Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ANTHONY

I didn’t mean to jump to the bottom of my bucket list.

But riding with Rosie was sweet torture. I have no idea what I even said on that horse, because putting together a sentence while her body was captured between my thighs, her silky hair tickling my face, was like trying to do advanced trigonometry while drunk. Every motion of her body, every little satisfied sigh she made as she pointed out a gnarled tree she liked, or a stream that hadn’t frozen over, made me harder.

I like her. A lot .

The pleasure of making her happy is like no high I’ve ever experienced, even in my high school days when I thought I might have a chance at avoiding my father’s legacy by throwing parties while pretending not to feel the yoke he’d put around my neck and the time bomb I held in my hands.

Then we’d finished the ride, and Jeeves had rushed toward us with that stool, meaning I had to stop being hard quickly. So I’d thought unpleasant things before I dismounted—the smelly uber and the police station and that time I’d unintentionally found a file of erotica stories my mother had written under the pseudonym R. Dahlia.

Not thirty seconds later, Nina had come out of the barn with Wilson, which had been very helpful in terms of hard-on killing and much less conducive to me being in a good mood.

I’ve been avoiding them.

Wilson has texted me several times over the last couple of weeks, as if he and I are still buddies—

Anthonnnnn-yyyyyy. Hey man, let’s get a beer and listen to some tunes.

Want to go bowling? I haven’t been bowling in a while. Bowling is the SHIT, is it not? I’ve got this bomb bowling ball. I’m calling her Betsy after that woman I met in Tijuana that time. Remember I told you about her?

Hey, I have this kickass idea. Are you interested in investing?

This may be a weird question, but are you mad at me? We’re cool, right? Didn’t we iron it all out?

From my perspective, we’d stopped being buddies my Sophomore year of college when he’d nearly burned down his fraternity house and then blamed it on the cleaning staff.

Had he been at my engagement party? Assuredly. Because he is part of a group of friends I’ve stayed in touch with, with whom I occasionally do business, and despite having the intellect of a rotten piece of fruit, he is wealthy and connected.

Perfect for Nina.

Nina seemed annoyed to see me, as if she didn’t know perfectly well that I stable my horses here. Maybe she’d seen the preparations for Sweetcheeks before she left on her ride—and now she knows who I went to all that trouble for.

So I wasn’t surprised by the note of displeasure in her voice when she asked about my “little friend.”

But my nerve endings were instantly fried when Rosie told her with a straight face, “I’m not his friend. I’m his lover.”

Hearing that word from her— lover —dragged out and sultry, snapped something inside of me. It was the last of my self-restraint, which had been tested for two weeks. Because I’d learned that to be around Rosie was to want more of her. I wanted to see if she tasted the way she smells—like honey and spice. And if she moaned the way she laughs, putting her whole being to it, each peal of laughter making her eyes crinkle and her breasts bounce.

So I gave into the impulse, tipping my head down to taste her pink lips…

The feeling that washes through me is transformative. It’s enough for me to know instantly that this is right, where so many things have been wrong. The kiss confirms it, just like we’d agreed it might.

Her lips are soft but firm against mine, and the arm she’d wrapped around my waist lifts to my hair and then brushes the collar of my shirt, making me laugh into her mouth. I wore it for her, and she knows I wore it for her.

Then there’s a cleared throat, and Rosie pulls away from me. I watch her for a long moment, taking in the way her pulse is fluttering in her neck, her eyes aglow, before I glance at Jeeves, whose cheeks are red.

He seems amused though, maybe even pleased for me.

“Sir, I’ll take Sweetcheeks back to the stables now.”

“Thanks, Jeeves,” I say, pulling out my wallet and taking out a hundred for him. I can practically feel Nina seething at me—as if she still wants to rip me a new one for being an extravagant tipper even though my money is now assuredly not “ours.”

“Thank you, Master Smith,” he says, returning to his role. “And you, Princess Rosie.”

She feigns a curtsy in her leggings.

“You both have a Merry Christmas.”

Then he retreats with Sweetcheeks, probably very happy to avoid whatever scene is about to unfold, because Nina and Wilson are still frozen in place, watching us.

Nina looks like she’d enjoy burning the stables down, and possibly the whole city while she’s at it.

Wilson strides forward, then holds out his hand for a high five. He’s beaming at me like he just won the lottery, and I was the one who cut his reward check.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he says as I debate the merits of giving this asshole what he wants.

Nina looks even more pissed, like she’d enjoy spraying the ashy fields where Asheville used to sit with poison after burning them, so I give it to him, feeling the hollow clap of my hand against that of the man who almost cuckolded me.

“This must be her ,” Wilson says, stepping away from me toward Rosie, whom he engulfs in a bear hug that instantly has me bristling.

But, Rosie being Rosie, she handles it herself. “Oh, let’s not make your lady jealous,” she says, pushing his chest away firmly with both palms.

But Nina’s not looking at them—she’s staring at me. An unreadable expression passes through her eyes, then she says, “So you’re really going through with it? You’re going to marry a stranger for the money?”

My mind rewinds to what Wilson said a few minutes ago.

“We just got your mother’s invitation.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Leave it to my mother to take care of my unfinished business without asking first.

Then again, it’s not exactly a secret that the wedding’s on. My mother’s been making those calls, and apparently she got tired of waiting on me to make this one. But now I’m in a bind.

Rosie just told them we’re lovers, and I kissed her in front of them. They obviously think she’s my fiancée. Wilson isn’t exactly a steel trap of a person, and Nina has no inclination to be kind to me. If I marry someone else in a week, people will be hearing about this.

The obvious solution would be to marry Rosie—a marriage that would not be logical or platonic or like anything I’d ever imagined.

I know what I’d like to happen in this situation, but it’s not up to me.

Rosie has to decide.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified when she steps away from Wilson and wraps both of her arms around me. “Strangers?” she asks, laughing, her hair tickling my neck. “Oh, no, no. We’re soulmates . We were waiting our entire lives to meet each other, and once we did, we knew there was no point in waiting around. Sometimes it’s like that for people who are really lucky.” She gives them a sympathetic look, as if to say it's obvious they haven’t been equally blessed.

I want to pull her aside and ask her if she means it.

I want to ask if she’s sure.

Because I know this could ruin everything that’s been growing between us…and I still want it. But I need private confirmation that she does, too.

Wilson leans forward and asks, “How did you meet?”

“Well, it went like this…” she says conspiratorially. “I was hired to cater a tea at his house…and what do you know? It was the day Nina here took her leave. My man was upset for a few minutes. Obviously he was upset. I mean, I was upset when I lost my job at Pizza Hut even though it sucked and I always came home smelling like tomato sauce. Sometimes you don’t know what’s good for you. But I held his hand, and I told him that I understood, and he asked if he could buy me a drink.”

Nina’s mouth dropped open somewhere in the middle of her monologue. “That was you ?”

“Yes,” Rosie says, her tone adamant. She slaps a palm over her heart. “And I have to thank you sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for walking out when you did. Fate loves a vacuum, and a guy like this—” She shifts her hand so it’s positioned over my heart, which speeds up. Her fingers curl around as if to cup it. “Well, a guy like this isn’t single very often.” She smiles up at me, mischief turning up the corners of her mouth. “He’s what you’d call a unicorn .”

Wilson gives us a dopey grin. “Oh, is that why—”

“Shut up, Wilson,” Nina snaps.

Rosie continues as if she hadn’t heard either of them. “Why, if I hadn’t stepped in, he probably would have had a line of women out his door by noon the next day. Accountants, masseuses, you name it. But I knew what I wanted and went for it.”

“Who would want an accountant or a masseuse when they could have you?” I ask, smiling down at her.

Her hand flexes against my jacket, and suddenly I’m even more desperate to get out of here. Because I want to talk to her about all of this. I want to touch her. I want her, period.

“You must be very young,” Nina says tightly.

“Oh, it’s my skincare regimen,” Rosie replies, smiling back. “I’ll send you a detailed list. Don’t worry, we’ll get you tightened back up in no time.”

Nina’s mouth opens, then closes. But she decides she’d like to say something unpleasant after all. “Why are you in such a hurry to make things official?”

“Anthony’s trust fund, of course,” Rosie answers with wide eyes. “I thought you knew all about it. I would never stand in the way of him claiming his inheritance.”

“So you are doing it for the money?”

“No, silly,” Rosie says with a smile. “I’m going to sign a prenup, of course. Didn’t you sign a prenup when you were engaged to him?”

Nina glowers at her. “I was going to.”

“ See ,” Rosie says, gesturing to Wilson. “I knew you two would get it. I don’t want Anthony to ever have a single doubt that I’m marrying him for the right reasons. It’s so much better when a person can avoid those awful questions hanging over their heads.”

Nina looks like she’d like to murder Rosie and not even bother to make it look like an accident.

“And, of course, the wedding was already all arranged,” Rosie continues. “Waste not, want not. I only care about being married to this remarkable man. The wedding itself means nothing to me, even if some of the choices you made are…” She pulls a face.

Nina begins, “I didn’t—"

“We should celebrate together,” Wilson says, cutting her off. He seems completely oblivious to the undertow of this conversation, which could easily drown a person. He wraps his arm around Nina, who looks stiff as a signpost.

“Yes,” Rosie says, “I agree . That’s why my future mother-in-law sent you a wedding invitation. She’s the sweetest, most accommodating woman who ever lived. I can’t wait to call her mom.”

I hold back a laugh that makes me sound like my nose is about to explode, and Rosie brushes her fingers over my chest, tickling me.

I bite my lip and squeeze her hip.

This woman could talk her way out of a speeding ticket for someone going eighty in a fifty-five. But that thought brings doubts.

Is this all an act? And if it is, is it for my benefit or Nina’s?

I don’t want to question Rosie, but I’ve been wrong about people so many times. Nina was the last, not the first. And each time, it feels like something within me breaks. My ability to trust myself, or anyone else. But this is no time for a personal crisis.

“How interesting,” Nina says, watching us through narrowed eyes.

“We would like to be friends,” Rosie continues. “After all, if it weren’t for you, we might never have found our way to each other. In fact, if you’d like to get together before the wedding, there is this bar we just love.” She winks at Nina. “And they have women-drink-half-off-Wednesday, Nina. It’s called The Peanut Bar. Ever heard of it?”

She’s asking because she thinks Nina might have made that phone call to the police the other night. But there’s no sign of artifice on Nina’s face when she shakes her head and lifts her chin. “No.”

“You look like you can throw them back. What do you say? Shall we celebrate in an economical way?”

“That sounds fun, doesn’t it, hun?” Wilson says. “Wednesday is…that’s two days after Christmas. We’ll be back from the hog roast at my parents’ cabin by then. We can bring them a couple of leis.”

“Yes,” she says with a frozen smile. “I truly can’t wait.”

“Wonderful,” Rosie tells them, beaming. “Now, you two have a very merry Christmas.” Her smile widens. “I like to hide the mistletoe all around the house and catch my man off-guard.”

“And I’m never sorry for it,” I say, watching her.

“Should we go pretend there’s mistletoe?” she asks, smiling at me, and I’m left wondering where the story she’s painting for them ends and reality begins. I know which version I’d prefer to live in.

“Maybe we can paint some,” I say, referring to our next bucket list date.

“It’s a date.” She lifts up on her toes, her hands perched on my shoulder and kisses my cheek. Then she sashays off toward the car, and it’s an easy decision to follow her. I’m smitten. Confused. And very turned on.

“Anthony,” Nina calls over my shoulder.

I glance back once, feeling whiplash. Because the woman I’m interested in couldn’t be more different from the one who cut me down two months ago.

I almost married Nina.

I almost let my father’s money convince me to do the stupidest thing a man could do—something I’d warn Wilson not to do if I didn’t find him to be equally despicable, and also incapable of listening.

Maybe you should let it go , I hear Emma saying in my mind. Maybe you should let it go…

“Be careful,” Nina says. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I could tell her something ugly. She used me and threw me out, the same way she’ll probably do to Wilson. And the only reason she’s showing any concern for my well-being now is because someone else has expressed interest in me. Because I am, once again, in line to be a millionaire. But I settle for shaking my head and saying, “I’ve tried to be careful, but being careful didn’t work out very well for me.”

Then I walk to my car. I walk to her .