Ruby #2
In the coziest-looking room, I find a huge TV, more polo magazines, more photos, and a stacked bookshelf filled with the type of books they made us read in school—boring literature about boring people.
It’s in this room where the scent of Miles is the strongest—that leathery, cedar-y man scent, which sends a tingle down my spine.
It’s already imprinted in my brain, along with that kiss, and a light fluttering starts up deep in my core that makes it hard to ignore.
There’s another picture of Miles and his dad, this time with Hendricks as well.
I lift it off the shelf and study it. The twins are identical, but the longer I stare, I’m almost certain Miles is the one on the left.
His lip curves up in the same way I’ve seen it do the past week—like he’s waiting to be proved right about something—and it’s an expression missing from Hendricks.
I’m putting it back on the shelf when there’s a loud knock on the door, and I startle so hard that the photo slips, clatters to the floor, and coffee spills everywhere.
“Motherfucker.”
Shaking my hand dry, I retrieve the photo and breathe a sigh of relief that there doesn’t seem to be any damage.
There’s a wet stain on the floor from the coffee, and where I’d normally rub it into the rug with my foot, this isn’t the type of home where that behavior’s acceptable, so I rush to fetch a cloth only to be stopped by a second loud rat-tat-tat.
I have half a mind to ignore it. We just got back, this isn’t my house, and it’s only going to be for Miles. On the other hand, the person knocking seems too insistent to leave, so I drop the cloth over the coffee, smooth myself down, take a deep breath, and open the door.
And I’m seriously impressed by what—or rather, who—I find on the other side.
Miles must have sent out a homing beacon, and honestly, after the basket full of Sephora upstairs, I should have expected it.
Polo players all over the world are exactly alike, attracting the exact same women.
Big tits, big hair, and what seems to be a perpetual bad smell under their noses, while making sure they’re first in line for becoming the next flavor of the month.
Because if they play their cards right, it’ll land them a rich husband.
Too bad this one is temporarily taken.
“Hi, ba . . .” The girl stops mid-word, her mouth open in a perfect O, and stares at me, hard. Her eyes drop to my bare feet and drag all the way up my sweatpants until she meets mine. “Who are you?”
I definitely haven’t had enough coffee for this, especially since this bitch made me spill my first cup.
From the glower she’s shooting my way, I’m ninety-nine percent certain she’s already fucked Miles. But on the chance she’s the one percent, I do my best to plaster on my best fake smile and greet her like the good little housewife I’m currently role-playing.
“Hi there, can I help you?”
She peers around me. “Where’s Miles?”
I narrow the door. “He’s not here right now, but I can tell him you came by . . .” I leave the sentence hanging to see if she’ll fill in her name.
“I usually wait.”
I bet she fucking does.
I widen my smile. We both know exactly what she means, just like we both know I’m not letting her in. “That’s okay, I’m heading out to meet him shortly. We won’t be home for a while.”
Her eye twitches as she registers the way I said home, and her jaw juts with a clench. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ruby—”
“And you are?”
“Miles’s wife.”
This time, her jaw drops, along with her gaze, giving me a thorough reassessment before coming to the same conclusion. She scoffs so hard she almost chokes. “I don't think so. Miles would never get married.”
It’s a universal fact that women who want to fuck polo players do not like female grooms. And that look she’s currently wearing sums up all the shit I’ve put up with from the snooty Palm Beach bitches.
They see us as competition, when most grooms know far better than to get involved with a polo player—present company excluded under extenuating circumstances.
And I dearly wish she weren’t making it so easy for me to dislike her, but I take great pleasure in my next move.
My hand grips the doorframe, flexing my fingers along the wood one at a time. I don’t know if it’s the movement that catches her eye or the vibrant sparkle of my rings, but she stares at them. And stares.
“Not sure what to tell you.” I shrug.
She lets out a little splutter, followed by a humorless laugh. Her eyes dart from the ring to me, and back again. Her eyes narrow, and my stomach plummets. I know she’s about to tell me this ring is fake. She’s exactly that girl who’d be able to tell on sight.
But thankfully, my ass is saved by the arrival of Story walking up the path, carrying two cups of coffee.
“Morning . . .” she greets, taking in the scene. “Sorry, have I interrupted?”
“Not at all,” I say, while Miles’s groupie spits out, “Yes, this lunatic has broken into Miles’s house and is claiming to be his wife.”
I roll my eyes, though it’s followed by a second panic that maybe Story knows this woman, and worse, they’re friends. Maybe I’ve misread the whole situation.
But thankfully, Story comes to my rescue. “This is Ruby, and she’s not a lunatic. She’s Miles’s wife. I was at the wedding, and what a beautiful day it was too.”
The groupie’s mouth drops again. The sneer she trained on me is now being sent Story’s way.
I’m expecting her to give one last argument about how she saw Miles first, but instead, she huffs loudly and stomps off down the path, slamming the gate behind her with such force that I’m amazed it doesn’t break.
Story holds out one of the coffee cups to me. “Thought you might need this.”
“Thanks.” I take it, though both of us are still staring at the gate, which is still creaking on its hinges. “Do you think I should expect more of those?”
“Probably, Miles is such a ho bag.” The words fall off her tongue before she can stop them, and she turns to me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about your husband like that. Old habits and all that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get it.” I shrug, but my head drops. “God, you must think I’m such a dumbass.”
“I don’t actually.”
I don’t press her for more. Instead, I take a long sip of coffee and enjoy the feeling of caffeine hitting my bloodstream. “This is so good. Thank you for bringing it. But Miles isn’t here, if you’re looking for him.”
“I came for you. Miles is up at Burlington, breaking the news of his relationship update to the duke and duchess.” She lets out a devious-sounding snicker.
“Who?”
“The duke is Miles and Hendricks’s eldest brother. He owns all this.” She waves her hands around. “Everything you see belongs to them.”
“For real?”
“Yup. And the duchess is Miles’s mother.”
“You don’t think they’ll be happy?”
“I think it will be received as well as a shit sandwich—”
Shit.
But this is nothing more than a business transaction.
I frown, kind of confused. “Why? They don’t have to worry, it’s not like this marriage is permanent. Once the summer is over, I’ll go back to the States. They can go back to doing whatever they normally do.”
Story peers at me as she sips her coffee, her expression unreadable as she swallows.
“Hmm. Well, anyway, I’m here to take you down to the stables. Miles wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost.”
“Cool. Thank you. Can you give me five minutes while I get changed?”
“Sure.” She nods. “Take your time.”
I make it in four minutes.
I might be married to my boss, but I’m here to do a job, and the quicker I can get to it, the sooner this role-play will feel like it’s worth it.