Chapter 20
Impress the Missus
Holly
My fingers trail across the fabrics of the suits on the rack. I’ve gone shopping so many times here with Alex that I automatically know which suits he would go for. But today I’m not here with Alex. I’m here with Mateo.
My husband.
My husband who wants to hold my hand, open doors for me, and who’s trying to make me smile.
My heart is torn, wanting to fall into the comfort that is Mateo, but also knowing our marriage is temporary—which is why I need to keep my semi-promise to Alex that I won’t fall for Mateo.
I can’t ruin their friendship by making things awkward post-divorce due to having feelings for the man.
The dressing room door opens and Mateo walks out in a black tuxedo Lucille, the saleswoman, picked out. I can immediately tell it’s made by Brooks Brothers, the designer my brother favors for black tie events.
My breath catches and my cheeks heat.
My husband is hot.
He’s more than hot. He’s smokin’ hot. Mateo is a dreamboat, or at least that’s what Hudson called Mateo when he texted me a few minutes ago about my killing-me-slowly-with-his-good-looks husband.
Dreamboat doesn’t quite capture just how attractive Mateo is in this outfit.
Sorry adopted Grandpa, but my husband is plain old smokin’ hot.
Mateo walks toward me. The stark black and white emphasizes the subtle warm tones in his skin, and brings out a richness to his brown hair. The cut shows off his broad shoulders and long legs. Mateo looks mighty fine.
What he doesn’t look is comfortable.
I give him another once over. “How does the tux feel?”
He shrugs, making the fabric pull tighter against his shoulders. “I’ll wear it. It’s good enough.”
I laugh. “I don’t think the designer would appreciate his suit being called ‘good enough’ if he were here.”
Mateo lifts his eyebrows as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “It’s a tuxedo. It’s not supposed to be comfortable, right? So, if you like it on me, then I’ll wear it. I don’t think it’s my style, but if you think it looks good, I’ll wear it for you.”
Cue heart melting.
Nope, nope. No heart melting. He’s just being the charming farm boy I know he is. He’s being nice, and we’re just friends who are married, and that’s all we’re going to be.
No. Heart. Melting.
“Let’s take that one home for tomorrow. Then we can get a few more and have them tailored to fit you better. I think there’s a different designer whose suits may fit your build and match your style more.”
Mateo’s lips twitch and I catch a flash of his dimple. “Does that mean I need to go change again?”
I nod. “Yep. Lucille has a whole rack of tuxedos and suits for you.”
He pulls at the collar of his shirt and nods his head. I glimpse the briefest moment of resignation on his face before he smiles at me again. “See you in a minute.”
I nod and watch him saunter back to the dressing room.
Faster than I thought possible, the door to his dressing room opens again. Mateo walks out in a navy blue suit, a red tie, and brown dress shoes.
He’s a smokin’ hot dreamboat.
The suit jacket fits his shoulders better, and the color is stunning on him. Mateo isn’t the work-out-in-the-gym six-pack type of guy. He’s the manual-labor-for-twelve-hours-a-day build. He’s thick muscle and somehow, with just a few seam differences, it complements him and shows off his manliness.
If only he didn’t ruin the picture by pretending to walk down a catwalk and making dramatic model faces as he approaches.
I can’t hold in my giggles. Although, it’s probably better to laugh than drool over him. I knew he cleaned up well from our red carpet run-in, but this shopping trip will definitely be drool-worthy torture.
Mateo strikes a pose, one hand at the button of his jacket while the other strokes his beard. Somebody get a camera because there’s a model in the house. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, instead staring off into the distance dramatically. “What do you think, mi vida?”
“I think you‘d never make it as a runway model, but you’ll pass on our next trip down the red carpet.”
He gasps dramatically and puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Never make it on the runway? How shall I survive?”
I roll my eyes as I shoo him back to the dressing room.
“You’ll survive.”
Lucille comes over with a clipboard and tape measure. She inspects the fit, makes some notes, and has her hands all over my husband. She may be in her fifties, but the green-eyed monster inside me awakens.
Calm down, Holly. She’s literally doing her job. Chill.
Mateo is a good sport, and smiles and answers Lucille’s questions about the fabric and the fit with ease. Lucille nods and leaves abruptly. Mateo looks at me, his eyes wide, and a pleading look on his face.
I shake my head. “Nope. We’re not done. There are business casual outfits in the dressing room I picked out that I want you to try on. Pick the ones you like most and put them in a pile. You don’t have to show me all of them.”
His face falls. “Does that mean our fashion show is over?”
I laugh. “Yes, now go.” I grab his arm and turn him around, pushing against his back and urging him toward the dressing room.
I can feel him chuckle through his back and I drop my hands. He flips back around. “Alright, alright, if you insist, mi amor. I’ll give you a break from my manliness.”
I cover my mouth with my hand and hide my smile. When it’s contained I wave my hand at him. “Go pick some clothes, hubby dearest.”
He slips in and closes the door, but I can still hear his chuckle.
I need a break from that smokin’ hot dreamboat for sure.
Let’s see if I can surprise him.
I head for the back wall and find the perfect shirt for him on the sales rack, of all places.
Maybe Mateo was on to something.
I roam the store, finding a few more items I have Lucille take to him to try on. The one from the sales rack I keep with me.
Eventually, I make my way back to the couch outside the dressing room. There’s shuffling for a minute, and then Mateo walks out in the clothes he came in.
I smile brightly as I stand and hold the clothes in my arms out to him. “You’re not done yet. I found you some casual clothes.”
His eyes widen and there’s an edge of panic around his eyes that clears as he blinks. “Why do I need new casual clothes?” He hesitantly takes the items inspects them, shaking his head. “I like my Wranglers. I don’t need new jeans.”
I clasp my hands in front of me to still their sudden shaking brought on by my closeness to the man I just spent the past half hour checking out. “I know, but these are fancy Wranglers. Just in case we need to go out in public for something that isn’t a suit and tie type event.”
Mateo inspects the items further. The price tag on the jeans flutters and his fingers catch it. His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Holly. These are too expensive. I can’t afford to buy these on top of the suits and tuxedos.”
I shake my head. “We.”
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes meeting mine. “What?”
My mind races as I think of the simplest way to explain the reality of who I am and who he married. “We can afford to buy these. We are buying these clothes.”
His eyebrows pull together. “But they’re clothes for me,” he states slowly.
I nod. “Yes, and you’re my husband. Didn’t Alex tell you most of the men who were trying to date me were after my money?” I step closer to him, my voice dropping so that only the two of us can hear it. “I have money, Mateo. Lots of it. I’m a frugal spender and great at investing my money wisely.”
I gesture at the clothes in his arms. “Fancy clothing is an investment purchase. I’m investing in our image as a couple.
We are paying for it. If this was a proper marriage, I’d want to merge our bank accounts.
The whole what’s-mine-is-yours thing, ya know?
Since it isn’t, we can take turns paying for things or something.
I’ll pay for the clothes, and you can buy groceries this week. It’ll all even itself out in the end.”
Mateo’s panic subsides, but his eyebrows are turned down and so are his lips.
I don’t like that look.
“Holly, I know you have money and you live in a fancy house. But I don’t want to take advantage of that. I didn’t marry you for your money.”
The sincerity in his statement has my heart racing. I step closer to him, the clothes the only barrier between us. “I know, Mateo. I know you. Which is why I’m okay spending money on you and on us. I’m a self-made multi-millionaire, Mateo. Let me do this.”
His mouth drops open, and his eyebrows have joined his hairline.
A giggle escapes before I can contain it. I’m starting to think he didn’t know how much money I have. “You really didn’t marry me for my money, did you?”
His mouth snaps closed as he shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”
I know he didn't marry me for my money, but what made him agree to marry me so readily? He mentioned escaping meddling family, but that doesn’t feel like enough of a reason. I feel like I’m the only one benefiting from this arrangement. “Why did you marry me?”
A smoldering smirk grows and his eyes have me hypnotized, the space between us seeming to shrink. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispers.
I rest my hand on his arm, keeping myself steady as I lean in, my eyes dropping to his lips before meeting his eyes. “Actually, yes. I would.”
His eyes are on my lips. I’m afraid to move.
“You’re not ready to hear my answer yet, Holly.” He straightens, the motion forcing me to step back and my hand falls from his arm.
“We’re not getting the jeans.”
I fold my arms. “Yes, we are.”
His smile widens. “Fine. But we’re only getting one pair, and I’m going to Walmart to get the rest of my jeans for our unofficial outings.”
I narrow my eyes and give him the glare that usually works on Alex.
Except, Mateo doesn’t back down.
I huff. “Fine. We’re taking the tuxedo home, and we’re definitely getting you the suits and some of the business casual clothes. They just need to be tailored first.”
Mateo closes the distance between us until we’re toe to toe. He leans down, his cheek brushing against mine as he whispers in my ear, “Fine by me, mi amor. I know you like me in a suit.”
The air conditioner in this store must be broken because it has gotten stiflingly hot in here.
Mateo walks away and I wait until he’s in the dressing room to fall into the couch, fanning myself and forcing myself not to acknowledge the growing feelings I have for my husband.
I’m afraid if I know what he’s saying, my heart might never recover.
Granted, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from this shopping trip.
My husband is a dreamboat, and I can no longer deny it.