Chapter 20
Hess
“Hi, honey!” my mom says on the other end of the line.
Ever since she found out about my marriage, she’s been calling me every day, checking in.
The phone calls always end the same way, with her giving me some kind of not-so-subtle marital advice.
Normally, I’d get annoyed by Anita Taylor’s invasive phone calls, but since nobody else in my life knows about my marriage, I haven’t minded talking to someone who does. “How are you and Camila doing today?”
Me and Camila?
Is there a me and Camila? Some days, I feel like we’re making progress, getting to know each other, then other days, she avoids me like a public railing in the New York subway.
It’s a very hot and cold marriage.
But I kinda like it.
I like earning her trust in whatever small way I can.
“We’re good,” I answer. “Camila’s been working a lot.”
“She works too much. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Her job is who she is, and she really loves it, so I don’t mind. I have tons of things at the ranch to keep me busy.”
“When are you coming over for steaks?” my dad asks in the background.
“We’re not, Dad.”
“Who doesn’t want a free steak?” he snaps.
“Bart, don’t push them. Camila will come over when she feels ready.”
She may never feel ready.
“Once she tastes my steaks, she’ll want to stay in this family.”
“You put way too much seasoning on your meat. Maybe we’re glad Camila hasn’t come over yet. You’ll scare her off.”
“I season my steaks to perfection!”
My head falls back, and I glance at the ceiling as I listen to my parents bicker.
“Shh, Bart! I’m on the phone.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Hess. Hess? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, Mom. Still here.”
“Good. You just take care of Camila, okay? That’s all that matters.”
“I will.” At least I’m trying to. How do you take care of someone who can’t decide if she likes you or not?
“I told your siblings you got married.” She says it like an afterthought.
“What? Mom!” I groan. “I wanted to tell them so I could explain that this isn’t a real marriage.”
“Don’t worry, I told them everything.”
“I made sure they knew you were not a gigolo,” my dad says from the cheap seats.
“Bart, stop using that word.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom, what did they say? I’m sure they’ll never leave me alone about this.”
“No, they were very happy for you and complimentary. Rhett said, ‘Even Hess can find a wife.’”
“Mom, that’s not a compliment.”
“Sure it is.”
“It’s not, but whatever.”
“If you brought Camila over for steaks, she could meet your brothers and sister.”
“Bart, stop with the steaks!”
“I was just saying—”
“Okay!” I interrupt. “I have to get some work done, so I’m going to hang up now.”
“Hess?” my mom says quickly.
“Yeah?”
“Remember, never go to bed angry. Settle disagreements before they fester.”
And there it is: today’s not-so-subtle marital advice.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll remember.”
I hang up, feeling like I just went five rounds with George Foreman. That’s how exhausting my well-meaning parents can be, but I love them.
Camila
Nothing is more awkward than wrestling with a zipper, arm bent behind me at a ridiculous angle. The dress is perfect for court—if I can actually get into it. I twist, tug, grunt, but the zipper catches halfway up, refusing to budge.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, jumping in place like that’s going to help. Halfway through my bunny hop, I trip on my shoe and fall into the dresser, banging it against the wall.
“You okay in there?” Hess’s voice easily comes through my cracked-open door.
“Yep,” I lie, standing back up.
The door creaks anyway. He steps inside hesitantly, leaning against the frame. His eyes flick once to the half-zipped dress then back to my face.
I turn, scratching my shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
His brow lifts. “The zipper?”
“Yeah, I can do it myself.” I twist again, and the zipper slides a whole inch lower instead of higher. Frustration manifests in a grimace.
“Uh-huh.” He pushes off the frame, slow and deliberate. “Turn around.”
I hesitate, but my arm is already numb from trying. With a huff, I spin, facing the mirror while he comes up behind me.
His fingers graze the small of my back, warm against my skin as he takes hold of the zipper.
He steps close enough that the faintest brush of his breath grazes the back of my neck.
How do I explain to my nervous system that this is a mundane action, definitely not worthy of the butterflies in my stomach?
Blue eyes watch me through the mirror as he slowly slides the zipper upward like it was never stuck at all.
“There,” he murmurs, voice low, almost at my ear.
For a second, neither of us moves or looks away, as if an electrical current flows between our stares.
“You look”—he blows out a breath like staring at me is some kind of wonderful torture—“incredible.”
Those eyes. That softness. The raggedness behind his voice. The way he said incredible. It all changes my brain chemistry, and suddenly, I’m sure no other compliment from a man will ever compare.
“Thanks.” I turn, clutching the front of the dress like armor. “I have a court hearing today. It would’ve been awkward if my dress had been gaping open in the back.”
A smirk tugs at his mouth. “My services are always here. I can zip up or unzip anything you want.”
By the look on his face, I know he means it. “Very funny.”
“You know what else you have today? Marriage counseling.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turn back to the mirror, grabbing my earrings. “I’ll head there straight from court.”
“Is there a plan for today’s appointment?”
“I guess same as last time.”
“I’ll have my notebook ready of all the things I’ve learned about you this past month.”
“Great.” I smile through the mirror, but inside I’m dying.
I’m terrible at emotional stuff.
What if Hess has more to say about me than I do him?
To Abby, it’ll look like he’s the only one trying.
But this is me trying.
Not everyone is built for relationships, even if the Judge encourages them.