Chapter 19

Nineteen

SCOTTIE

The coffee is too bitter, and I wish I had a biscotti to go with it, but there is no better way to wake up than with a pot of coffee brewing and some quick stretches to soothe my sore muscles from sleeping on the couch.

It's a comfortable couch, much softer than my thrift store couch with the torn seams. I've slept in worse places, but I was crammed on my side all night, and apparently didn't move an inch, which caused a kink to fester in my neck.

I glance around my new home, feeling more like an intruder than anything.

It's only been one night, but I woke up with the same heavy feeling in my stomach, silently tossing around my new name.

Scottie Olson.

The little black box on the shiny, marble counter continues to pull my attention, and I swear it keeps getting closer. I glance at the winding stairs, trying to hear if my new husband is awake, and then move back to the box.

Is it moving closer, or am I crazy?

With shaky hands, I place my coffee cup down on the counter and slowly reach for the box.

The velvet is soft against my fingertips as I brush the edges, feeling for the crease.

My knees are weak, and I start to sweat.

Just holding something this important…and expensive…makes me feel like a criminal. The smallest seed of guilt plants itself into my chest, but I dig it up a moment later when I think of William behind bars for something he didn't do. Never lose focus. It's something my dad used to say, and if I try hard enough, I can hear his voice encouraging me.

This is for William and what's left of our family. Besides, it's not like I'm just some freeloader. I already have a full schedule planned, with dates and all, for posting on Emory's social media, announcing our marriage and relationship going forward.

Sucking in a quick breath, I open the box and freeze.

I gape at the big, solitaire diamond and each tiny cluster that sits perfectly aligned on the thin gold band. My lips part at the breathtaking beauty of the ring. It's simple and delicate, but with the size, it surely makes a statement.

I cannot wear this.

I spin and put my back to the living room. It feels like the furniture is watching my reaction, and I don't like the way it's making me feel.

The box snaps shut, and I run my fingers along the velvet again, only to open it up and stare again.

Wearing something this valuable feels wrong, given the way I grew up. Not to mention my debt and how much money I have to come up with to open William's case again… It's unethical.

"You should have seen the ring Ellie tried to get me to buy."

I slam the box shut and turn quickly, slipping on the tiled floor. My back rams into the sharp edge of the counter, but I hide the bite of pain.

Emory's lip twitches, but for once, he doesn't insult me.

He walks farther into the kitchen, wearing dark-gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. He grabs my cup of coffee off the counter and drinks it in one gulp. My jaw slacks when he lifts the back of his hand and wipes the excess liquid from his mouth. "Thanks for the coffee."

My lips slam shut, and my brow furrows.

Rude.

Emory rounds the counter and grabs a container out of the fridge then pops it into the microwave. I watch his every move and find myself wondering how someone so large can get around so gracefully. He makes the kitchen seem smaller, but I have an inkling that it has more to do with his ego than his body stature.

Without looking up from what he's doing, he asks, "How was the couch?"

"Great," I lie.

It takes everything in me to stand straight and not massage the knot in my neck.

Emory nods and stares at me in between heaping bites of eggs. My heart beats faster the longer he looks at me, and I hate that I can't read his mind. The house feels tight, like the windows are going to shatter at any second, so I finally look away and break our intense stare-off.

"I…" I clear my throat. "I have a schedule for posting on social media about our wedding and future marriage."

"Oh, do you?" he muses.

I know he's smirking, just from the way his words sound. Heat crawls up my back when I slide my phone across the counter.

He catches it at the last second. "It's no wonder your phone is cracked."

"Someone else cracked my phone." I slam my mouth shut at the audacity of my brain allowing that to come out.

He scrutinizes me. "Who cracked your phone?"

I shrug, attempting to hide my lie. "It just fell at work one night."

What a pitiful excuse, and if Emory is as smart as he seems, he'll see right through it.

He pairs his airy chuckle with a shake of his head, and I know I'm correct. He doesn't press, though.

I shift on my bare feet, waiting for him to finish looking at the schedule, hoping he's okay with it. A part of me feels like he's my boss. It's a mutual agreement. Our "marriage" is a convenience for both of us, but I can't help the deeply rooted part inside of me that is constantly trying to please other people.

I learned from my high school counselor, when she urged me to come into her office after hearing of my home life, that childhood neglect will fester into traits like pleasing people, low self-worth, and mistrust in almost every relationship going forward.

Unfortunately, she was right.

Emory finally clicks my phone screen off. "Looks good to me."

A relieved sigh falls from my mouth. "Good. We will take our wedding photos today."

There's a slight rush of excitement at the thought. I haven't taken photos in so long that my fingers itch to even hold my camera for a few seconds, getting lost in the moment. It may be a fake marriage, but I'm going to capture every feigned moment and make it believable.

Emory snaps me out of my thoughts. "I have practice."

Right. Pro hockey player…as if I could forget.

"We will do it after, then. Do you have a suit?" I shake my head. Of course he does. He wears them to all the games…not that I've noticed.

After placing his container in the trash, Emory rounds the kitchen counter and nods to the stairs. "They're in the closet. Have your pick." He pauses next to me, and I turn slowly. With a lazy look in his eye, he scans me from head to toe, and I'm suddenly self-conscious.

I refuse to let him see that he makes me uncomfortable, though, just like I refuse to go down a path of self-consciousness because I'm so used to not being good enough.

When he reaches my eye again, he winks. "See you after practice, wife."

My stomach flips, and my cheeks burn.

I say nothing because I'm in shock from the way his wink sent a line of fire straight down my spine.

I'm clearly impressionable when it comes to Emory's blue eyes and flirty smirk. I could easily find myself in a world of disappointment by letting myself believe there is something more than just a contract marriage between the two of us. There is no room for heartbreak in my life, though.

The door opens, and I watch Emory head out of the house, hockey bag in tow.

Right before he disappears, he leans back and catches me staring. "Oh, and don't even think about pawning that ring for money."

I gape at him, and his chuckle follows him the rest of the way out the door.

Never mind.

I am not impressionable when it comes to my new husband.

Not at all.