Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ANTHONY

I drum my fingers against the wheel as I drive to Smith House, feeling the silence settle between Rosie and me—uncomfortable this time.

As if she can feel the anxiety thrumming inside of me, pressing against my skin, she lowers a hand onto my thigh again, her heat easing into me. It shouldn’t help, but it does. Her presence always has an effect on me.

I give her a sidelong glance and catch her watching me.

“What’d Nina say?” I repeat for what must be the third time, unable to help myself.

“She still thinks she’s going to marry you,” Rosie says, which makes me laugh.

Nina took three of my mother’s expensive necklaces and walked out on me without any sign of remorse.

“I don’t think so,” I finally say as I pull off the highway and take the turn toward Smith House.

“But she literally told me,” Rosie says as she turns in her seat for a better look at me. “She was trying to get me to swap dudes with her.”

I almost hit the Honda Civic in front of me and then bear down on the brake so hard Rosie is jostled against her belt.

“Shit, sorry,” I say, going slower, my heart pounding hard. Because honestly, what the fuck?

Nina walked out on me.

She slept with my friend while we were engaged .

She hasn’t given my mother’s necklaces back. Just like she hasn’t returned the engagement ring I bought for her.

Where does she get off thinking I’d marry her now?

Unless…

I swallow, my mouth dry and completely deficient of the taste of strawberries. “Do you think she’s the one…”

“I don’t think she’s the one who set up the website,” Rosie says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t put it past her, but she seemed genuinely surprised when I told her about it.”

“You told her?” I didn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory, but at the same time…

It was reckless, yet I know Rosie to be a reckless person. Most of the time, it’s part of her charm.

“I did,” she says, “but not about the countdown website. I just asked if she was the one threatening your mother.”

Leave it to her to come right out and ask. I wish I’d been there to see it instead of tethered to Wilson and his aching balls.

Rosie tips her head slightly, studying the wrought iron gate of Smith House as we approach it. “Still, I don’t think we can rule her out. She obviously doesn’t want you to get married, and one of her friends could have seen us at the bar on ladies’ night. She could have made that call to the police. I mean…she’s a sociopath. It wouldn’t surprise me if she can fake being surprised.”

I nod, but a bolt of worry pierces me. I don’t like that Nina and Wilson know Rosie is important to me. Even if they’re not the ones who set up that website or made the call, they could tell someone, and if we’re being watched…

The guard at the gate gives me a nod and lets us in. My mother left on some unspecified shopping trip earlier today, so we can avoid the inquisition for a while longer.

“I don’t like thinking about you and Joy being alone in that apartment,” I say. “I’m going to hire a guard to keep watch.”

She gives me an unimpressed look as I park the car. “You’re going to hire a bodyguard for Joy and me the day before Christmas Eve?”

“Motivated criminals don’t care about the holidays. I’ll tip him well.”

“If Nina and Wilson are behind this, we’re in the clear. I’m quite certain they’ll be busy at their pig roast.”

“I’m not going to let you be in danger.”

Her eyebrows wing up and she pulls her hand from my leg, leaving it cold. “Anthony Rosings Smith, let’s get one thing straight. No one lets me do anything.”

“No shit,” I say, rubbing my temple. My head’s starting to ache again—a headache dancing at the edges. I feel anger welling inside of me, wanting to spill out like bile or poison. “But you didn’t give me a choice about spending half of the morning with two people I hate. I figure I should get some kind of a say in keeping you and your friend safe.” I swallow and take a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out, something Emma taught me years ago. “I care about you being safe,” I add, my voice losing its harsh edge. “If something happened to you because of me…”

I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence or the thought.

Something has shifted on Rosie’s face, and she takes my hand and squeezes it. “I can convince her to go over to my brother’s place for a couple of days. Christmas is coming up anyway, and Joy’s basically a Christmas elf. They’ll be overjoyed to have us. But I don’t want a bodyguard. And If some weird dude starts following me around without my permission, I’m going to pepper spray him, so don’t pull the guy thing where you say you’re not going to do it, but you do it anyway.”

“What if it’s a woman?” I ask, quirking my brow.

“I’d pepper spray her too, but I’d feel worse about it.”

I smile at her. “That’s sexist. You said your brother’s a big guy?”

“Huge,” she says, her lips tipping up. “Speaking of which…are you going to ask my brothers’ permission to fake-marry me?”

There’s a confusing ache in my chest, a cataclysmic crush of emotions. “So you’ll really do it? You’ll marry me next weekend?”

She watches me for a second, something flickering through her gaze, then nods. “I’m not going to be the reason you don’t get that money, Anthony, but I think you should use it for your dream, not someone else’s.”

I think of the other night, of floating through the halls of the warehouse and seeing it as something different. As The Ware.

I think of my father, falling from that tree. Of watching him go down. Of knowing he never would have climbed up if not for me…

I glance away. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You won’t be happy if you let them tear that warehouse down,” she says, her eyes beating into me. She wraps her hand around my shoulder, her thumb rubbing. “You’ll always regret it.”

“Probably,” I say, lifting my hand to hers even though I can’t bring myself to look back yet. The doubt from earlier drifts away, because I can tell she’s being earnest. She cares about my happiness. “I can add it to my pile of regrets.”

“If you let it get too high, it’ll bury you.”

I glance back and find her still watching me. My angel. She’s a woman who deserves more than to be anchored to me and my problems. But I have to marry someone next weekend, and selfishly, I want it to be her. I need it to be. Whatever it ends up meaning.

I swallow and say glibly, “What about your brothers? Are they going to bury me?”

“The drive from New York is long enough that Seamus would cool down by the time he gets here. Declan might try, but I have pepper spray, and I’m not afraid to use it. Even on friends and family.”

“So you’d avenge me, bunny?” I ask, mimicking Wilson’s voice.

She laughs and shifts her hand so her palm is curled around the back of my neck, the sensation spooling outward as if I’m turning into gold. “Yes.”

I undo my belt, then shift to face her in the seat, feeling like I’m caught between the past and future, stuck like a bug trapped in amber. I want her to help draw me out, and I also don’t, because there’s a chance she’ll get caught too. And if I’m responsible for changing her, for drying up her joy, I don’t think I would be able to live with myself.

I reach over and unbuckle her belt, my hand glancing off her hip. I remember the feel of it under my fingers—the dizzying joy of twirling her through the air as if we were kids. The worries I carry are still there—they’ll always be there, lurking in the background. But they’re no longer in the foreground, because I trust this woman. I believe that she genuinely cares about me, and I genuinely care about her too. This thing growing between us feels magical and real, and there’s a chance it will be beautiful and transformative for both of us. Hope beats through me.

Taking her other hand, I say, “It may be a fake marriage at first, but I want it to be a real relationship. I want to try this with you.”

Her lips part, close, and then part again. “What if it doesn’t work out, but you’re stuck with me, and you still have to introduce me to everyone as your wife?”

“That would be hard,” I admit. “But not trying would be harder. Being around you and knowing it was fake, and that marrying you was the way I’d lost you, I couldn’t do it.”

She watches me for a long moment, and uncertainty has me in its grip.

“You’re right,” she finally says.

Grinning, happiness tapping an unfamiliar beat inside of me, I lean forward and kiss her. She kisses me back hard, her fingers twining into the back of my hair. Her lips are soft against mine, her taste still strawberry sweet.

I want her to become part of the fabric of who I am. I want her to be woven into me, and me into her.

She told me she was hungry, though, and I won’t let that stand.

I start to pull away, but she tugs me back with my hair, making me laugh into her mouth. She sucks on my lower lip, her face soft against mine, before she lets me pull back.

“You said you were starving,” I say, tracing her lips, suddenly very conscious of the stoic guard sitting by the gate.

“ I am ,” she agrees, her eyes sparkling. And from the way she says it, I know her hunger is the same as mine.

And in that moment, I have to wonder if I’m going to survive Rosie James—being with her. Losing her.

I doubt it. So I’ll have to make a pretty damn good play to keep her.