Chapter 35
Miss Informed. Small-town matrimony. Don’t do boyfriends. Don’t do small-town addresses. Mr. Uptight. Win. Revenge.
Marcus had no idea what Frankie was babbling about.
He hadn’t read the town column, but he’d spent the last seven nights with her curled against him, stealing the sheets and murmuring fashion critiques in her sleep.
And now she’d mentioned Mr. Uptight and revenge, which probably meant leaving town for a while was the right call…
even if the thought of so many nights without her made his chest pull tight.
Catching feelings was ridiculous. Their arrangement had boundaries, a safeword, and an end date circled in invisible ink.
“Well, say something,” she snapped.
Deciding there was no winning if he tried to unpack the wedding comment, he went lighter. “Is the scowl because I’m leaving, or because I’m the one picking you up instead of George?”
She eyed his suit. “George always arrives with a smile. You arrived with bad news. Tell me I’m wrong.”
It was probably criminal that he enjoyed knowing she was upset he was leaving. It implied an emotion beyond attraction. “My leaving has nothing to do with whatever Miss Informed wrote this week. Duty calls.”
Her gaze slid to the duffel. “Overnight?”
“Two weeks. Meeting about financing. Family logistics after that.”
“I’ll be sure and put fresh batteries in my vibrator,” Frankie said, smooth as silk.
He choked. “Jesus, Frankie.”
She didn’t give him time to recover. “Honestly, I’ve been missing this thing he does that you don’t.”
“What in the hell would that be?”
“Take direction.”
Marla Jensen strolled past with a pastry box and no sense of timing. “Hi, Marcus. Hi, Frankie.”
He smiled, praying she hadn’t just heard the word vibrator.
Frankie’s expression sweetened, like sugar could kill a rumor. “Hi, Marla.”
Marla waved and kept walking.
“That,” Frankie said, still smiling. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
His smug satisfaction died a tragic death. So, it wasn’t about him leaving. “What?”
“Marla tells Bernice. Bernice tells Poppy. Poppy tells everyone at the café. Then the Gazette hears you picked me up in a suit, which gossips down to we’re a couple and you’re proposing at sunset.”
He mapped it like a blueprint: Marla to Bernice to Poppy to the café to the Gazette to church bells.
One sighting plus one suit equals a proposal at sunset.
Flimsy math. Except it wasn’t math. It was distance, built with jokes.
Head high, shoulders tight, humor sharp enough to keep rumors and feelings from getting too close.
Classic Frankie. Sharp-tongued, unfiltered, magnetic as hell.
God help him, he was going to miss her more than made sense for something with an expiration date.
“That’s local logic. Are you becoming one? ”
Her brow arched. “Bite me.”
Time to pivot. “Hop in.” He circled to the passenger side and opened the door with a flourish. “I have a surprise for you back at the manor.”
“A surprise? Is it a Birkin? Please tell me it’s a Birkin.”
“Not a Birkin.”
“Oh. Then it better not be an engagement ring.”
His mouth twitched. “Not that either.”
They drove in a charged silence that hummed with everything he wasn’t saying.
“I’ll miss you while I’m gone.” He heard the weight of it as soon as it left his mouth.
She kept her eyes forward, throat working once. “Good. I prefer devoted.”
Silence filled the cab. Antonio’s call earlier replayed in fragments. Melanie Carter had a lead. She knew Frankie was in Gi Gi’s Crossing. She was coming. Dates unclear. Whether she knew Marcus was the mystery man: unknown. If she did and saw him, she’d blast it. Family first. Always.
He eased to a stop in front of the manor and tipped his head toward the golf cart parked off to the side. “That’s yours while I’m gone.”
It had arrived that afternoon. He’d ordered it with her in mind.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I need a golf cart? I have George.”
“George will be in charge in my absence. He won’t have time to cater to your whims.”
She huffed. “The color is all wrong for my complexion. Can I trade it out?”
“It’s a golf cart, not a runway accessory.”
She gave him a withering look. “I’m the town’s fashion icon. With great power comes great responsibility.”
He held out the keys. “Let me handle one thing while I’m gone. Your ride home.”
She stared at the keys, then at him, like she was waiting for something more. Something real. Or a Birkin. Probably a Birkin.
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the gift. I’ll cherish it for the next two weeks.”
“I’m sorry it isn’t more exciting.”
She reached for the handle.
“I’ll try to be back in time for the festival,” he said quickly.
“Try? I leave the next day. Aren’t you your own boss?”
“If I don’t make it, I know where to find you. Naked Runway.”
She held his gaze a half second too long. In that half second, something reckless in him dared to hope. Hope she would say she’d miss him. Hope she would ask him to stay.
He let it go.
She didn’t belong in this town, and if Gi Gi’s last envelope asked the Grant brothers to make a life in Gi Gi’s Crossing, she wouldn’t belong with him.
He would honor that. He owed Gi Gi everything.
And even without that, there was still Mr. Uptight to get past. When she put that together, he would be lucky to survive the revenge, let alone win her heart.
He set the Jeep in gear. The keys flashed once in her palm, then slid into her pocket as he rolled down the gravel. In the mirror, she stood at the foot of the manor steps, small and steady, while the cart waited like a punch line and the driveway carried him away.