Chapter 20
Will: Answer your phone.
Tate: No.
Will: When I said take care of her, I didn’t mean marry her.
Tate: I’ve always been thorough.
Will: I told you not to touch her.
Tate: Why? She’s not MY sister.
Will: What happened?
Tate: It was our only viable option.
Will: Marrying my sister was the only option?
Tate: Yup.
Will: What happens now?
Tate: The wedding night? You want me to break it down for you?
Will: WALKER
Tate: We’re supposed to get it annulled.
Will: Supposed to?
Tate: Supposed to.
The old Once Upon an Inn Bed and Breakfast had been a Main Street staple in Autumn Ridge since before I was born.
From what I remember, the rooms were all princess themed, which honestly made me a little nervous about the ambiance of our up-and-coming night to remember.
I had passed by it a million times, even been in the lobby a few times, but I’d never stayed there.
I never imagined I would have reason to stay at the inn in my hometown.
“The Ednas are going to have a hay day,” I said as Tate opened my door.
“Good,” he replied, holding my hand as I slid out. “The quicker your guy knows you’re married, the faster we might see something happen.”
A lump rose in my throat at his meaning, but I pushed it down. I didn’t want to think about Leroy right now. I didn’t want to think about anyone being in harm’s way.
“But the whole town will know too,” I stated softly as we walked toward the inn.
Tate reached over and pulled our shared duffel off my shoulder and onto his, but he didn’t say anything. His arm brushed lightly into mine as we strode toward the entrance.
Rosie, the owner of the inn, greeted us with flushed cheeks and a smile when we walked inside.
“Hi, guys!”
Tate seemed to know her best, smiling at her before dropping our bags on the floor next to the check-in desk.
“Hey, Rosie. How are you? The place looks great.”
She blew out a breath, looking a bit pale before she smiled, “Oh, thank you.”
And then she began asking us questions and wishing us congratulations.
“I didn’t even know you two were dating.” She tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she peered up at us before clicking something on her computer.
Tate and I glanced at each other, his eyes searching my face, before he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Yeah. We kept it a little quiet, so this might shock the town, but we’re pretty happy. Feel free to spread the word.”
We chatted easily as Rosie led us up a beautiful dark-wood staircase to our room.
Which was indeed Sleeping Beauty themed.
If given the choice, I would have undergone everything with Leroy, the Walkers, and the wedding all over again if only to see the look on Tate’s face when he entered the room.
The four-poster queen-sized bed decked out in plush pinks captured our gaze first. Epic and stately, it was extremely feminine with lavish rose curtains draped all around the bed and touching the floor.
Its own private getaway. The entire room was dripping with pinks and purples and even boasted a stately white dresser.
For the next two minutes, Rosie led us around the room, pointing out new features.
In the bathroom, she moved a set of plush purple towels out of the cupboard and placed them on the bathroom sink.
“When is breakfast?” I asked.
Rosie’s bright smile faltered a bit at the question. “I’m sorry, it’s not a B&B anymore. It’s just an inn.” She paused before adding, “Because I can’t cook. But I could grab you something from the bakery if you—”
“We don’t need breakfast,” Tate insisted. “No worries. Thank you, though.”
Once she was satisfied we’d be comfortable in our room, she left us with a smile that was etched in exhaustion.
Plot Twist: Real-life people actually do renovate inns in small tourist towns.
The door clicked. And suddenly, we were alone, staring at an imposing four-poster bed that seemed to take up the entire room.
I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hug or kill the Walker brothers.
“What sort of fresh hell is this place?” Tate’s voice was a mix of awe and repulsion.
“It’s adorable,” I said. “Didn’t you ever watch Sleeping Beauty growing up?”
He shot me a look that only made me laugh.
“Well, if you had, then you’d appreciate the details of this room.”
He looked doubtful but finally set our bag on a bench and immediately began lifting the curtains around the bed and tucking them around the overhead posts.
“There goes my dream of being a princess,” I teased lightly, kicking my shoes off, not sure what to do next in this hotel room with my real-but-very-fake new husband.
“Sorry, but I need to be able to see the whole room.”
“Who said you get the bed?” I asked.
He stopped what he was doing and looked over his shoulder at me.
I could only flash him a grin in response.
There was an awkwardness between us, and I needed it gone.
I didn’t know who I was at this moment in time.
Perhaps I was just half-delirious after a crazy whirlwind—but surprisingly, not altogether unhappy—day?
Maybe I was still feeling the effects of an impromptu honeymoon stroll down the cutest small-town village with Tate’s hand holding mine?
Or maybe it was the confident way he drove us home, his strong hand at the wheel, quietly conversing with me about anything and everything?
“I’ll fight you for it,” he said.
“You want to start your marriage out with a broken rib?”
He turned around, leaning against a bedpost, and folded his arms, a gleam in his eye, all while looking incredibly appealing. “I could teach you some jiu jitsu.”
My brow furrowed. “Isn’t that where they fight lying on the ground?”
“The fighting part could be optional.”
The rest of my words vanished as a heated flush covered my entire body.
He only smiled. “You’re too easy, Rawlins.” He turned back around and finished his task on the other side of the bed before I realized he’d used the wrong last name.
Unable to let him totally win this one, I lightly chucked a shoe at him before disappearing into the bathroom with the duffel bag and crimson cheeks, his deep chuckle the last thing I heard before the door closed.
My hands trembled as I opened the bag, thankful that it was Ann who had packed my clothes.
As the mother of the son I’d just temporarily married, she would have definitely packed my baggiest pair of sweats and a sweatshirt.
The woman would get it. But Ann was definitely more like her rascally sons than she got credit for, because instead of layers and comfort and fabric, she packed my skimpiest tank top and light-blue, pinstriped shorts that resembled male boxers and hit me mid-thigh.
Could it have been worse? Yes. Could more parts of my body have been covered? Also, yes.
I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the vision of my clothes married with Tate’s in our bag and instead yanked open the door and stepped out.
Tate was lying on top of our bed, fully clothed, sans shoes, his legs crossed casually at his ankles and his hands behind his head.
At the sound of the door, he glanced over and froze.
A line of heat tingled throughout my body as his gaze roamed over me.
He swore lightly before he looked back toward the ceiling, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure where to go. Finally, he stood from the bed and made his way toward the bathroom, giving me a wide berth.
The room was cold. The air conditioner blasted noisily in the corner. I stood near the bed, rubbing my hands down my arms to ward off the chill. When he opened the bathroom door after a minute, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and began brushing his teeth, the whole scene seemed casual enough.
So I went in.
It was definitely too domestic a scene, especially for two old chums getting married on the fly to keep my job and save me from a stalker.
If he wasn’t copying exactly how I brushed my teeth or nudging me out of the way with the side of his body so he could spit, he was scrunching his nose and making faces at me through the mirror.
I attempted to hold my own, doing my own nudging and eye rolling when appropriate, but I was having a hard time keeping up in my frazzled state.
I bent to spit. He did the same. I held back. So did he. I started to lean forward once more, and he did the same until I finally nudged him out of the way with my hip, making sure it wasn’t his hurt side, which only made him grin and motion me to the sink.
Unfortunately, I missed the sink and spat right onto the counter instead, to his growing amusement.
Once we were done in the bathroom, we stood in front of the frilly pink bed, eyeing it critically. I had always thought a queen-sized bed was perfectly adequate. But now, standing next to Tate’s tall, muscular body, I found myself having doubts.
“Dibs on that side,” he said, pointing.
“What? No way. That’s the side I always sleep on.”
“It’s closest to the door.”
That made me hesitate until I remembered the window. “But the other side is closer to the window.”
“He’s not getting in here, but if he did, it’s eighty percent more likely that he’d come through the door. The window’s too noisy.”
I peered over at him. “Did you just make that up to get your way?”
The slightest impish grin peeped out across his lips. “No.”
I relented, because whether he made up the facts or not, steering clear of the door was enough for me.
And then we climbed into bed. On our respective sides.
Not a big deal. Just like any other married couple.
There was actually very little fanfare about the whole thing, which was good.
I sighed before I rolled over on my back.
I could already tell that the mattress had seen a few years, dipping violently toward the middle.
Tate weighed more than me, which did not work well with gravity.
To be clear, it was gravity that had my body wanting to roll toward the middle.