Ruby
“Iwant it on the record that I think this is a very bad idea.”
“Yes, Arthur, we hear your objection, but I'm not interested in it. Not to mention it was your idea—”
“Miles, we both know I didn’t mean—”
“I just need the documentation, Arthur. So if you can get an overnight courier sorted, that would be very much appreciated.”
“Hendricks?” barks this guy, Arthur, who’s probably earned more money during this conversation than I’ve ever earned in my entire life and totally sounds like a crusty old White dude.
But, according to Miles, he’s the one who holds all the family secrets. We need him to get the paperwork together, including a prenup.
Hendricks, Miles’s twin brother, attempts to suppress a grin and shakes his head.
“Yes?” he replies wearily.
I don’t know if he’s weary from this conversation, because it’s enough to give anyone a splitting headache, or from the flight he just took from Australia.
To be fair, he’s also a little bleary-eyed.
I don’t even know what the flight time is for a distance like that.
I’ve never even left the United States, and here he is casually jumping on a plane when his brother asks.
He arrived with his girlfriend, Story, and his son, Max, who are both currently outside acting like best friends with Maverick, who’s clearly had a personality transplant.
It makes me wonder if I brought the correct horse with me from Scott McTavish’s place when I fled ten days ago. Maybe it’s the Burlington touch.
“Can’t you talk sense into him?”
Hendricks throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh of genuine amusement. It’s exactly like Miles, and it’s freaky as fuck.
Because on closer inspection, while they’re identical, they’re also not. It’s like Hendricks was born and Miles came along a couple of minutes later, and better.
For example, their eyelashes are different.
Miles’s are thicker and a little bit longer.
Not that I have any desire to compliment Miles Burlington at all, but his smile is a little bit more crooked, interesting almost. The dimples under his stubble are deeper.
His thick curls are curlier. But it’s still styled in that ridiculous way where it looks like he’s constantly ruffling his fingers through it.
And then there’s their expressions. Miles is, for want of a better word, more relaxed. Hendricks is quieter and a little bit more serious, except for right now, when he’s still laughing.
“I don't know what makes you think that I can talk any sense into him. I've never been able to before.”
“I need to tell Lando—”
I lean over to Hendricks and whisper, “Who’s Lando?”
“Our eldest brother,” he replies, right as Miles’s patience snaps.
Witnessing Miles in action is quite the spectacle. It’s like he’s allergic to the word no and the epitome of entitlement—willing to break any rule he can because he wants something he can’t have. Not that I’m any better for agreeing to go along with it.
“You don’t. It has nothing to do with him. No one needs to know about this except you, me, Hendricks, and Ruby. It’s not Burlington business, Arthur, it’s mine.”
There’s a prolonged silence and a furious typing of keys.
“Fine. I mean, it’s not like people won’t think this is believable.
This type of behavior is right up your street,” Arthur replies, remonstrating like a disappointed parent.
I look at Miles, expecting him to respond, but he stays silent.
The only indication he even heard Arthur is the furious clenching of his jaw.
“But we need an independent witness for the signing of the NDAs and the prenup . . .” He pauses and takes another deep breath.
“Miles, you don't even know what this woman's after.”
His words insert a rod down my spine. The fucking nerve. Miles might take a verbal beating, but there’s no way I am.
“Excuse me, sir. This woman doesn’t want a single thing from Miles Burlington except the salary he promised me and the chance to play at Foxleigh Park. The prenup was my idea, I’ll have you know.” So fuck you, I add under my breath.
It’s Miles’s turn to laugh, and I don’t know why he finds it so amusing, but when he leans over and pats my hand flat on the table, I snatch mine away.
“Spoken like a true Burlington. I think she’ll fit in just fine.”
There's another chorus of huffs and splutters, paper rustling. “Well, young lady, that's good, because you are entitled to nothing, and this paperwork will detail as such. Miles, I assume you can find someone independent—”
“Story’s here. She can.”
“And you’ll need to have your paperwork settled with the registrar,” he continues.
“Already done.” Miles grins. “Beauty of Colorado, there’s no wait time. God Bless America.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Arthur drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And if that’s the case, there’s nothing left to do. The paperwork will be with you tomorrow. But I’m making one last attempt to persuade you not to do this.”
Miles rolls his eyes, and his head flops back in his chair. “Arthur, it's not a big deal. We'll get through this season and then get a divorce or annulment or whatever people do, and Ruby can continue on a sports visa. We’re just filling a gap in the process, so chill out, for fuck’s sake.”
I’m as done as Miles seems to be with this conversation and stand up for a better look out of the window, where Max and Story are feeding Maverick his forbidden carrots.
Miles’s last words ping in my belly. I mean, I'm no conventionalist, and marriage isn’t something I’ve ever given much thought about, so why do I care whether we get a divorce?
I’ve been too busy cleaning out stables to make a vision board of poofy white dresses and a perfect marriage.
I’ve never yearned for roses and that little girl fantasy.
What’s marriage anyway when you boil it down? Little more than a deal between two people. I’m getting an opportunity I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Women have done a lot more for a lot less. If this is what it takes to make it in a highly competitive world, then so be it.
“Ruby?”
I spin around, and Miles is staring at me. “You okay?”
I nod, swallowing the stab in my gut that I’m doing something I shouldn’t, and instead chalk it up to nerves. “Yeah, fine. Like you said, we’ll get a divorce. Whatever, no big deal, right?”
Miles nods slowly.
“So are we done with this conversation? Give me the paperwork, and I’ll sign it. Let’s get it over with and get out of here.”
Something curious flashes in his eyes, and he stares at me for a beat. And my stomach drops. This is stupid. What the fuck do I think I’m doing?
“Great. As you heard, the paperwork should arrive first thing in the morning. We’ll get it signed and head straight to the courthouse. Fly back home tomorrow.”
Home. England. I guess it’s my home for the foreseeable future. It’ll be the longest I’ve spent in one place for years, that’s for sure.
“I assume you have a passport?”
I nod. Likely the only time I’ll thank Scott McTavish for anything, but his empty promises helped me have my travel documents in order. “Yes.”
“Excellent. And the horses have been given the all-clear, so they’ll be loaded in the morning. They have to spend forty-eight hours in quarantine and will arrive the day after we do.”
“Sounds like it’s all taken care of,” I say, because what else is there to say?
We all turn as the door opens, and Story cranes her head through the opening. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I'm gonna take Max into town to get an ice cream.”
Immediately, Miles’s expression changes to one of immense glee. “I could murder an ice cream. Good plan. Let’s all go.”
Story turns around just as the door flies wider and in zooms Max, Hendricks’s six-year-old son, aiming straight for his father, who catches him before he gets punched in the nuts.
“Daddy!”
“Hi, buddy.”
“Daddy, I think Maverick really likes me, and I think he’d really love Honey as a friend. Can we buy him?”
I’m about to say, “absolutely fucking not,” when Hendricks responds with the tact and patience I’m missing.
“He already belongs to Ruby, and he’s not for sale.” Hendricks’s eyes flick to mine. “Honey is Max’s puppy.”
“Oh. Cute.”
Max looks at me, all big blue eyes and curly hair just like his father. Just like his uncle. “She’s my best friend.”
I’ve not spent any time around children, but something about the way his face is all soft and gooey as he smiles at me makes me wonder if that’s what I’m like with Maverick. It’s also clear he’s waiting for an answer.
“Maverick is my best friend. And I think we’re coming to stay in England a little while, so how about they meet?”
His eyes flare impossibly wide. “Can I ride him? I ride all of Uncle Miles’s polo ponies.”
“Um—”
“Max, that’s not entirely true.”
He turns to Miles. “Yes, it is. I’ve ridden Clover, and Chester, and Lemondrop, and Owl, and—”
“Well”—I stop him so he can take a breath—“let’s see how he is when we arrive in England. He’s not the friendliest.” Although all evidence from this week points to the contrary, I’m not having my visa revoked because Maverick ate Max.
Hendricks slaps a gentle hand over Max’s mouth before he can continue giving me his résumé, which is depressingly more impressive than mine. “Sorry, Max and animals of any kind are a dangerous combination. If he had his way, we’d be living in a zoo.”
“We went to the zoo in Sydney the other day, and we saw kangaroos, and crocodiles, and koala bears. But you’re not allowed to take them home. They’re protected at the zoo.”
Over his head, Hendricks rolls his lips, and his brows shoot up as if to say “see?” I get the impression that Max needed to be reminded several times that he had to leave them behind.
Thankfully, there’s a welcome change of subject.
“Ice creams?” Story thumbs behind her when no one appears in any hurry to leave the office.
“Yes, let’s go.” Hendricks stands, puts his arm around her, and drops a kiss on her temple.
“And . . .” She peers around sheepishly. “Is congratulations in order?”