Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
THEO
“Is the rejection still stinging?” Rupert asks as I adjust my shirt and shrug on my suit jacket.
“No.”
Although, I will say, I don’t think anyone has ever said no to a date with me before, so that was something new. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I handled it with grace even though the person who turned me down looked like she was trying to make my head combust with one blink from her eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I feel confident about this new approach.”
I flash my teeth in the mirror, making sure everything is clear.
It’s been a long-arse day. I haven’t had a real meal, I’m jet-lagged, and I have the threat of Neil’s daughter looming over me, nagging me, telling me that if I don’t make this happen, then I’m going to have to deal with her.
Throughout the day we have also been checking the Fiancé-er app to see if any new interest has come in, and they’ve all been less than stellar. So after seeing Renley and her impressive attitude at that Threads store, I knew what my plan of attack should be.
Woo her and wear her down.
“From what Theresa said, she’s never seen our girl with anyone, which means she’s never really been properly courted.
She has no idea what it’s like. Therefore, that’s going to be my approach.
I’m going to court her, and by the end of the summer, she’s going to be so infatuated with me that she’ll propose to me. ”
Rupert lets out a hefty laugh. “I have a better chance snagging Prince William as my husband than you have of Renley proposing to you.”
I adjust my cuffs. “I’ll hold you to those odds.”
I move toward the front door, but Rupert stops me before I can leave. “Wait, so explain how proposing to her again is the right approach?”
“Because she’s going to say no, especially if I do a shit job of it, which is what is going to occur.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Which will then in return provide an opening, showing her that this isn’t over. That we aren’t leaving, and I’m determined to make this happen.”
“And then that’s when the wooing starts?”
“Precisely.”
“And what if she says she doesn’t want to be wooed?”
“That’s something I’ll deal with when I get to it, but right now, she needs the warning.”
“And the warning is…”
“Christ, Rupert. Pay attention. When she says no to my proposal, which we know that she will, then I give her the warning that I’m not going anywhere.”
“Right. And what happens if she says yes to the proposal?”
“What do you mean what happens? That would be a success.”
“Yeah, but would you actually marry her?”
“I mean…sure, anything to avoid Neil’s daughter.” I tug on the lapels of my jacket and say, “One last check: how do I look?”
“Like someone who’s about to get turned down.”
“Thanks.”
I exit the house and jog over to her lawn.
Thanks to our super sleuthing, I know she’ll be returning soon.
She went for another walk. We’ll have to watch her patterns, but it seems like she takes two walks a day.
If that’s the case, I can possibly do the same thing, maybe slip in as her walking partner.
“Oh, she’s coming,” my lookout says. Then he tosses me the wooden ring box that I picked up while I was in town.
Thankfully no questions were asked. I checked out the diamond rings, purchased one, and went on with my life.
Now, if it was Theresa selling it to me, that would have been a completely different story.
I know people like her; they spread news around like it’s freaking water.
I spot Renley approaching so I get into position, plaster on a smile, and say, “Now remember, I’m butchering this, so help a guy out.”
“I got you.”
Preparing for that classic glare of hers, I steel myself as she gets closer and looks up. When her eyes fall on me, irritation crosses her features as I get down on one knee.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice angry and tired at the same time.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, attempting to let my eyes shine in the setting sun.
“It looks like you’re proposing.”
Perceptive. I like that about her. “That would be correct.” Okay, here goes nothing. “Riley—”
Her expression falls flat, while Rupert jumps in right on cue. “It’s Renley. Her name is Renley.”
Acting shocked, I say, “Oh shit, you’re right.” Plastering on that charming smile again, I try another time. “Pardon me. Renley Henrietta—”
“My middle name is not Henrietta.”
Didn’t think so, but this is all for effect.
“It’s not?”
“No. It’s not.”
“What is it?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s Lynn.”
“Lynn?” I test the name out on my tongue, mulling it over. “Are you sure? Because Lynn doesn’t sound right.”
“I’m positive. It’s Lynn.”
“Well then, my mistake.” Clearing my throat, I continue, hoping she doesn’t just shoot her leg forward right into my dick out of frustration. “Renley Lynn Gosling, will you do me the honor—”
“Gossage.”
I hold back my laugh as I contort my expression into confusion, because I know exactly what I’m doing. “Huh?”
“My last name is Gossage.”
I stand from my bent-knee position and look her dead in the eyes. “Now you’re fucking with me. It said on your profile that your last name is Gosling. Like Ryan Gosling.”
“No, it didn’t. It said Gossage, like Goose Gossage.”
“Who the hell is Goose Gossage?” That feels like a made-up name.
“This is very romantic,” Rupert says off to the side, adding in just the right amount of tension that I knew I could count on him for.
Ignoring him, she says, “Richard Michael Gossage, also known as Goose, was a pitcher for the Yankees.”
“Oh.” I dismissively shake my head. “I don’t do sports, sweetheart.”
Her eyes trail down my body. “Yeah, I could tell from the leather tassel on your loafer.”
Going in for a low blow, okay. Don’t blame her. I’ve irritated her all day, but…to go for the tassel? Come on now. “These are Berlutis.”
“That means nothing to me.”
Yes, well, it apparently matters to a future lord.
God, I loathe myself.
“Obviously. I could tell from the paint stains on your threadbare overalls.”
Now, I’m unsure why I said that. I like a good sparring session—makes you feel alive, you know? But not sure talking about her overalls is going to gain me any ground with getting her to accept my hand.
“Not the way to win her over,” Rupert mutters from the side of his mouth.
“You’re right.” I take that moment to collect myself, and when I’m ready, I get back down on one knee.
Carefully, I open the ring box back up, showing off the diamond I picked for her, and start, “Renley…uh—”
“Lynn,” Rupert assists.
That’s my boy.
“Yes, that’s right. Renley Lynn Gossage.” I pause for a second to see if there are any objections, and when there are none, I continue. “Will you do me the greatest honor of my life and be my wife?”
“Nice rhyme,” Rupert says.
“Thanks, mate.” I turn my attention back to Renley, waiting to see what she’s going to say, even though I have a solid guess what it will be.
Because there’s a pinch in her brow that is, dare I say, bordering on a scowl.
Her arms are crossed.
There’s no smile.
No elation.
No heart-beating moment where she’s so overjoyed that she can’t possibly say yes fast enough.
Nope, there’s disdain, irritation…frustration.
I’ve known her for a day, and I can’t think of a solid moment within the past twelve hours where she was actually happy to see me.
And sure, that might sting a little, since I came here looking to meet my bride—as insane as that sounds—but what she doesn’t know just yet is how determined I actually am.
And how much I’m willing to do to stay as far away from Neil’s daughter as possible.
“So?” I nudge. “Will you be my wife?”
“Absolutely…”—my breath catches in my throat. Holy shit—“not.”
Well, isn’t that fucking rich?
I stand back up and snap the lid to the ring box shut, annoyance billowing inside me. For a second there, and I mean a minor second, I actually thought I might have worn her down.
Her delivery was rude.
“Why did you have to say it like that? With the pause? That was spiteful. I thought you were saying yes for a moment.”
Arms still crossed, she says, “I told you I didn’t want to marry you from the beginning.”
Yes, but I clearly chose to ignore that.
“That’s not what your profile said.”
“Stop bringing up the profile.”
“Why would I stop bringing it up when that’s the reason I flew across the Atlantic Ocean to be here with you?”
“That was your choice, not mine.”
“Uh, it was your choice, when you selected ‘match.’”
Unsure why I’m arguing with her—once again, not making great decisions—but this is what a desperate man looks like. Take note: minimal sweat on the upper lip, fingers slightly curled into a fist, and a hint of a jaw clench.
“That’s not what I thought I was matching for, and you know it,” she says, hands on her hips now.
Well, I knew this was coming. I prepared for it, so on to plan B.
Tossing the ring box to Rupert, who catches it with one hand, I shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it to him as well. When I start to undo the buttons to my dress shirt, I catch the astonishment crossing Renley’s features.
“What on earth are you doing? If you think getting naked will convince me to marry you, then you have no idea what kind of woman I am.”
I scoff loudly enough for the entire town to hear me. “I have a lot more respect for myself than to flash you the goods to get you to marry me. It’s a fucking heat box in this town and I dressed up for you. I’m not going to stay dressed up if you’re going to turn me down.”
Now, I’d like to take a moment, because to be honest, what I just said is not true.
Of course I’m taking the shirt off to flash her the goods.
I know what kind of physique I have. I know that it’s a bonus in the “you should marry me” column.
Not that we should focus on physical appearance or anything, but it’s all part of the plan. Trust me on this.
I shed my dress shirt and then exhale loudly before flopping back on the grass of her front yard.
From there, I observe her, observing me.
Her eyes linger on my chest, my arms, my stomach…possibly my lap—can’t be too sure, that might be wishful thinking on my end. Either way, she’s checking me out. She’s soaking in her man, trying to commit my body to memory.
Just for the hell of it, I place my hands behind my head and relish the beating sun.
Her eyes remain fixed on me, growing hungrier by the second.
Putting on a show, I say, “Rupert, I’m going to need a lemonade instead of tea this afternoon.”
“Uh…I’m unaware of when I became a butler?”
Rupert, bow to your lord!
Not really, just kidding. But seriously…go with it, mate.
“Mate, my fiancée just turned down my marriage proposal. I’m hurting. Lemonade is my only cure.”
“Oh my God,” she says with a giant eye roll, snapping out of her body-observing stupor. “Can you wallow somewhere else? Your limbs are creeping over onto my neighbor’s lawn and I don’t want them thinking that I have strange, half-naked British men just lazing about my yard.”
Oh…she doesn’t know. How could she not? Does she think I’ve just been creeping outside her house?
I mean, I sort of have been, but not the entire day.
Feeling like I’m about to break her brain, I say, “Don’t worry, they won’t be mad.”
“Pretty sure they will be.”
“No, they won’t.” Going in for the blow. She’s not going to be happy, that’s for damn sure. “I’m renting their place for the summer. I’m your new neighbor, love.”
All the color drains from those pretty pink cheeks of hers. Just to really dig in deep, I add, “And this fiancé is not quite finished with you yet.”
Her head shakes in disbelief.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Oh boy, she used a swear word. I’m assuming that means she’s bordering on angry now. The reason I say “bordering” is that she said “hell.” Now, if she said “fuck”…I would batten down the hatches and bear down, because I’d fear I could be murdered.
Hell is just a warning word.
Therefore, I continue forward with the plan, cautiously. “It means by the end of the summer, mark my words, you’ll be wearing my ring. I’m incredibly persuasive.” I wiggle my eyebrows for effect.
Rupert leans in and says, “He is. He once convinced me to run a half-marathon in my mum’s best Sunday dress…and heels.”
The blisters he had—they still haunt me in my dreams.
Staying beautifully defiant, she says, “Dream all you want, but it’s not going to happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, unlike you, I have actual work to do.”
She underestimates the workload I have in front of me. Hello, lady, I have to convince you to marry me by the end of the summer. This is heavier than a full-time job.
This is an all-out battle.
She starts to walk away, so I test out a new nickname for her as I say, “Gossy, the British are coming and you have no idea what’s about to hit you.”
Ehh, the British are coming? I mean, not my best material, but I’m working on very minimal sleep here.
She glances over her shoulder as she walks away. “You’re delusional.”
When she walks into her house, Rupert turns to me and says, “Are you really going to want lemonade instead of tea?”
I stand from the grass, brush myself off, and say, “What am I, a barbarian? Fuck no, let’s get the tea brewing. We have some planning to do.”