Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Blakely

Traffic is light. Renn seems to interpret this as a green light for action because he races through the streets of Nashville like it’s his personal racetrack.

“My mom used to have this saying that went something like, ‘Better to get there late than get to your grave early.’ And that was when we had somewhere to be. The last I knew, we didn’t have anywhere to be today,” I say.

“I’m anxious.”

He zooms by an SUV, crosses two lanes, and takes an exit.

“Well, so am I now,” I say, yawning. “Do you always drive like this?”

“Only when I’m anxious.”

I wedge my elbow against the glass and prop my head on my hand.

As much as I’d love for him to slow down, I can’t deny that watching him drive is a major turn-on. It’s the command. The confidence. The way his jaw flexes and his hand grips the steering wheel. It’s subtly reminiscent of how he moves in the bedroom … and the kitchen, outdoor shower area, patio, dining area, bathroom, foyer, and on the plane coming home.

And his backward hat doesn’t hurt, either.

“Are you going to tell me what sparked this anxiety you speak of?” I ask. “Because you didn’t seem nervous until now.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m taking you home. That’s a lot of pressure.”

I balk.

“It is.” He turns his attention back to the road. Thankfully . “What if you don’t like it?”

I giggle. “I’m sure I’ll like it.”

“I just want you to be comfortable there. And it’s not like I had a lot of time to prepare for this since you whisked me off and married me in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, right. Sure .”

He grins. The sight of his sweet, simple smile warms my heart.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m a little nervous, too,” I say. “Think about this from my perspective. I’m going to be in your house.”

“ Our house .”

“With your stuff.”

“ Our stuff .”

“And I won’t know where anything is, or if I should be in a certain room, or where to put my stuff. Truth be told, I didn’t think about the details of this until now. And it’s a little too late to do anything about it.”

He slips his hand off the gear shifter and takes my hand in his. He laces our fingers together and gives them a gentle squeeze.

“If you don’t know where something is, ask,” he says. “Or just look for it and put it wherever you want. As far as rooms go—you can go wherever you want. Snoop away.”

I laugh.

“Astrid has organized my closet so you can put your clothes and things there with mine,” he continues. “I honestly don’t have a ton of stuff. She’s always on my ass to get this or that, but I never do. I lived a bachelor life in Australia and didn’t want to haul what I did have all over the world. It didn’t make a lot of sense.”

He pulls onto a quiet street lined with trees. The car slows, the engine roaring as it winds down. We’re not on the street long when we pull up to a gate. Renn rolls down his window and waves to a man in a security booth.

“Hey, Rodger,” Renn says.

“Good day, Mr. Brewer. Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you. I’d like you to meet my wife, Blakely.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “Blakely, this is Rodger.”

“Hello,” I say.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brewer. And congratulations.”

I blush. “Thank you.”

“I will have Astrid bring you the information you need to place my wife on the approved entry list,” Renn says.

“Very well.” The gates swing open. “Have a good day, sir.”

“It was nice to meet you, Rodger,” I say, waving.

“You also, ma’am.”

Renn rolls up his window and creeps into the neighborhood on the other side of the iron fence.

Massive estates are sprinkled to my left and right. Each is more impressive than the next. Fountains and luxury cars, gardeners tending intricate gardens, and maids sweeping steps—a world I’ve never seen before.

Brock has always lived in fancy communities. I’ve teased him about it mercilessly. And I don’t live in a bad area by any means, thanks to my brother’s insistence on housing in well-to-do areas. But well-to-do or not, none of those places are anything like this.

“Bianca and Ripley live in Four Oaks, too.” He looks at me. “That’s the name of this community.”

“I see.”

“It’s a little uptight for me. But I needed a place to stay, and I liked the house, and it was close to my family. In retrospect, might’ve been a bad plan. It makes them feel like they have the right to be nosy.”

I smile at him.

“This is it,” he says, pulling into a long brick driveway.

“ Wow . Renn.” I gulp. “This is your house?”

The front of the traditional-style home has wood siding and lots of stonework. There are ample windows that let in a lot of light. A cedar shake roof caps off the place with an upscale, beautiful touch.

“Do you like it?” He pulls the car around the side of the house. Three garage doors line the length of the building. “I have three acres here, which I love. It has a little more privacy than most homes in the area.”

One of the doors rolls open, and he pulls inside.

“I don’t even have words for this,” I say, dumbfounded. “This is … incredible.”

His face lights up. “Come on. Let me show you the rest.”

I unfasten my belt and climb out of the sportscar. Renn meets me at the front.

“There’s too much space here to be practical,” he says, opening a tall white door. “But it has a vibe I really love. It reminds me of Australia a little.”

We enter a long hallway with light wooden floors, the lightest gray cabinets, and white stone countertops.

“This becomes a catch-all,” he says, tossing his keys on the counter. “It’s a bad habit.”

“If that’s your worst habit, I think you’re doing just fine.”

He reaches back for my hand. I give it to him without thinking.

“Okay, this is the kitchen,” he says, bringing me into a gorgeous area.

The gray and white color scheme extends to this room. As predicted, the windows are black-framed, allowing the room to be flooded with light. The stainless appliances include an ice maker, wine chiller, and a built-in double-door refrigerator.

“I usually eat at the bar,” he says, pointing at a sitting area around the island. “But there’s a table by the windows and a proper dining room around the corner.”

“This is … unbelievable,” I say, taking it all in. “It’s beautiful, Renn.”

His smile softens. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“Show me the rest. Please.”

He leads me through a sunroom with plush chairs, a small table, a cozy family area, and a larger living space. We tour a den, a bonus room he’s yet to use, and an office full of trophies and plaques.

We pass three bedrooms with en suites and giant walk-in closets, and a powder room on each side of the house.

Renn stops to point out features like button-activated window coverings, natural materials, and light fixtures he had custom-made in Mexico. His attention to detail is exquisite.

“And now, to the room you’ve been waiting for,” he says as we walk down a long corridor and through a set of double doors. “This is our bedroom.”

Our bedroom .

My stomach somersaults as I step into the grandest, most luxurious bedroom I’ve ever seen.

Everything is oversized but still warm and homey.

The massive bed has dark wood and white bedding. Pillows are piled against the wooden headboard. The nightstands don’t match; both look like antiques. They’re a deep walnut color with intricate designs etched into the wood.

A sitting area is set up at the far end of the room with a sofa and lamp—and a fireplace with stone framing it. I move to the windows and peer across the property. A pool and hot tub have been built next to an outdoor grilling area. Beyond that is a lush, green lawn that ends at a tree line. I can imagine forest animals grazing in the backyard in the evenings. Now it’s going to be even harder to leave.

“I don’t know what to say, Renn, except your home is stunning.”

“Come see this.” He grins. “This is my favorite part.”

We pass through a doorway and into an expansive bathroom. All white stone and bright, I see what he means by it giving Australian vibes. It reminds me of the bathroom in the honeymoon house.

There is a closet the same size as the bathroom with a doorway on the other side of the makeup table.

Renn comes up behind me and pulls me into him. He rests his chin on the top of my head. I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle into his chest.

“I can imagine it’s hard for you to have me here with you,” I say softly. “You don’t trust easily—and I understand that. You couldn’t.”

He kisses my forehead, making me smile.

“It means a lot to me that you invited me here,” I say. “I know I said on the plane headed to Australia that you were being self-serving with this, but I didn’t really mean it. I know you’re trying to protect me, too.”

“I am.”

“Thank you for that.”

He holds me tighter.

We stand together quietly, both exhausted from approximately twenty-four hours of traveling. I lost count somewhere over California.

“Renn! Where are you?” A woman’s voice carries through the house.

He kisses me again before releasing me. “That’s Astrid.”

“ Oh .”

I hold my breath as he calls to her, and her footsteps sound against the floors. They stop inside Renn’s bedroom.

“Are you decent?” she asks. “And can I come in?”

“Yeah. Come in,” Renn says. He slips his arm around my waist.

A cheery-faced redhead bounds around the corner. Her hair is in a high ponytail, showing off her face full of freckles. I’d guess her to be in her mid-to-late twenties.

“You must be Blakely,” she says, smiling brightly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“And you must be Astrid. It’s nice to meet you too.”

She turns her attention to Renn. “She’s gorgeous. Don’t fuck it up.”

I snort, covering my mouth with my hand.

“What are you doing here?” Renn asks, feigning annoyance with her.

“Making sure you made it. Hoping to get a look at Foxx Carmichael.” She whistles between her teeth. “If you get security, demand Foxx or Troy. Trust me.”

I giggle at the look on Renn’s face.

“What?” Astrid asks, shrugging. “I’m being helpful. Showing her the ropes.”

“I’m going to cut your rope and set you free,” he says.

“I couldn’t be so lucky,” she says, wrinkling her nose at him. “Anyway, Blakely. I’m here to help out however I can. I’m usually not here physically. I’m often running errands or helping Bianca. But I can be here if you need me.”

What kind of life is this ? “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“My number is in a little notebook on the desk in the kitchen. I left a bunch of notes for you, too.”

Renn makes a face. “What kind of notes are you leaving my wife?”

“Your favorite takeout places. A copy of your schedule. My number. Bianca’s. Ripley’s.”

“Tate’s?” I ask.

Renn looks at the ceiling, making Astrid laugh.

She points at me. “ Oh, I like you . A lot. We’re going to be friends.”

“I’m kidding,” I say, tucking myself into Renn’s side. “Come on. Don’t be a grump.”

“I’ve never actually disliked Tate, but I’m getting there,” he says, sighing.

I smack his shoulder. “Quit it.”

Astrid laughs again. “Okay, you two look tired as hell. I’m going to go. If you want me to send dinner over later, let me know. Brock brought some of your things by today, Blakely. There isn’t much. It’s all in two boxes on the table in your closet.”

“Thank you. I … I’m not used to this. So please excuse what I’m guessing is a look of bewilderment on my face.”

She winks at me. “You’ll get used to it.” She walks backward. “Okay, kids. I’m out of here. I’ll lock up behind me. Get some rest, lovebirds.”

“It was nice to meet you, Astrid,” I say.

“I enjoyed this interaction more than you. Trust me.” She laughs. “Bye, Renn.”

“Get out of here.”

Her laughter trails behind her as she leaves.

I spin around and face my husband. Astrid was right. He does look tired.

I’d like to see what Brock brought over. I want to call him, too. Ella doesn’t know we’re back in town, and I promised her I’d let her know as soon as we landed. But as I read Renn and realize what he needs—sleep, and I know he won’t do it if I don’t lie down too—I make a decision.

Yawning, I unfasten the buttons on his shirt. “Let’s get our clothes off and crawl into bed.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

I smile up at him. “I have a good feeling about this. We’ll figure this out and be the best husband and wife team this city has ever seen.” I push his shirt over his shoulders.

He cups my face in his hands and stares into my eyes. “Thank you, cutie.”

My heart flutters. “For what?”

“For being you.” He grins shyly. “For being mine.”

I dip my chin, body flooded with warmth, and remove the rest of our clothes. Renn then takes my hand and leads me to his— our— bed.

Because this is home.

It feels like it, anyway. And I already know it won’t just be hard to leave.

It’ll be heartbreaking.