Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“With real guests and shit,” he deadpans. “And I have to convince everyone around me that I am madly in love with you and just had to be married this instant?” Rhys shrugs. “That’s it? A shrug?” “I mean, is that so unbelievable?” “Everyone thinks we hate each other, so… yes?” “Why would they think that? I’ve never told anyone that I hate you.” “I mean, it’s obvious.” His head quirks. “Is it? What have I ever done that makes you think I hate you?”

My pink flush turns red. Sell it. I don’t know what that means, and I’m too chickenshit to ask. The thought of Rhys touching me freely sends an unwelcome thrill down my spine. His hands on my skin. His tongue in my mouth. I shake my head.

His attention is almost suffocating. Until… Meow. Rhys’s chin drops slowly, the look in his eye going from reserved to pissed off as his attention lowers. The tabby cat with four white paws and a little white tip on her tail that Milo and I chose from the shelter waltzes into the kitchen like she’s the queen of this house. She weaves herself between Rhys’s legs, bunting along his jeans. I swear she’s purring. “Surprise?” I say, feeling less sure of my payback for the alarm system now that Rhys is marrying me as a favor. “What the fuck is that?” “A cat. Her name is Cleocatra.”

“Why?” Yeah, he’s not seeing the humor in this at all. “You can call her Cleo for short.” “No, Tabitha. I meant, why is there a fucking cat in the house?” I bristle. “Listen, this is still my house. Still my life. If you’re expecting me to be a subservient little wife, then I’ve got news for you, pal. So yeah, if I want a cat, I’ll get one. Just like how if you want an alarm system, you’ll get one.” His jaw goes tight. “I doubt that anyone in their entire life has used the word subservient to describe you.” “Thank you,” I preen.

“I’m allergic.” My eyes roam over him speculatively. “How allergic?” “It’s complicated.” He can’t even look at me. My eyes widen in time with my grin. “You’re not allergic at all, are you? You big fucking drama queen!” That earns me an eye roll and a grumbled, “I hate cats.” “That’s not an allergy. That’s a preference.” “I still hate cats,” he deadpans. I smile sweetly in response. “Whatever. Just don’t let Milo hear you say that. He’s very much in love with Cleocatra.” The rumble in Rhys’s chest should be intimidat...

“Next weekend? A week to plan?” “Sure.” Sure. God, I could barf. The nonchalance of that response sends my stomach plummeting. Guilt and nerves hit hard along with something else. Disappointment. Because, deep down, I wish there were a tiny bit of enthusiasm. I wish there were a spark of… I don’t know. Camaraderie? He doesn’t even want his family present, and it stings.

Rhys: Need to tell Milo in the morning. Tabby: What a romantic good night text from my fiancé. Rhys: I’m serious. Tabby: So am I. Rhys: You bought me a cat. Romance is dead in this house. Tabby: Or maybe you don’t understand my love language? Rhys: Is it pettiness? Tabby: “Pettiness is my love language.” I’d wear that shirt!

“I’m actually getting married,” I say. That strikes the older man silent for a few beats. “Married?” “Yup.” “But when I look up bachelor in the dictionary, your photo is there.” “Ha-ha.” I enunciate the words sarcastically. “I’m not that bad. I just… enjoy my solitude.” “You’re right. Maybe it’s under monk.” I grumble but don’t respond. “Shit. You’re not joking, are you?” “No.”

“Well…” He trails off, and I can hear the rasp of his fingers over his beard. “Congratulations. It’s great you found someone who doesn’t conflict with your solitude, even though it’s fucking me over. I’m happy for you.” Oh. She conflicts all right, but for some confounding reason, it doesn’t bother me at all. That’s what’s new.

“Could you take the honeymoon later? I could schedule you some time off after the next ...

He sighs again. “Spare me the snark, Dupris. I’ll have a set sent to you. Emerald Lake?” “No. I’m in Rose Hill.” “Buttfuck Nowhere. Got it. Text me the address. I couldn’t find that on a map if I tried.”

She starts when the patio door clicks shut behind me, but Milo looks up and gives me such a genuine smile that I can’t help but smile back at him. Then my eyes land on his paper, and my smile sours. He has covered the paper with his most impressive cat drawings. Which is to say that an abundance of deformed cats covers the page. “Lookin’ good, pal.” “Drawing Cleocatra,” he says with a pleased smack of his lips. “She looks…” I glance at Tabitha, who’s already glaring at me as though daring me to insult his cat. “Super cool. Love it.”

Still, there’s something cozy about all of us sitting at the table together. We’ve been ships in the night, doing what we need to do but avoiding each other at all costs. Yet, as I sit here with them, I realize I like the simplicity of it. Even if things aren’t perfect, there’s a sense of closeness that I’ve always craved.

With that thought in mind, Cleocatra leaps up out of nowhere onto my lap. She does this little purr-meow thing that I’m sure some people would find cute. Me? I start and lift my hands like someone just threw anthrax at me. Tabitha’s lips purse, and her head tilts. Another silent threat. “She loves you.” Milo nods, sneaking a peek up at me and looking extremely satisfied about his cat and me forging what he perceives as a friendship. “Pet her. She’s soft.”

My hand moves closer, and the tawny cat bunts against it, a rumble starting instantly in her throat. “Aw, look at that, Milo. How sweet. Rhys loves Cleo too.” Tabitha’s grin is just a little too pleased. My fiancée is pushing her fucking luck with this trick. I glare. She smiles sweetly.

“Like a mom and a dad?” Tabitha sucks in a breath, blinking away quickly, as her hand moves on his back again. I swallow thickly, feeling all too kindred with Milo. “Yeah, kind of like that.” “We be all together?” Tabitha’s eyes catch on mine, and I get lost there for a beat. She’s unreadable, save for the soft nod she gives me. Together with Tabitha. It’s a dangerous sentiment, one that has become increasingly appealing with every moment I spend in her vicinity. “Except when I’m away for work. But I promise you I’ll come back in between.”

Milo, who rolls his lips together thoughtfully, chubby little fingers twirling a crayon. Finally, he turns his wide, deep-blue eyes on me, then on Tabitha. “This makes me so happy.” Then he turns and looks over at the crooked corn plant in the corner. His lips slowly turn up in the softest smile before he delivers the killing blow with his baby voice and fumbled pronunciations. “Erika! Aunty Tabby Cat and Ree are getting married!”

My eyes fill, and my head nods as I watch him go back to drawing like he didn’t just eviscerate me with the simplest sentence in the world. It makes me realize that I’d do anything for him. Even marry a woman who can’t stand me. One who I can’t stop thinking about.

Rhys: What type of flowers do you want for your bouquet? Tabby: Are there any that you’re allergic to? Rhys: Charming. But no. Tabby: Maybe I should just carry Cleocatra down the aisle? I don’t need a bouquet.

In the name of keeping things simple, Rosie is my maid of honor, and Bash is Rhys’s best man. I don’t know how or when, but he and Rhys seem to have hit it off beyond the bowling team. Best man and security system enforcer. Their friendship makes perfect sense and also baffles me.

I nod, my eyes swimming with tears, because I know what he was about to say—I just wish Erika were here. And so do I, though I still feel conflicted about how she’d be reacting. I’m not oblivious to the fact that Rhys’s and my stories don’t match up where my sister is concerned. I just haven’t let myself dig into why. It hurts too badly. Still, the dishonesty of the day sits heavy in my stomach. The deception of it all has kept me up the last few nights, along with the knowledge that my husband-to-be is sleeping down in a dank concrete basement.

He’s never once complained. And yet, it bothers me more than it ever has. At first, I felt as though Rhys belonged down there, but now…now I’m not so sure. Rhys was quiet, agreeable, and steady as a rock as we rushed to plan the wedding. We divided and conquered as though we were a real couple and not solely a business arrangement. I took charge of the food, music, and reception dinner at the bistro, while Rhys handled the ceremony itself and booked the small church just off Main Street. He designed invites, printed them, and handwrote names on the front in the most meticulous cursive.

We’re both mature enough to understand that Milo is at the center of this jumbled mess, and we don’t need to make it any messier. Basically, we’d both do anything for him. Including keeping our hands the hell off each other.

“Rhys told me to tell you he tracked down your favorite flowers.” I quirk a brow at my friend. “Oh he did, did he?” “Yeah. Apparently, Cat Whiskers are not a common bridal choice, and he had to have them shipped in by special order.” I blink. “I’m sorry?” Rosie nods eagerly. “I know. Isn’t that sweet? Leave it to you to love something so obscure.” I look down at the bouquet in my hand and bark out a laugh. Fucking Cat Whiskers. What a man. I’m grinning like a loon and shaking my head in disbelief when Rosie lays a hand on my arm.

Because as much as there’s a part of me that wanted to tell her this whole thing is a sham, I felt like I owed it to Rhys not to. It may be a sham. But it’s our sham. And for better or for worse, we’re in this together.

I casually asked him about inviting some of his friends and family. And in response, I’d gotten a grunt and a “No, that’s fine.” I tried not to take it personally. Told myself that it made sense. After all, we’re selling this to my family. I know we don’t need to overcomplicate it with more people and more lies, but it left me wishing my future husband felt some semblance of pride about me.

But not me. I’m not meant to be fooled by it. Yet here I am, heart pounding in my ears, lungs struggling for air, fucking hearts in my eyes as a woman who tolerates my presence glides down the aisle toward me. It niggles at me that she’s going through with this thinking I betrayed her, but I push my own discomfort aside.

We’ve met once. It was nice, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little suspicious of how easily they’ve accepted the news of our marriage. I know I’m in on the charade and Tabitha doesn’t need my pity, but there’s this part of me that wants to shake them. Tell them to wake up and notice the burden their daughter has taken on, all for the sake of keeping everyone around her happy.

Over the past weeks, it’s become clear that the only person looking out for Tabitha is Tabitha. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to look out for her too.

Then her hand is in mine, and I lead her up the low steps to the dais, where I lean toward her and whisper, “You look incredible.” Because I can’t help myself. And because it’s true.

I wasn’t expecting Doris, who I’m told owns the bar, to be the one marrying us, but Tabitha insisted, and I have a record of sucking at saying no to her. So here I am, getting married by a woman who reeks of cigarettes and looks like she’s worn baby oil in the sun for decades. But apparently she’s a registered officiant, so whatever.

hope he has a huge dick. It makes the dumb shit men do a lot more forgivable.” My face goes blank as I stare back at the woman with no filter. Thank fuck, she’s not wearing a mic. Bash groans behind me, and Rosie covers a snort by slapping her hand over her mouth. Tabitha makes a slight choking sound and thumps a fist on her chest.

No doubt, she’s having second thoughts. I’m positive marrying an emotionally stunted, secretive stranger wasn’t on her bucket list.

“I, Rhys, promise you, Tabitha, to always respect and admire you and to appreciate you for who you are, as well as the person you become.” Her eyes turn glassy. “I promise that your dreams will be our dreams, and that I will do everything I can to make them a reality for both of us.” My voice grows gravelly. That one rings just a little too true considering the real reason we’re both here today. “I promise to be a spectator to your life, a participant in your experiences, and your biggest advocate in every moment. I promise to allow you space to be those things in my life too.” A heavy stone settles in my stomach as those words hang in the air between us. We both know I haven’t been honest or forthcoming with her. And here we are, promising to be.

“I promise to support and encourage you, laugh with you in times of joy, and comfort you in times of sorrow.” Laugh. I don’t know that I’ve ever laughed with Tabitha. And have I comforted her? Doris’s words on marriage slice me like little paper cuts, each one making me feel more guilty than the last. “I promise to cherish and reinforce the love between us in good times and in bad, when life is simple and when it’s complicated—when loving you is easy and when it takes effort.”

So I narrow my eyes at her and brush a thumb over the top of her hand before saying, “I promise to be faithful to you and to place you and our family above all else.” Tabitha sucks in an audible breath through parted lips, eyes skittering over my face as though looking for proof that I’m lying.

With a raspy voice, I carry on, professing things to a woman that I never have before. “I promise to love you completely and unconditionally, today and every day, and to stand at your side always, wherever life takes us together.” The last line is bittersweet on my tongue. Sweet because in so many ways, this could be us. Maybe in another lifetime, those things could be true.

I chose Doris because she was already a licensed officiant, and I thought she’d keep things blunt and to the point. I didn’t expect her to turn into a romance author over our fucking vows.

I clear my throat and peek up at him. He looks so fucking handsome. Chin-length hair slicked back, stubble trimmed tight, shoulders impossibly wide. I suppose at the very minimum, we’re attracted to each other, and that’s not an awful place to start.

Sometimes he makes it really hard to hate him.

“You may now kiss the bride.” My stomach falls again, and sparks shoot through my chest. We haven’t talked about this part of the ceremony. We’re two grown-ass adults—we don’t need to plan out a kiss. It’s just a kiss. I’ve kissed plenty of men, so this will be no different. And despite whatever my body is doing right now, it’s just for show.

There was no tongue, and it didn’t last long, but something about the kiss rattles me in a way I can’t make sense of.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’s as confused by this ceremony as I am. Because yes, I’ve kissed plenty of men. But none of them have felt like that.

This fucking backless dress. That fucking kiss. If it wasn’t for the fact that I know Tabitha’s dress pickings were slim, I’d put money on this being another one of her antics intended to drive me absolutely insane.

Ditching me on a bowling team. Getting a cat I hate. Kissing me like she means it.

Everything is going great for our big fat fake wedding… except I can’t stop resting my hand on my wife’s bare back.

“How interesting. What part specifically?” I feel my heart rate accelerate. I don’t like lying, but I don’t especially like sharing this either. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what I do, I just… My privacy feels like the one part of my life I can control. Something all my own. “He’s a stuntman.” Tabitha bullshits with such ease that I do a double take. “A what?” Her mom looks confused. “You’ve probably seen him jumping off a building in a movie or something.” Tabitha waves a hand casually. “They always call him when Jason Momoa is too scared to do a scene.”

Her lips twitch. “Just supporting my husband the best way I know how. I mean, I could have said porn star.” I grumble and turn my head to give her my most menacing look. “No, I know. That’s gotten old. Touring male stripper was on the tip of my tongue, but if that got back to Doris, she’d be booking you for ladies’ night at the Reach.”

Then I watch her perfectly painted lips—the ones I can’t stop thinking about—as she asks, “What’s wrong, husband? You look like you can’t decide whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

I stay looking out over the room full of people, hand down my wife’s dress, doing my best to appear casual as I respond. “Kill you or fuck you, Tabby?” My voice drops lower. “Oh, I’ve decided.”