Kate and Wills must feel like.”

We started apple-picking, and I think I figured out why the Markhams were such huge fans of this get-together. They were all competitive as fuck. I’d seen less bad blood between the various Game of Thrones houses. Kieran climbed those trees like a fangirl on a nineties rock star, trying to get to the high branches with the most untapped apples. Meanwhile, Tim jumped and swatted branches down, shaking tree trunks in a bid to get as much fruit as possible. Mrs. Markham resorted to gathering fallen apples from the ground, some of them squashed and inedible. The only person who didn’t try to outperform her family was Duffy. She looked pensive and thoughtful. I plucked apples from high-hanging branches, watching her alertly.

“Is your head okay?” Duffy asked about twenty minutes into the carnage her family was inflicting on the place.

“More or less.”

“Is it more, or is it less? Because I gave you two paracetamol. It should’ve done the job.”

“My head’s fine.” I gave her a WTF look. “Why so constipated, Poppins?”

“I’m allowed to be worried about my fake husband,” she said hotly.

“Aw.” I looped my arm around her shoulder, jerking her close to plant a kiss atop her head. “Is someone catching feelings?”

She huffed, “I need you alive to get a visa, remember?” It was ironic that Daphne had dreamed of a tiara growing up. She’d have nowhere to put it even if she had married a royal. The woman clearly had horns.

I chuckled bitterly, strolling into the thick of the apple orchard, wandering away from her family.

“When are you going to reschedule your appointment to the neurologist?” She followed me. She’d been going on about this like it was open-heart surgery.

“Soon. Ish.” I picked an apple from a branch midstride, took a juicy bite, and tossed it on the ground. “Why do you care?”

“I already said, I need—”

“Me for your visa. Right. Pretty sure I’ve got a few more months in me.”

She pressed her lips together, catching up with my pace. I was getting fed up with the hot mess referred to sometimes as our relationship. Us fucking, then reassuring one another that we didn’t give a shit. I ventured to the corner of the apple farm, looking to get away from the Markham clan. They were a good bunch, but not enough that I wanted them privy to our next conversation.

“Why are you like that?” Duffy was practically running after me.

“Like what?”

“You’ve been in a mood ever since I got back home from visiting Charlie yesterday.”

That’s because your boyfriend’s coming home and you’re not addressing the elephant in the room, even though the fucker took a huge dump and is stinking up the place.

“I’m not in a mood.” I picked an apple and cleaned it against my shirt. “Bored, maybe.”

“Do I bore you?” Her expression wilted, crestfallen.

Say no. Don’t be a dick. Don’t take your frustration out on her.

Running a hand over my face, I grunted, “It’s the whole situation. Nothing personal.”

“Fuck you, Riggs.”

“Right now?” I tsked. “No, thanks. But I’m thinking of maybe sampling the local crop later tonight.”

I didn’t know what I was saying or why I was saying this. I just knew I wanted to hurt her as much as it hurt me to think of her crawling back into that asshole’s arms once she realized he’d cut his trip short to get her back.

Duffy stopped behind me, and I knew immediately that I’d gone too far. I wished there was an unsend button on my mouth. I’d pay good money for one right now.

“Jolly good, then. Have fun with your local crop,” she spat out. “See if I care. All you’ve done since we first met was highlight how little you think of me. Well, congratulations. I finally feel as disposable as a plastic fork.”

“Hold on a minute!” I swiveled, trekking toward her. She was making a beeline to the other side of the farm, getting farther away from her family. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me I’m a working dick with an American passport.”

She spun on her heel, staring me down, her eyes dark and furious. A drop of sweat trickled down her face and neck, disappearing into the valley between her breasts. She was heaving. I was panting.

“You didn’t want to marry me,” she reminded me, shaken.

“But then I did,” I bit out, my eyes scorching the strip of earth between us.

“Do you regret it?” Her chest rose and fell to the rhythm of her breaths.

“No.” I closed my eyes. It was the best decision I’ve ever made. “You?”

“Yes,” she admitted, bowing her head. “I miscalculated my pragmatism-to-soul ratio, Riggs. I think .?.?. I think I did catch feelings.”

She was so incredibly sweet I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Drawing a breath, I said, “Come here, Poppins.”

She sauntered over wordlessly and stood in front of me. Apple trees arched above our heads, cocooning us from the world. I palmed her cheek, dropping my forehead to meet hers. Our hot breaths mixed together. Her heartbeats against my chest calmed me some.

“I wasn’t expecting this either,” I admitted, my mouth moving against hers.

“Expecting what?” she croaked.

“Wanting you so badly. All the goddamn time. Day. Night. The space in between.”

The thought of her conquered every second of my day. My hand skimmed her curves, gripping her hip and jerking her closer. My erection pressed between her legs, and I let out a growl.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Right back at you,” she whimpered, her lips latching to the side of my neck, her tongue peeking out to swirl against it. “What are we going to do about it?”

I lowered her to the ground, my hand reaching between her thighs to spread her open while I peppered wet kisses over her entire body through her clothes. She clawed at my hair, moaning with abandon, giving less than half a shit about her family being not too far from us.

“We can’t.” But as she said that, she also pushed me down between her legs.

“Says who?” I pulled her panties off, not even bothering to lift her dress up. It’d be hotter if she couldn’t see me at all when I went down on her.

“Society .?.?.??” She groaned. “And this can’t be hygienic. People eat here.”

“I second that statement.” I licked her center, top to bottom, making her whole body tremble as I ate her out. “Besides, all I’m doing is giving you mouth to mouth.”

“That is not my mouth.”

“I’m an old man, remember? My eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

She laughed throatily, bucking her hips, thrusting herself into my mouth. I slipped two fingers into her.

After she came against my mouth, I flipped her over, propped her up by the waist, and pounded into her. She cried out in ecstasy when she came, so I did what any gentleman would do and shoved her face in the dirt to stifle her moans so her family wouldn’t think she was being mauled by a coyote. Then I kept thrusting into her from behind, waiting and expecting the rush of a normal climax to run through me. This was what I did. I had meaningless sex and enjoyed it. But every time I was within reach of an orgasm .?.?. every time I thought I was going to come .?.?. I kept picturing faceless Cocksucker knocking on our door.

And I couldn’t.

I couldn’t fucking come.

So I did something I’d never done before. I let loose a low grunt and pretended to find my release. I stayed inside her for a few more seconds before withdrawing and knotting the condom quickly so she couldn’t see it was empty. She stood up, pushing her dress down, looking flushed and happy.

Her hair was a mess, full of leaves and tiny twigs, and she had a mud patch on her left tit. “I’m losing the apple-picking battle.”

“Don’t worry, I’m at least one foot taller than Tim and Kieran.” I patted her head. “I’ll give you those apples if I have to touch the sky to get them.”