Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DARIO
The workshop attached to the east side of my cabin has always been my sanctuary. A place where wood becomes art under my hands, where the world narrows to grain patterns and precise measurements. Today, though, the usual peace eludes me.
I run my palm over the walnut slab I've been shaping for a client's dining table, feeling the smooth surface beneath calloused fingers. Normally, this would center me. Today, all I can think about is the woman currently occupying my guest bedroom.
My wife.
The word sits strange in my mind, foreign and uncomfortable.
Judith Mars Wallace has been in my house for exactly eighteen hours, and already my carefully ordered existence feels tilted on its axis.
Dinner last night was a stilted affair of polite conversation and careful distance.
She'd appeared precisely at seven, as promised, dressed in slim black pants and a deep blue sweater that made her brown skin glow in the firelight.
Her natural curls were pulled back in a loose knot that exposed the elegant curve of her neck.
I'd cooked steaks, simple and straightforward. She'd complimented the food with genuine appreciation but maintained that polished city-girl reserve. Every movement measured, every word considered. A woman accustomed to boardrooms and business negotiations.
A woman entirely out of place on my mountain.
The table saw whines as I guide the walnut through, focusing on the precise cut to distract myself from thoughts of my temporary wife.
It doesn't work. My mind keeps returning to the slight widening of her eyes when she'd asked about internet access and I'd explained the limitations of satellite service during storms.
"The connection's intermittent in bad weather," I'd told her over dinner. "Sometimes goes out completely."
"For how long?" The first crack in her composure.
"Depends on the storm. Could be hours. Could be days."
She'd recovered quickly, but not before I caught the flash of panic. "I see. And you didn't think to mention this before bringing me up here?"
"It's in the contract. Section four, paragraph three." I'd watched her over the rim of my whiskey glass. "The section you initialed about 'accepting the limitations of mountain living.'"
Her perfect lips had pressed together briefly. "I assumed that meant chopping wood and heating water, not professional isolation."
"Bad assumption."
The memory of her narrowed eyes brings an unwelcome smile to my face now. The woman doesn't back down easily. I respect that, even as it complicates things.
I set down my tools, dusting sawdust from my hands. The morning has slipped away, and I've made less progress than usual. Unacceptable. I need to regain my focus, reestablish my routine despite the disruption of having Judith in my space.
Through the workshop window, I notice the snow starting to fall more heavily. The forecast had warned about a major system moving in, but it seems to be arriving earlier than predicted. I should finish up here and make sure we're prepared.
I store my tools, each returning to its designated spot. The walnut table will have to wait. I double-check that everything is secure before heading toward the connecting door that leads directly into the main house.
The aroma of fresh coffee hits me immediately, followed by something else. Cinnamon? I follow the scent to the kitchen, stopping short at the entrance.
Judith stands at the counter, her back to me, swaying slightly to music playing softly from her phone.
She's shed the polished facade from yesterday, dressed now in faded jeans and a soft gray hoodie.
Her hair falls free in a riot of natural curls that bounce with her movements as she arranges something on a baking sheet.
For a moment, I just watch her, struck by the incongruity of this elegant woman making herself at home in my kitchen. The domestic scene sends an unexpected surge of possessiveness through me that I immediately suppress.
She turns, finally sensing my presence, and jumps slightly. "Jesus! Make some noise when you sneak up on people."
"It's my house," I remind her, moving past her to the coffee pot. "I don't sneak."
"You move like a predator." She steps aside to give me space, but the kitchen isn't large enough to avoid brushing against her. The brief contact is electric.
"What are you making?" I nod toward the baking sheet.
"Cinnamon rolls." She gestures to the neat rows of dough. "I stress bake."
"And what are you stressed about, wife?" I can't resist testing the word, watching her reaction.
She doesn't disappoint. Her spine straightens almost imperceptibly, shoulders squaring. "Being trapped on a mountain with unreliable internet and a stranger I just married might qualify as stress-inducing, husband."
I pour coffee into a mug, allowing myself a small smile. "Fair point."
"Also, I checked my email before the connection drops." She takes a breath, hesitating before adding, "My ex's father has filed paperwork contesting our marriage."
I turn to face her fully. "Ex? You never mentioned an ex was involved in this arrangement."
She looks surprised. "I didn't? I thought..." She frowns. "I guess I didn't explain, did I? I was so focused on the contract terms."
"No, you didn't explain." I lean against the counter, studying her with new interest. "So there's an ex and legal trouble. That's why you needed a quick marriage."
Judith sighs, pushing a stray curl from her forehead with a flour-dusted hand. "It's complicated."
"We're snowed in together for the foreseeable future. I've got time."
She gives me a measuring look, then nods slowly. "Marc Alexander the Third. Heir to the Alexander Media empire and a gambling addict with daddy's money to burn. My former fiancé."
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
"I discovered he was embezzling from our joint business account to cover gambling debts.
When I confronted him and threatened to expose him to his father, things got ugly.
" She focuses on her baking, not meeting my eyes.
"I signed a prenuptial agreement with a morality clause.
If I broke the engagement for any reason besides his infidelity, I'd owe a million-dollar penalty. "
"Let me guess. There's a loophole if you marry someone else."
"Exactly." Now she does look up, something like relief in her eyes. "The contract becomes void if either party marries someone else before our scheduled wedding date. December 27th."
"So you need to stay married until then."
"Yes." She turns back to her baking. "I'm sorry I didn't explain before. It seemed... personal."
"It is personal." I take a sip of coffee. "But since I'm now legally entangled in your personal problems, I should probably know what I'm getting into."
"They've filed initial paperwork claiming our marriage is fraudulent." Her voice is carefully controlled. "Which technically it is, but they can't prove it if we're careful. My lawyer is handling it, but we might need to provide some evidence that we're actually living together."
"Like what?"
"Photos, joint accounts, the usual." She slides the tray into the oven. "Nothing excessive, just enough to make it look legitimate."
I consider this new complication. "Is this Alexander guy dangerous, or just vindictive?"
"Just vindictive. And powerful. His father owns three of the largest public relations firms in the country." She sets the timer. "He's threatening to make sure I never work in my field again."
The matter-of-fact way she says it, without self-pity or dramatics, makes something protective stir in my chest. A feeling I immediately suppress.
"They won't prove anything." I finish my coffee, setting down the mug with finality. "We have a legal marriage certificate, we're living together, and I've owned this property for years. It's legitimate on paper."
Relief softens her features. "Thank you. I know this is just business for you, but—"
"It is just business." I cut her off, needing to reinforce that boundary for both our sakes. "But I honor my contracts. All of them."
She nods once, professional mask slipping back into place. "The storm's getting worse, isn't it?" She nods toward the window where snow now falls in thick curtains.
"Weather service says it could be the biggest system of the season so far. We need to prepare." I rinse my mug in the sink. "I need to check the generator and bring in more firewood. These storms can knock out power for days."
"I can help." She rolls up the sleeves of her hoodie, revealing slender forearms. "I'm stronger than I look."
"That's not necessary."
Her eyes narrow. "I'm not going to sit around like a useless princess while you do all the work. I may be a city girl, but I'm not helpless."
The flash of fire in her eyes sparks something in me, a desire to see just how far that spirit extends. "Fine. You can stack the wood I bring in. But you stay on the porch. The snow's getting too deep for those fancy boots of yours."
She looks down at her footwear, which, while casual, are clearly not designed for heavy snow. "Point taken. But I'm not going to be a burden, Dario. That's not part of our deal."
"Noted." I head for the coat rack by the door. "The rolls smell good."
A small smile curves her lips. "Thanks. Maybe I'll let you have one if you're nice."
"I'm never nice," I say, the words coming out rougher than intended. "But I am fair."
"I'll take fair over nice any day." She holds my gaze and something in her words reroutes blood from my brain.
Outside, the cold air clears my head as I trudge through accumulating snow to the woodshed. The physical exertion of loading my arms with split logs helps ground me, distracting from thoughts of Judith's smile and the complications her ex brings to our already complex situation.