Chapter 9
RAPHAEL
What the fuck was I doing?
Before I could think, I got up and followed her into the kitchen.
I didn’t plan to say it. The words arrived fully formed.
Marry me. Even now, as I stare at her back in the kitchen, I don’t fully understand the mechanics of it.
I just know the way she grips the edge of the counter because she is in pain makes me want to rip my own heart out.
I only understood the outcome I required. She needed insurance. She needed stability.
She needed to stop walking on an injured knee right now. It was as if the pain rang through my own head as I watched her hobble over to the sink.
I needed it corrected. That was all.
Her fury had startled me. She surprised me, and people these days rarely surprise me. ‘You get injured, you call a specialist.’ She had not raised her voice. She had merely stated a fact. And I had no rebuttal. She was absolutely correct.
I knew this was the state of things. I even knew it was wrong.
Yet somehow, I thought I’d been doing enough.
I donated to the campaigns of politicians who promised to fix things but never did.
I donated large amounts monthly to a local women’s shelter and the ACLU.
I thought I was doing enough. It wasn’t until I saw it right in front of me that I realized it wasn’t close to enough.
She turned abruptly, favoring her left leg despite her efforts to mask it. “I have to get back to work,” she said.
“You will not return to the basement today.”
She ignored that. She moved toward the hallway.
“Belle, please. Rest. I’ll pay you all the same. I just need you to stop moving. Now!”
She turned back to me.
“I can not have you injuring yourself further.”
“Is that what this is about? You’re worried I’m going to hurt myself here and try and pin the whole thing on you, and what, sue you or something?”
“I’m sure your lawyers are no match for mine.”
I’m not sure why I said that, but the instant glare she gives me warms my heart. Why does it do that? I just can’t get enough of her.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Belle, I know you wouldn’t do that, but I do think that you would push yourself because you are too noble to ask for help.”
That stopped her. The fire left her, and her gaze drifted to the floor. I didn’t care for that, but maybe it would allow her to finally hear me.
“Your solution to this problem can’t be marriage,” she said with disbelief still in her eyes.
I turn to her and cock my head, studying her. “Would you allow me to pay your medical bills?”
“Absolutely not!” She glared at me with her hands on her hips. “I am not your charity case!”
“That’s what I figured.”
Why did I find her glare even more attractive than her smile?
That was not the problem before us. That one I couldn’t solve.
“Marry me.”
She looked up at me with those deep brown eyes I could get lost in. Her mouth opened, but closed again before any sound left it.
“We’ll work out the details. If you won’t take the money from me, let the insurance company pay for it.”
She still stood there silent. Her glare had softened, leaving only a deep, concerned V between her eyebrows.
“Think of it as a business transaction. You need medical attention, and I have the means to give it to you.”
Finally, she said, “And what do you get out of it?”
“I get to keep a housekeeper who doesn’t irritate me.”
A small smile threatened the corner of her mouth before she pushed it away.
“You don’t even like me.”
“That is inaccurate.”
She blinked. “What? But you’re—”
“Also, that isn't the point,” I continued. “You’re injured. You lack insurance. You reside in a vehicle.”
The moment the word landed. Vehicle. She flinched.
“How did you know that?” she asked
“I saw your van, and I had questions. When I looked in your file—.”
“My file?! You went through my file,” she said as her eyes tightened.
“I requested it.”
“Why?” Her eyebrows knit close together as she crossed her arms over her chest. I would not look down at what that action did to her breasts. This was not about that. This was not about how enticing I found this woman.
“Due diligence.”
“That’s not due diligence. That’s overstepping.”
She was right. I knew she was right, but that was neither here nor there. She was injured and living in her van. There wasn’t a cell in my body that could tolerate that.
“You have no listed residence,” was all I said.
Her chin lifted. “I have an address.”
“A P.O. Box.”
Silence. The truth hung between us.
“You cannot continue living in that van while injured,” I said.
The fire in her eyes flickered. Not extinguished, but shaken nonetheless. I wanted that fire back almost as much as I wanted her healed.
“I have been managing,” she said.
“Have you?” I replied. “Or have you been surviving?”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Belle, this is not pity,” I said immediately. It wasn’t about pity at all. How could I explain that the thought of her struggle made me want to claw my own eyes out?
“Then what is it?”
I searched for a word that would not sound pathetic. I couldn’t give voice to the feelings I didn’t even know how to handle.
“Business,” I said finally.
She almost laughed at that. “Marriage is your efficient solution.”
“Yes.”
She stared at me. “You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
“I just met you.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I’m going to what—move in? Wear a ring? Smile for Christmas cards?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed as she examined me. I may not be clear on why I was so set this was the only way, but my mind was made up.
“This would be contractual,” I said. “Defined. Limited. You would retain autonomy.”
“And in exchange?”
“You receive insurance coverage. Immediate access to specialists. Physical therapy, if required. Housing while you recover.”
“You want me to live here?” she said, her jaw dropping open.
“You cannot sleep in a van with an injured knee.”
All the air seemed to leave her at once. Her shoulders dipped slightly, just for a second.
“You certainly have thought of everything.”
I stepped closer. My hand itched to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. My arms ached to pull her close. But that is not what I was offering. I was offering safety and stability. That was all.
“I just want to help.”
She looked up at me. Eyes bright. “You don’t even know me,” she said.
“I know enough.”
“Which is?”
“You work beyond necessity. You accept additional hours without negotiation. You play a full-contact sport without insurance. You refuse assistance even when offered. You are currently in pain and pretending otherwise.”
Silence. Her breathing was steady but shallow.
“You need stability,” I said.
“And you need what?” she asked.
The question stopped me. I did not have a clean answer. Control, perhaps. Or maybe just her. Her proximity. Her safety.
“Order,” I said instead.
She studied my face like she was searching for a fracture.
“You can’t fix everything with money,” she said.
“I am not attempting to fix everything.”
“Just me.”
“No,” I said immediately. The denial felt urgent. “I’m attempting to prevent further injury. And keep the only housekeeper I’ve tolerated in recent memory.”
She let out a slow breath.
“You really think this is logical.”
“Yes.”
I knew it wasn’t, but I seemed to be doing a good job of convincing us both.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“That is possible.”
Silence settled again. This one was less volatile and more weighted.
“I won’t pressure you,” I said finally. “Consider it.”
Her eyes flicked up.
“I’m not deciding anything right now.”
“Of course not.”
“You just asked me to marry you.”
I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to herself or seeking clarity, so I just said, “Yes.”
She stared at me for another long moment. “You’re the strangest man I have ever met.”
“I am aware.”
She shook her head slowly. “This is insane.”
“It is practical.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
“They can be.”
She turned and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re serious?” she said without looking back.
“Yes.”A beat. “Think about it,” I added. “In the meantime, rest. I don’t want you to injure yourself further.”
She didn’t respond.
I returned to my study and closed the door. For approximately twelve seconds, I considered not informing anyone. Then I pressed the intercom.
“Geoffrey. Chandler. My office.”
Two minutes later, they stood across from my desk. Chandler leaned against the credenza. Geoffrey remained upright, hands folded neatly.
“You requested us,” Geoffrey said.
“Yes. I have proposed marriage to Ms. Blythe.”
Silence.
Chandler blinked once.
Geoffrey did not blink at all.
“I’m sorry,” Chandler said carefully. “You’ve done what?”
“I have proposed marriage.”
“To Belle . . . I mean, Ms Blythe?” Geoffrey clarified.
“Yes.”
Chandler pushed off the credenza. “I was gone for four hours.”
“It is not romantic,” I said.
“What other reason is there to get married?” Chandler replied.
Geoffrey’s voice was calm. “May I, as well, inquire as to the rationale, sir?”
“She is injured,” I said. “Significantly enough to impair mobility.”
“We observed the limp,” Geoffrey said.
“She lacks insurance.”
That landed. Chandler’s expression shifted first. “She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“She plays that roller derby without insurance?” Chandler asked.
“Yes,” I said, trying to bite back the growl that nearly accompanied the word. “She also resides in her van.”
Geoffrey’s jaw tightened subtly. “You have confirmed this.”
“Yes.”
Chandler ran a hand over his mouth. “And your solution is marriage.”
“Yes.”
“For the insurance plan?” Chandler asked carefully.
“Yes.”
I didn’t like the smile that was playing at the corner of Chandler’s mouth.
“Enough. I don’t need the judgment from you two. I just need you to get the paperwork.”
Silence stretched. Geoffrey spoke first. “With respect, sir . . . this is unconventional.”
“It is efficient.”
“It is legally binding,” Chandler countered.
“I am aware,” I glared at him