The Art of Marrying Your Enemy (The Richmond Brothers #2)

10. Aaron

10

AARON

I didn’t need an alarm to wake up.

At five a.m., my feet hit the floor. I was halfway through my morning routine when I remembered…

I was married.

Silently cursing our ancestors who had written this ridiculous marriage contract, I watched her sleep.

In my bed.

My bride.

My nemesis.

The author of all my—well, not pain and disillusionment, Daisy was just a coffee-cart girl, after all—but at least aggravation.

Her shoulders were slightly sunburnt under the white straps of the lacy lingerie. One strap had fallen off her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her full round breast.

Like I knew she would be, Daisy was sprawled out diagonally on my bed, her feet on my side, one arm above her head, her lips parted, sun-bleached blond hair messy and snarled over her face. She murmured against the makeup-smeared pillow, the white sheets tangled around her curvy legs.

I reached out, almost touched her, almost traced the tattoos on her hip with the tips of my fingers, almost ran my hand down the curve of her back to the swell of her ass under that mound of lace.

A feline hiss sounded from the dark tangle of blankets.

This was truly a low point in my life, I decided as I pulled on my workout clothes.

Aside from being locked in that cellar—which I tried my damnedest to pretend had happened to someone else, some other boy named Aaron, not me—the worst thing that ever happened to me was Daisy with her mess and her barbed comments, leaving crumbs and cat hair in my bed.

“I am definitely burning that mattress on day thirty-two,” I decided as I began my workout. “Burning it right in my front yard.”

The sun was out when I finished my run. I slipped inside before the light became too bright. I liked the sun, had marveled the first time I’d seen it, but sometimes it was too much.

Like Daisy.

Some commotion was going on in the foyer.

I could barely even open the door because of the boxes in the way.

“—do you mean he’s not here?” I heard an elderly woman complain loudly from the formal sitting room. “You two are newlyweds. I know your grandfather and I didn’t sleep at all the night he put that ring on my finger.”

“Gran, gross. No.”

I felt a scowl set over my face.

I don’t care what she thinks of me.

“Let me know when you get your credit card from him, at least.” That was Reese. “You should get something out of this arranged marriage, since Alex is getting her dream wedding and boob implants.”

“I’m not a gold digger.” I didn’t have to see Daisy to know her jaw was set stubbornly.

“You’re his prisoner. Make that money!”

The women jumped when I slammed the door open.

“Your guests need to leave.”

“I’m allowed to have guests,” Daisy flung at me.

“On Sunday, visiting hours are limited,” I replied coolly.

Daisy glared.

“Quite the prison I’m running here, isn’t it?” I added snidely.

Daisy shot me a slightly guilty look then hugged her grandmother and friend goodbye.

“Get your shit out of my foyer,” I ordered her when we were alone.

She struggled with a nearby box.

“Don’t even ask,” I warned. “I’m not carrying your stuff upstairs for you.”

I left her there to struggle and went to my bedroom to grab a change of clothes.

The contract stated that the bridegroom and bride must share the master bedroom. I was worried that moving my things to a different room would constitute the new room becoming the master room. However, showering somewhere else shouldn’t void the contract.

The whole bedroom was trashed.

She’d eaten breakfast up there, and crumbs were everywhere. A coffee cup was leaving a ring on a magazine. A blueberry squashed under my bare foot. I knelt to scrape the berry off the rug then noticed the bag of chips spilled under the bed. She’d opened it like a raccoon.

I almost just left all the trash there. But then I couldn’t have the cleaning lady think I’d made this mess.

“Spoiled fucking princess.”

Daisy huffed up and down the stairs with her boxes.

“Sir?” the butler asked in concern. “I have coffee for you in your study, along with the rest of the wedding jewelry that was returned to Mrs. Richmond.”

“Who? Oh, right. Thank you.”

Jared hesitated for a beat.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Richmond is—” There was a crash, followed by cursing. “It’s just that this is a very old house, sir…”

“Fine. Help her with her stuff. Just keep her out of my way.”

“Yes, sir.”

I paced around the guest bedroom where I’d showered, waiting for Daisy and her shit to be out of my way.

Then I took the stairs two at a time and unlocked my study. I slipped in right as I heard her talking at the top of her lungs to one of the footmen about their cats and if they should set up a cat playdate and how precious Dorian loved the salmon paté, but it did really upset his stomach, although it could have been the pasta he’d eaten off her plate, and don’t worry about the mess in the bedroom because she was very sorry and was going to clean it.

“She’s fucking unhinged.”

I sat down at my desk and opened the files Bill had sent over from Coleman Mining. The sooner I got this toxic company off my books, the better.

But I couldn’t concentrate.

Daisy was in my fucking house.

I stood up, unlocked a cabinet, then punched in a code to the safe and pulled a wooden box out of it.

After checking to make sure the door to my study was locked, I opened the box and was met with the fetid smell of the cellar.

Hopelessness and rot.

A mildew-stained, handmade stuffed rabbit in a Ziploc bag. Paper dolls carefully cut from newspapers with plastic children’s scissors. A pencil with a little carving of a sun and moon Grayson had given me for my birthday, four months before he’d blown my father’s plans and freed us. Also in the box was a spiral-bound copy of the hundreds of pages of FBI transcripts from interviews with my mother and the other young women my father had kidnapped after they’d been freed. There were photos of the cellar, of their injuries, of my brothers and me. We hadn’t had to talk to the detectives. Maybe if we had, I’d have known about Grayson’s plan, the real reason why he’d pretended to betray me, and I wouldn’t hate him like I did now.

I tried not to indulge this, these forays into the past. Self-flagellation didn’t pay bills.

I slammed the wooden lid down.

It was because of Daisy, though. She thought she was a prisoner here.

She had no idea what that even meant.

There was one more thing in the safe. I’d kept it wrapped in plastic so it wouldn’t be contaminated by the box.

A single Polaroid, glued to a handmade card.

Happy Birthday, Aaron! Love Daisy

She’d given it to me a week before she’d decided that she hated me after all, when I realized that I would have to run forever from my father’s curse, that if I stopped for a minute and paused to catch my breath, it would drown me.

Daisy was looking over her shoulder, framed against the blue of the sea and sky—a blue halter-top bikini, the words “Hot Gurl Summer” written in sparkling pink gel pen on her left shoulder. Her brown eyes squinted against the sun. Beach-blonde hair in a messy French braid, bangs in her eyes, freckles on her nose, staring right at the camera.

She was a summer dream.

I wanted to hold her and protect her like a delicate butterfly from the horrible world.

Fourteen-year-old me was unhealthily obsessed with Daisy Coleman.

Fourteen-year-old me was a fucking lovesick idiot.

Having the real thing in my house, in my bed?

Was a fucking nightmare.