Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“Fuck,” she mutters, teeth strumming her bottom lip as she glances away. “Yep. That’s the one.” My fingers hook under the side of her underwear and give a teasing tug that makes her breath hitch. I maintain the pressure, twisting the fabric and watching her tongue dart over her bottom lip hungrily. Should we be playing this game in a room full of wedding guests? We shouldn’t be playing this game at all.

“Friendly reminder that this marriage is fake,” she mutters, focusing just a little too hard on the table where our friends sit. “Nothing fake about how wet you are right now.”

“Poor husband.” She pouts dramatically. “Obsessed with a pussy he’ll never get.” I smirk and arch a brow at her. “Is that so?” She nods and smiles like the Cheshire cat as her thigh slips between mine.

“It’s okay.” She pushes onto tippy-toes and presses a kiss just beside my mouth. A fucking tease. “I promise to give you privacy while you consummate this marriage with your hand later tonight.” With that, she turns and saunters away. And I’m left standing alone at my own wedding reception with a raging hard-on and a brain full of thoughts about my wife that I swear weren’t there mere days ago.

“Sore feet?” Rhys’s deep timbre startles me. “Jesus Christ. You’re like a massive ninja sneaking up behind me. It makes no sense.”

He’s about to respond when a cheerful prow prow prow noise draws our attention. And there’s Cleocatra, gunning for Rhys like he’s her best friend. She presses her forehead against his slacks, her tail curling around his calf as she rubs herself against him like a stripper on a pole. I giggle. “She loves you.” “The feeling is not mutual,” he grumps, standing frozen as he stares down at her.

I roll my eyes. Disliking Cleocatra is impossible. Rhys is just… I blink as I look back at my husband. Rhys has a way of shutting everyone out. I’m not sure what it is, but something about the moment makes me wonder if the man I married even knows how to let someone love him.

He’s not overt in the ways he shows his affection. It’s all sullen acts of service or restrained thumb strokes to show support. And if I think too hard on it, it makes me sad. So, in an effort to escape the big, overwhelming man that I know little about, I pad through the foyer and into the living room.

“Yeah. He’s awesome. We played with Cleo, and he introduced me to Erika, which was cool.” I snort. Only Cora wouldn’t be put off by a plant named after a kid’s dead mom. Rosie calls her little storm cloud, and I can see why. “Perfect,” I mumble.

It’s watching him move that has me tilting my head. It’s the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides, the thumbs swiping over his index finger. It’s the way he walks that has my breath freezing in my lungs. The raw power he exudes, the way he holds himself like a king, commanding the thousands of people in that arena to acknowledge him, follow him. It’s the detailed black tattoos that swirl on his right arm that give him away. Heat suffuses my body. I may barely know the man, and I may have never watched wrestling before, but I identify him instantly. Recognition pounds me, and all the bits and pieces of him come together. Hours at the gym. Weeks away. The bruises. God. It all makes so much sense.

The camera shows Wild Side giving the injured man from before a hand up and leading him out of the ring as he steps over a body he left behind. The fans are feral. There are men, women, children, people of every age and ethnicity. There are signs that read everything from WILD SIDE IS BACK to WILD SIDE, I’LL HAVE YOUR BABIES! and the frantic announcing only adds to the feeling of pandemonium. It’s honestly a perfect match for what’s going on inside my head right now. Chaos, confusion, amusement. They all war together with a heavy serving of red wine as I walk Cora back out to Ford’s SUV and bid them good night. Then I walk back into my house to face Wild Side.

His head inclines in my direction, but he doesn’t turn. “Can I talk to you in the living room?” His body stills, but this time, he looks at me. And it makes me suck in a breath as though I’ve been sucker punched. The harsh lines of his face, that pronounced brow. He does look like he could kill me or fuck me. And with a face like his, I’d say thank you either way. Thank you, sir. Will you please twist my panties and whisper something dirty in my ear one last time before I go?

I pause it and draw nearer to him. And then I scrutinize the shape of Rhys’s lips. His hand so gentle on the crystal stem of his wineglass. The way his waist tapers in from impossibly broad shoulders. “That’s you.” His dark eyes bore into mine, and his Adam’s apple bobs heavily. “You don’t leave for weeks at a time to fuck people. You leave for weeks at a time to fuck people up.” His tongue pops into the side of his cheek, and that seals the deal for me. It’s him. “Tabitha…” My lips curve up. “Am I Mrs. Wild Side?” Rhys rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is that?” I step closer again, landing a firm poke in the middle of his hard chest as I come toe-to-toe. “You’re looking down? What is that?” He sighs, and his tan cheeks flare a similar shade to his wine. “I don’t usually tell people about this.” “Why? It’s fucking cool. So much cooler than being a stunt double.” His nose wrinkles, and when he finally meets my eyes, he looks… “Are you embarrassed?” A rough laugh fills the air between us. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I love my job, but people always get so weird about it, so I just don’t talk about it.”

Okay, I’m not Rhys’s biggest fan, but I’m stuck with him for better or for worse, and that has me feeling a little territorial. At this moment, I decide that I am the only person allowed to mock him. “Most things on TV are fake.” One side of his mouth hitches up at that. “The other thing that happens is that people ask for money in a roundabout way. With my background, it’s just been… less complicated to fly under the radar. Keep the anonymity. I’ve learned to enjoy my solitude.” At that, I pale.

Money. I knew he had it. But not like this. “Oh god.” “What?” “We didn’t sign a prenup. You have stuff. I have… a restaurant.” His smile is grim as he offers me one terse nod. “I know. I would never, though.”

This big, brutal man who holds Milo with such gentleness, who turned his successful life upside down in ways I didn’t comprehend until now. A man I barely know has put it all on the line to keep my nephew with me.

We don’t address the enormity of what he’s done, and I’m struck by the realization that Rhys is not who I thought he was, in more ways than one. It’s not just his job; it’s the type of human he is. His soul—it’s a good one. And I don’t want to be another leech. I can’t promise him that I won’t crack some jokes about this, but… I lift my pinky finger between us as I stare back at him. “I pinky promise that no matter what happens, I will never take anything that’s yours.”

I wake up a married man. Sleeping alone in an unfinished basement with a hand wrapped around my dick and the memory of slipping my fingers down my wife’s dress playing on an infinite loop in my mind.

I decide to pour myself a mug of steaming caffeine and join her. But not before I’m almost tripped by the goddamn cat. Prow, prow, prow. She makes that little noise with each step as she comes prancing toward me and practically launches herself at my legs like she’s excited to see me. She doesn’t even care that the feeling isn’t mutual.

She follows me outside, and I don’t stop her. Tabitha turns. “Rhys! Don’t let Cleo out!” “Why?” “She could run away.” “That’s the dream,” I mumble.

Alas, what I get is a cat that has no intention of running away. Because the minute I sit down, fucking Cleocatra, the perpetually happy feline, lands in my lap. She makes one agile turn before settling, her front paws pressing gently against my sweats, one after the other.

“Is that going to be okay for your allergies?” The way she says allergies is pure mockery. Okay, I lied about the allergy. Pets just make me nervous. Getting attached makes me nervous. “Whatever.” “Come ooon. Is she purring? What kind of monster would you have to be to not like that at least a little bit?” I sip my coffee and look away, doing my best to appear unaffected. Because it is nice. “It’s fine.” “Wild Side’s thoughts on pussy—it’s fine.” My lips twitch. Tabitha is in fine form this morning. I slice her a withering glare, and she laughs. “I prefer you when you’re being hostile,” is my only reply. “I’m too tired to be hostile today. You get giddy instead.”

I shrug. “No excuses.” Her eyes widen, almost comically, but I figure, what’s the point in beating around the bush? I meant what I said last night, and given the opportunity, I’d put my hands down Tabitha Garrison’s dress over and over again.

When I decided to give her someone to blame for her sister’s death, I didn’t expect to end up here. Married to her and feeling like this.

I search for tones of mockery in her voice, but they don’t come. She’s not laughing at me. But she stayed up all night watching WPW. I just… Now her head joggles. “And it’s kind of addictive.” Tabitha enjoying wrestling was not on my bingo card.

“You know who fuckin’ sucks?” Before I can guess, she continues. “Million Dollar Bill. I can’t believe that guy has your belt. What an absolute tool.” I blink, dumbfounded. “Tabitha.”

She tips her nose up with a light sniffle, as though too proud to look embarrassed by having taken a deep dive into my job. “What? It’s true. Brass knuckles? If that clown sends you back bruised again, I’ll beat his ass myself.” I bark out an unexpected l...

“Well, I’m not joking. Watching you lose was infuriating. I’d like to speak to the writers about where the hell they’re taking your storyline. I have notes.” I laugh again and, fuck it feels good. Not just to laugh, but to share. It’s a strange sensation, having someone on your team. It’s causes an unfamiliar tingling in my chest. “Great, I’ll let them know my wife would like to speak to them. They’ll love that.”

“Good.” Then she waves a pointed finger over me. “And don’t start smiling like that too much.” I didn’t even realize I was smiling. “Why not?” “Because there are fans flapping posters around in the audience asking you to father their children. Women around the world will combust if you hit them with that.” “Wow, one day of marriage and the rules are already coming out in full force. Sorry, I can only smile at my wife,” I joke.

“Like not where people we know would think that…” “Think what?” Tabitha sighs, tugging the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “I’m not stupid.” Her voice comes out more hushed now. “I don’t expect you to act like we’re married when you’re away. But if we can keep up appearances in and around town, I’d appreciate it.” Realization dawns on me. “I’m not gonna do that to you.” I get a scoff and an eye roll.

“Tabby, I’m not the kind of guy who fucks around. So you can make up all the rules you want, but I’ll be following my own. And that rule is that there won’t be anyone else while I’m wearing this ring.” She sucks in a breath and swallows.

Things have been friendly but awkward after Rhys told me he planned to be faithful, even though our marriage is fake.

But when his deep timbre responds to my nephew with “Are we doing another one about the prince named Milo?” I know the buffer is fucking useless. This man is too much for me.

It’s nap o’clock, and Rhys must realize it too because he quickly adds, “Why don’t you lie back and listen? We can look at the clouds.” I glance up at the perfectly blue sky, complete with big fluffy clouds floating on a leisurely course. When I look back over, I blink away the sting in my eyes as I watch my nephew curl up in the crook of the big man’s arm without hesitation. It makes me wonder if they’ve done this together before.

Though it’s not lost on me that if Erika were here, I wouldn’t be. I’d be an interloper. My stomach plummets when I realize it. And then guilt lashes for enjoying this moment at all—a moment that should have been hers. Maybe she wouldn’t like this? Maybe it’s just me who loves this? My quiet spot on the quiet side of the mountain. With Milo. And, well, my husband.

I wonder the same things I do when Milo watches Paw Patrol. How the hell does a child own and operate an excavator, and where the fuck are his parents?

He doesn’t stop, even when his eyes meet mine. I nod in Milo’s direction and hold a palm up to my cheek, miming sleep. Rhys stops talking and lifts his head to peer down at the little boy. And it’s the way he smiles at him—the way his eyes soften—that makes my heart skip a beat.

Then his arm moves. He lifts it over my head, accidentally bumping me, so I elevate my head and shift, trying to give him space to stretch his arm out. And in the awkward jumble, I somehow end up with my head resting on his bicep. Wordlessly, he pulls me closer. And I let him. Neither of us addresses the intimacy of me using his bicep as a pillow. Instead, he just carries on in a quiet voice, like nothing is out of the ordinary about this at all.

“Let’s be real. She’d be Queen Tabby, who rules the kitchen with an iron fist.” I press my lips together. “And King Rhys, who dresses up in spandex and⁠—” “I don’t wear spandex.” “You should. Those little manties can be part of your new branding.” “Trunks, Tabitha. They call them trunks.” I sigh dramatically. “Weak. That just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

And then I blurt out the thing that has been weighing on me ever since I found out what he does for a living yesterda...

“It feels a little bit like I did. You just seemed like such an asshole. And I just… I love him so much, you know? I couldn’t lose him too. But once I’m—I don’t know—in a better place, he could go to Florida with y⁠—” “No.” My eyes widen. “No?” “He belongs here. With you.” I wrinkle my nose to stem the stinging in my eyes. “But what about you? It seems like he belongs with you too.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m thirty-five. I’ve come to terms with it.” “Thirty-five?” “I feel like you just added old jokes to your plan of attack. Did you not read the marriage license?” Clearly not. Fuck my life. I must seem like a colossal idiot to this man. “I think I blacked out.” I palm my forehead. My throat is thick with emotion. But my brain? My brain is fogged with embarrassment. I’ve been toeing the line of flirting with a man who is only here for Milo. He flies back and forth for Milo. He married me for Milo.

My hand slips down over my eyes as I take a few deep breaths. “Tabitha. Relax. You’re twenty-eight. I’m not that much older.” “That’s not why I’m hiding.” His fingers wrap around my wrist and pull my hand away from my face. “You’re not hiding. Even if you can’t see me, I can still see you.” Amusement laces his typically menacing tone as he pulls my hand to his chest, leaving it covered with his own.

“No, but you seriously have to hate me. You’re like Saint Rhys and all I’ve done is⁠—” “Take care of your nephew? Go to bat for him? Fight for him with a level of ferocity that makes me wish I’d had someone like you on my team when I was a child?” All the air leaves my lungs with a choked oomph.

I want to know so much more about Rhys Dupris. Snuggler of toddlers, master storyteller, professional panty twister, and WPW superstar.

It’s with those images in my head that I promise myself to never let Rhys go hungry again. “I’m glad you told me. Milo is lucky to have you in his life.”

With one hand still holding him, I point up to the sky. “That cloud looks like Cleocatra.” Rhys groans, but I detect humor in the sound. “And if you squint, that one looks like you petting her.” “Weird. Because I would never pet her.” I snort. Liar. “Plus, that strip of cloud is way too long to be my arm. It looks all stretched out.” “You’re right. Maybe that’s Terence petting Cleocatra.”

“If that guy pets my cat, I’ll tie a knot in his scrawny arm to match the one in his neck.” I grin. “Did you just say your cat?” Now I get an eye roll and a small head shake. “Whatever.” “Are you jealous?” I tease. “No.”

He doesn’t look at me when the next words leave his lips, but they still send my stomach flipping again all the same. “But now you know I could tie a knot in his neck, and if he talks to you like that again, I will.”