One Night Bride by Marika Ray
13
Remington
“Good evening, sir. Do you need the jet?” Wayne’s voice was as polite as a 17th-century English butler.
I cupped my hand over the cell phone as I hid in the closet of the guest bedroom and whispered. “I know you’re a pilot, but is there any way you can drive my truck down to me in Auburn Hill?”
There was a pause. “Pardon me for asking, but why are you whispering, sir?”
I tried to turn around, but my shoulders couldn’t quite fit and I hit a hanger that swung wildly and nearly clubbed me in the eye. Jesus. The things I’d do for my fake wife.
“There’s a houseful of women I’m hiding from,” I answered as I tried to untangle myself from a particularly clingy sweater that blocked my exit. The closet had been a bad idea, but I’d overheard the first client arriving downstairs and I’d panicked that my phone call would be too loud.
Another pause before he answered. “Interesting. Would Wednesday be acceptable?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Great. Wayne probably thought I was into something bizarre when it was just a bunch of gossiping townsfolk I was trying to avoid.
“Wednesday would be great. Thank you, Wayne.” I hit the end button on my phone and the screen went dark.
I took a step to exit the closet, but my foot hit something on the floor I couldn’t see and I went flying forward. My forehead hit the door right before my chest, swinging the door open with a force that had it slamming against the wall. Of course, then I had nothing to break my fall, and the carpet loomed. I was no stranger to charging wild animals, so my natural instincts kicked in. Tucking and rolling, I finally got out of the closet in a spectacular manner that even impressed me. I’m sure the door hitting the wall like that wasn’t making Esme happy, but I’d never sequestered myself to a room and tried to stay hidden. I was doing the best I could.
I tossed my phone on the bed and had a seat in the chair she’d given me so I could work all day on my laptop. The website was coming along nicely, and if I could get that final investor on board next week, I could officially open for business.
“What I’d like you all to do is close your eyes and think about what your heart desires for your life. What would your life look like if all your dreams came true?”
I could hear Esme’s muffled voice coming from downstairs. They must be getting into the session already. Hopping up, I pressed my ear to the door so I could hear them better. It wasn’t eavesdropping per se, I just wanted to see how Esme coached.
“I’d have a man in every sea cave in Auburn Hill!”
“That annoying Detective Yosemite would be fired and ran out of town.”
“My goats would roam free every single day.”
“I’d have this baby and my vajayjay would still be tight as a drum.”
“Ladies! Just keep your dreams to yourself for right now,” came Esme’s voice, a thick thread of annoyance clear in her tone. “When we’ve become crystal clear on what our hearts truly want, we’ll share with the group. For now, let’s get in alignment and just let yourself dream without judgement.”
I was grinning ear to ear by now, thinking maybe Esme needed to teach these women to dream a little bigger. Weren’t they supposed to want world peace or some shit?
“I can’t think of a damn thing I want that I don’t already have.”
“Okay. That happens sometimes,” came Esme’s patient voice. “What I like to do in those situations is think about past dreams or goals of mine that have come true. Remembering what it was like to stretch for something and then have it manifest. That rush of energy knowing you created something in your life. Deep dive into that feeling of energy and see if you can touch base with new dreams.”
“Like when I wished with all my heart for a job I loved and then Lucy hired me and now I get to play with sperm all day!”
I jammed my fist against my mouth to keep from laughing. What the hell? This was far more entertainment than I’d had in years.
“I kind of wish for a whole box of muzzles right now.”
Pretty sure that was Esme’s sister Oakley. Apparently, she didn’t like sharing dreams out loud.
“I have a box of those back at the Hardware Store. You can borrow them, if you want.”
“That’s really quite nice of you, Lenora, but Oakley won’t need those. She needs to learn to share her feelings. Why don’t we unpack that, Oakley?” Esme answered quickly.
I made a mental note to ask about the Hardware Store. My ear was starting to hurt from pressing it so hard against the damn door. Moving in slow motion, I reached for the door handle and turned. It didn’t make a sound, and I took that as a sign to continue. Inch by inch, I cracked the door open, the voices instantly easier to hear. I slid down to the carpet and had a seat in the open doorway.
“I don’t have any feelings to share,” Oakley said petulantly.
“I bet you do. We all do. Feelings are neither good nor bad, they just are. How about you tell us one feeling you have right now?” Esme wouldn’t let Oakley off the hook.
Oakley pushed out a big breath and then said, “Okay, fine. I’m feeling like I want to go home and eat ice cream.”
“And why would ice cream bring you joy?”
“Uh…because it’s got sugar in it? And sugar makes me happy?”
Esme tsked. “No, I think you want to go home and eat ice cream because then you won’t have to engage with all of us here. You’re avoiding. The ice cream is just a buffer. Something that feels safe to you.”
“Wow, Oakley. That’s so rude. How come you don’t want to chat with us?” That was definitely Vee’s voice.
“I didn’t say that!” Oakley’s voice was rising. “I just love ice cream because it’s one hundred percent guaranteed to not suck!”
Vee gasped.
“So, what you’re saying is that people aren’t dependable, so you’d prefer to surround yourself with inanimate objects you can count on,” Esme said in a firm voice. “We’ll circle back to that in a bit.”
A voice I didn’t recognize piped up. “You can have my ice cream, Oakley, and I’ll take all the people. Preferably the men. In the sea cave. Naked.”
The women all started talking at once.
A laugh bubbled up my chest and burst out of my mouth before I could swallow it back. The talking below cut off and I froze.
Shit. Had they heard me?
“Esme Waldo. Are you hiding someone upstairs?” came the same voice that wanted all the men in the sea caves.
I shot to my feet and raced back into the bedroom, my brain scrambling for a solution as my gaze darted around. I couldn’t just keep hiding out up here. They heard me. They knew I was up here. I saw a shiny handbag of Esme’s in the closet where the door was open, a black handkerchief tied around the straps. An idea hit me like a lightning bolt. It was a bad idea, but it was all I had.
I stripped out of my T-shirt, changed my pants to a pair of black slacks I’d packed in case I needed to fly off and meet with that investor while I was still in Auburn Hill. I ripped the handkerchief off the handbag and tied it around my neck. With a quick look in the mirror to confirm that I did in fact look like I should be in some Vegas show with strippers, I made to leave the guest room. Showtime, baby.
Sauntering down the steps like I had every right to be there, I stopped at the bottom of the staircase as every single woman in the room looked my way. Esme’s living room had been transformed with furniture pushed out of the way and pillows covering the floor that they all sat on. Holy fuck, there were like twenty women all staring at me. Including Esme’s sisters.
“My apologies,” I said smoothly, running a hand across my bare chest, really getting into the act which surprised the shit out of me. Maybe I should have done theater in school. “Esme kept me as the surprise, but I gave myself away.” I turned to Esme. “Time for me to pass around the snack trays?”
Her mouth had dropped open as she stared at me in horror.
“Oh, hell yes. This little retreat just got a thousand times better!”
A woman in her late sixties with bright pink hair stood up and gyrated her hips with surprising ease. She was the one who’d wanted the men in the sea cave. I’d have to watch out for that one in case she got handsy.
A little old lady with a cat in her lap hooted and hollered. Vee and another girl her age clapped their hands and squealed. Oakley looked at me agape, while Amelia tossed her head back and laughed so loudly I worried for the baby.
Another woman in her late fifties got up to fist-bump Esme, saying, “I didn’t realize you were so progressive, Esme.”
All the while, I moved across the room, heading for the kitchen where I knew Esme had trays of food ready for after the coaching session. I’d tried to pilfer a sandwich off the tray earlier today, and she’d nearly bitten my head off. I hoisted one tray above my head and got to work, working the room. I got a lot of smiles and wandering eyes. I’d never felt so good about my muscular physique.
Esme tried to play my presence off like it was planned, but I could see the way I’d knocked her off her game. Her forced smile stayed plastered on her face, and her eyes glazed over.
A hand came into my peripheral vision, going for my ass and distracting me from gauging how mad Esme would be. Cat quick, I swooped out of the way without spilling the food tray. The pink-haired lady gave me a smarmy grin as she snatched her hand back, and I knew she’d keep trying. When I offered the tray to Oakley, she whispered out of the side of her mouth, “You’re so dead.”
She wasn’t wrong. Esme was going to be almost nuclear once this thing was over. In my defense, there wasn’t a whole lot I could have done to salvage the situation once I laughed out loud, and they’d heard me. However, I was the one wearing next to nothing and dodging ass grabs. All so our secret marriage could stay a secret and Esme could keep her business. She could at least thank me for my sacrifice before she ripped my ass a new one.
Everyone munched on their sandwiches while I headed over to Esme, still looking shell-shocked over by the big-screen television on the wall. Despite that, I did notice that her gaze hadn’t left me the entire time I’d circulated the room. Me thinks my wifey liked looking at me.
“Sandwich, Esme?” I asked coolly.
“I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,” she said through clenched teeth. Her lips were grinning in a grimacey sort of way, but her eyes looked a little scary.
“You’re welcome,” I said pointedly, sashaying away before she could dig her claws into my skin like I knew she wanted to.
“Is anyone up for dessert?” I shouted to the group of ladies.
Their enthusiastic cheers kept going the whole time I served the mini fruit cups. Probably because I’d also found a can of whipped cream in Esme’s refrigerator. Apparently, they all really liked it when I put the can down by my junk and sprayed whipped cream in their mouths.
If the ranching thing or the nonprofit thing didn’t work out, I now had a backup calling. Who knew I’d be such a hit as a stripper-slash-caterer?