Chapter Two
ELLIE
One month later
This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had. That honor previously went to the time I dyed my hair pink right before I got my senior pictures. But this? This is worse. And I’m going to do it anyway.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine.” People marry perfect strangers every day. Men they’ve only messaged with a few times. I shake my hands out and rub my damp palms on my dress. Becoming a mail-order bride is insane, but I didn’t have much choice.
“What’s that, miss?” Amir, the Uber driver, asks as we chug our way up the mountain road in his older model SUV. His tanned hands are white where he grips the wheel, and he keeps glancing out the side window where the sun is sinking beneath the tree line.
It’s beautiful here. I love how tall the trees are, and the feeling of being surrounded by nature. Pink and orange tint the sky, and I bet if we were in just the right spot, we could see the sun setting over the mountains. I don’t think we’ve passed another car for miles.
“Talking to myself. Are we almost there?” From the backseat, I squint at the little red location dot on the dash’s GPS map, trying to make out where we are.
“Allah, I hope so.”He grips the wheel harder and glares at the sun like it’s offending him.
“What?”
“Soon, Miss.”
Soon? I haven’t figured out what to say! I can’t just knock on his door and say, “Hi! I’m your wife” and wheel my suitcase in for forever. It’s the first time I’m meeting him. That impression matters. I have to start with something good.
Is Anson here? No, I’m not in ninth grade.
Special delivery! One mail-order bride. He’d deny receipt and close the door in my face. It has to be sophisticated. Adult. More like “Hi, I’m Ellie. We’re going to be great together.” Warm and friendly. I was known for that at the flower shop where I worked.
It’s what got me into this mess. Maybe if I hadn’t been so nice, Grant wouldn’t have taken an interest in me and turned my life upside down.
I had planned to open a floral shop with my best friend, Melanie, in the next year or two.
We’ve been saving for over a year. She wants to order the plants and flowers, even grow some of her own varieties, while I love designing the arrangements and seeing people light up when they get them.
All that’s on hold now, thanks to me. To this.
I pull my phone from my pocket, planning to text her, when I find a text from my mother instead.
Ellie, where are you? You’re late for your dress fitting. Call me.
She’ll lose it when she finds out I’ve left Denver, escaping their plans for me.
Their plans. Not mine. Once they learned tech-millionaire Grant Chamberlain was interested in me, what I wanted no longer mattered.
I went on one date with him. One. That’s all it took for him to act like I belonged to him and for my family to pressure me to see him again.
For my mother to start conspiring with him.
She hired a freaking wedding planner completely ignoring my protests.
My father says I’m being selfish and unreasonable, that I should be thinking of my family and what Mr. Chamberlain can do for us .
He meant them .
If I’d stayed, they would have strong-armed me into marrying a man who doesn’t take no for an answer. He constantly ordered flowers just so I could deliver them to his house or showed up at work unannounced and expected me to drop everything to spend time with him.
No one listened to me when I told them he scared me a little.
That his touch lingered even after I tried to break contact, or that he got angry—really angry—when I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.
And then he went straight to my mother to start the wedding plans, like my consent wasn’t necessary.
Becoming a mail-order bride is risky. I know that. But marrying anyone else has to be better, right?
There’s one bar of signal on my phone, with a second flickering hopefully beside it. I glance at my nervous driver, then type out a quick text to Melanie.
If you don’t hear from me again, it’s because my Uber driver drove off a cliff, or my husband-to-be is an ax murderer. Love you!
I can almost hear her groan when she reads it, and pain stabs my heart. I miss her already. Hopefully, things will work out with my mountain man. Melanie doesn’t have a close family anymore, so she can move anywhere. Maybe we can both be happy in White Falls.
The SUV hits a large pothole in the road, jolting me out of my thoughts. Amir curses. He leans forward and pushes his foot down on the gas pedal, rocketing us up the incline.
I grab the handle over the window and hang on, praying he doesn’t lose control at this speed. I haven’t seen a big drop-off, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. “Everything okay?” I’d like to live to meet my husband.
“Fine,” he says through clenched teeth.
Shadows fall across the road as the sun sinks lower. I swear he mutters, “Never again.”
I’m about to ask him why he’s acting like a lunatic when he stomps on the brake and turns the wheel, whipping the vehicle around onto a gravel drive I didn’t see at our breakneck speed.
“Hey!”
“We’re here!” Amir says, bringing the car to a stop so quickly, I’m thrown forward against the seatbelt. He’s out of the car and at the trunk before I can untangle myself and open the door.
“What is going on?” I demand, grabbing my carry-on bag from the back seat.
Amir shoves my suitcase at me and sprints for the driver’s side. “I have to get down the mountain before the sun sets. Thank you for hiring Uber!” He fishtails out of the drive in a spray of gravel, the glow of red taillights the only sign he’d ever been there.
He acted as if bears were going to jump out and attack his car if the sun went down. Crazy.
Gathering my luggage, I face the cabin that I’m about to call home.
At least until I see if Anson and I are compatible.
His messages were brief, and a little gruff.
I found them endearing. He’s living all alone up here in the woods, fending for himself and fighting off crazed Uber drivers and bears.
He just needs someone to make him smile and cook for him. Someone to make his life better.
Perfect Pairings Agency decided we were a match, and Dottie, the woman I talked to there, assured me he was a good man looking for love and companionship. I’m going to be that person for him. In return, I’ll be safe. Far away from Grant Chamberlain.
The cabin is one story, with a big front porch. There aren’t any flowers or bushes, just a single lonely-looking rocking chair. Smoke puffs out of a stone chimney, and the cabin looks well kept, if a little austere.
You got this, Ellie. Anson Blackwood is going to fall in love with you. Eventually. He just has to like you enough not to send you back.
Pasting on my brightest smile, I drag my suitcase up the steps to the porch and knock on the door.
I’ll have to thank him for sending Uber to pick me up from the airport, even if the driver was scared of the dark.
And the first-class ticket was wonderful.
I’ve felt treasured since our very first contact on the site.
Something I’ve never experienced before.
The door swings open, revealing a tall man pulling a T-shirt down over his head.
My sophisticated introduction ready, I blurt, “Woof. Huge.”
He’s at least a foot taller than me, with shoulders so broad they almost touch the doorframe. Black hair brushes his shoulders, and eyes like milk chocolate stare down at me. His jaw has the start of a thick black beard that highlights his cheekbones and firm lips.
“Yeah?” he growls.
I shiver at the sound of his voice. But my eyes are locked on his abs, now covered by the gray shirt. He has at least a six-pack under there. Maybe even an eight, with a happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats where… wow. This man is big everywhere .
He looks over my shoulder at the empty driveway. “Where the hell did you come from?”
Even his arms are huge. Bigger-than-my-thigh huge, which is saying something because I’m not a small girl. How does a man this gorgeous need a mail-order bride? Especially a plus-size one?
“Well?” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging, and a blush burns my cheeks.
One black eyebrow arches, and I finally realize he’s asked me a question.
I give him a little wave. “Hi, I’m your wife.”
“My what?”
Oh my God, Ellie, don’t be weird. I put my offending hand behind my back. “I mean, we’re not married yet, but I’m hoping things will go well.They seemed to in the few messages we?—”
“My what ?”
“Wife.” I can’t tell if he’s angry or hard of hearing. “Your wife!” I yell. Oh crap. Did my voice just echo in the canyon?
He flinches back.
O-kay. Not deaf.
This is not going the way I’d hoped. Right now, I want to crawl under the nearest rock. A glance down at my suitcase reminds me why I can’t. I have to make this work.
“I’m Ellie Travers.”
His expression is blank.
“From Perfect Pairings?” If it weren’t for the fact he looks exactly like the picture of the man I matched with, I’d swear I’d been dropped off at the wrong cabin. Is it possible this is his brother or something? “Are you Anson Blackwood?”
Something shifts in his eyes, and my heart jumps a beat. He nods.
“We’ve corresponded over the last week. I’m your mail-order bride?”
He stiffens like he’s turned to stone. I’m not sure he’s breathing.
I wish I knew what the signs of shock are because I think that’s what he’s experiencing.
Digging my phone out of the pocket of my dress, I find only one bar of signal, but that’s okay.
I saved screenshots of his messages in case I wanted to read them at night before bed.
Or on the plane on the way here. And in the Uber.
“See? Here’s the last one you sent me a couple of days ago, inviting me out.” He studies me like an intruder he’s sizing up, then takes the phone from my hand and glares at the screen. I see recognition there, but somehow, it’s not the right kind. Not the “oh, I remember you now”. More like?—
He thrusts the phone back at me and growls, “She’s dead.”
“Who?” Please don’t say me.