Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(34)

“I’ll marry you, Tabitha.”

His words suck all the air out of the room, and I pause with my back to him. What he said was clear as day, and yet I can’t have heard him properly over the pounding in my ears.

“That’s not a funny joke,” I venture, turning to face him in slow motion.

“No, I agree.”

There isn’t a stitch of humor in any of his strong features. That nose, just slightly big. His brow, just slightly heavy. Those lips, just slightly pouty. Masculine from head to toe.

And entirely serious.

“But…” My brain searches for the words, but none jump out at me. He’s struck me speechless.

Eventually, I come up with, “But why would you do this?”

A shrug. “For Milo.”

I swallow the unexpected sting of those words. I’m not under any delusion about what’s between Rhys and me.

There’s animosity and sexual tension, but not a lot of love. Which is fine. I’ve never been the girl who dreams about her wedding day with the perfect white dress and Pinterest-worthy decorations. But there’s still something hollow about the moment. A pang of longing for something I never knew I wanted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Are you?”

My lips roll together. I know I’m the one who suggested this. But still.

What the fuck am I doing?

My teeth nibble at my bottom lip as I nod over and over again. “Sure. Yeah. We can hit the courthouse, get our marriage certificate, and then you can do whatever you want. We can stay married just long enough for you to get citizenship and then split. Keep it all very amiable for Milo’s sake. I would pinky promise you not to come after half of what’s yours when we divorce but…” I trail off with a grimace, deciding now is not the moment to antagonize him over his weak-ass pinky promises.

Still, I don’t miss the flash of sadness in his eyes as he looks away.

“Sorry. I just mean—we can get ’er done, high-five, and go our separate ways.” I’m talking, but it feels surreal. Like I’m outside myself watching the scene play out on television.

Rhys sighs and lifts a hand to scrub at his stubbled chin. “It’s going to have to look a little more real than that, Tabby. We’ve got Milo in the mix. We can’t have people talking about it being fake. I don’t know how closely the government will be watching now that I’m on their radar. Immigration will be suspicious as hell.”

My stomach drops as I fixate on one thing. Milo. How will he take this?

I toss the rag on the kitchen counter and take a few steps closer to him. “Wait. So you’re saying we need to have a real wedding? Like with real guests and shit?”

The world around me spins, and my chest goes tight. I know I felt like I was due to make a stupid choice—but not this stupid. I must be downright delusional to think that I could pull something like this off.

“With real guests and shit,” he deadpans.

“And I have to convince everyone around me that I am madly in love with you and just had to be married this instant?”

Rhys shrugs.

“That’s it? A shrug?”

“I mean, is that so unbelievable?”

“Everyone thinks we hate each other, so…yes?”

“Why would they think that? I’ve never told anyone that I hate you.”

“I mean, it’s obvious.”

His head quirks. “Is it? What have I ever done that makes you think I hate you?”

My breathing goes heavier as I think it over. Sure, there was some distrust at the beginning, but the more I think about it, the more I can’t think of a single thing.

“Do people think you hate me?” I could swear there’s a little teasing in his tone.

Heat suffuses my cheeks and crawls down my throat, flashing across my chest like a big fat guilty sign. “Only Rosie and Skylar. I’ve been vague about our relationship with everyone else. But it’s not like we’ve been”—I wave my hand around frantically—“I don’t know, traipsing around town together.”

Rhys just lifts one shoulder and drops it. He’s so casual. It’s impossible to read him. “Then I guess we better sell it.”

My pink flush turns red.

Sell it.

I don’t know what that means, and I’m too chickenshit to ask. The thought of Rhys touching me freely sends an unwelcome thrill down my spine.

His hands on my skin. His tongue in my mouth.

I shake my head.

Nah. Even if we have to kiss, there will be no tongue. It’s completely unnecessary. We can keep it chaste. Neither one of us is mushy or touchy-feely. No one will think twice about us keeping a cool two feet apart at all times. Right?

I want to ask, but don’t want him to get annoyed and take the offer back. For Milo, I need this. For me, though? This could be a disaster.

Either way, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

So, for what feels like the billionth time in the past couple of months, I just stand and stare at Rhys while he stares back. His attention is almost suffocating.

Until…

Meow.

Rhys’s chin drops slowly, the look in his eye going from reserved to pissed off as his attention lowers.

The tabby cat with four white paws and a little white tip on her tail that Milo and I chose from the shelter waltzes into the kitchen like she’s the queen of this house. She weaves herself between Rhys’s legs, bunting along his jeans.