“I don’t do manual labor.”
“Then thank God we’re not having a child the old-fashioned way or else I’d be stuck doing all the work.”
Any rebuttal gets trapped in my throat, which only makes her laugh.
“You think you’re funny?”
“I’d rather be that than a lazy lay.” She runs out the door, obviously pleased with herself for stunning me into silence.
I almost forget about the person on the other line until they start speaking.
Iris’s chaotic presence is already wreaking havoc on my life, and I wonder how I’m going to survive three years of her living here. My whole space is tainted with her shit, from the colorful blankets strewn across my pristine couch to a few framed photos of two women I’ve yet to meet.
I try my hardest to focus on the conversation, but I’m only half paying attention to whatever is said. My ability to concentrate has been severely impaired ever since Iris’s moving truck showed up in my driveway.
Twenty minutes later, Iris drops onto the floor in a heap. “All done!” Her two braids fan out around her, covered in snowflakes. A few spiral curls escaped the tight plait during the moving process and stick to her face. Her baby-pink winter jacket looks out of place—a complete contrast to my black suit, shoes, and soul.
I scan the perimeter, noting fewer than ten boxes. “You have more plants than things.”
She laughs up to the ceiling. “I’m a crazy plant lady. What else can I say?”
“Nothing is preferable.”
Her body shakes from silent laughter as she stands. “How does it feel to have someone in your space?”
“Loud.”
“Imagine how you’ll feel once you have a child running around here and screaming.”
“I’ll invest in a bark collar.”
She blinks. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck. Of course I’m not being serious.”
She lets out a whoosh of air.
“Although a sound-proofed bedroom doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
Her brows jump. “For them or you?”
“Them. Mine was remodeled years ago.”
She instantly becomes interested in looking at anything but my face.
What I’d pay to hear a second of her thoughts.
Millions. Maybe even billions.
“So…” She rocks back on her boots as she assesses her belongings. “How exactly do we go about this situation?”
Right. Stick to the plan.
I grunt as I grab a heavy box off the top of one pile. “What are you carrying in here?”
She peeks at the handwriting on the side of the box. “My high heels.”
“They’ll look great inside of the fireplace.”
She jumps up and tries to swipe her precious cargo out of my hands.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Destroying her shoe collection would be worth her anger. They’ve been on my shit list ever since Iris found a loophole in her employment contract regarding workwear. Instead of following the office dress code of neutrals only, she tests my patience with neck-breaking heels and accessories the color of the rainbow.
At least she lives up to her name.
“You should know better than to underestimate me after all this time.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “Declan Lancelot Kane. I swear if one single shoe goes missing, I will—”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
She grins. “Would you prefer for me to use the more formal Sir Lancelot?”
“What I prefer is your silence.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun.”
“This isn’t supposed to be fun.” Yet it certainly doesn’t feel like work.
Exactly why all this is a bad idea.
It’s easy to fall into a comfortable rhythm with Iris. Almost too easy.
“I swear, you’re going to die of a heart attack one day from all this pent-up angst. It’s not good for your blood pressure.”
I ignore her as I walk toward the staircase. “I’ll show you to our room.”
“Our room?” She trips over her boots.
“I can’t have the housekeeper speaking out against the legitimacy of our agreement.”
“Right. Of course.” She nods with a doe-eyed expression so unlike her usual quick rebuttals.
She’s nervous. I give her my back, concealing my small smile as I lead Iris up the grand staircase toward my bedroom. She helps me with the door, and it opens to reveal my favorite space in the whole house. The light blue walls and white furniture stand out against the dark wood floors.
“Wow. It’s a lot brighter than I expected.”
“Contrary to popular belief, coffins don’t make for comfortable sleeping arrangements.”
Her howl of a laugh makes my lips twitch in response.
I drop the box near the entrance to her empty closet. “You’ll keep your clothes in here.”
“But I’m not—we’re not—you don’t expect me to—” Her eyes dart around the space, not quite landing on anything.
My ability to be the only person who can throw her off-kilter fills me with a burning sense of satisfaction.
“Sleep in the same bed as me?” I finish for her.
Her throat bobs as she nods. “Right. That.”
“No.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip. “Thank God. That would have been awkward.”
“Right.” The back of my neck prickles. “In the house, we can act how we want. But in public, I expect you to appear affectionate toward me.”
“Are you sure you can stand my touch for extended periods of time?”
“It’ll push me to my limits, but I’ll make do.” I step into her walk-in closet and open the door on the other end.
She halts. “You built a hidden door to another room? In a closet?!”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Because I was preparing for something like this.” The words slip past my lips easily.
“Wait.” She holds up her hand. “People prepare for fake marriages?”
“It’s to be expected once you reach a certain tax bracket.”
Her nose crinkles. “That’s gross.”
“No. It’s life.”
She stares at me with parted lips. I turn around and enter the second bedroom. The colors complement my master suite, but instead of blues, the walls are covered in a pale yellow.
“This is beautiful.” One of her hands traces the lacy bedspread. The room is large, with its own sitting area, bathroom, and windows overlooking the expansive backyard.
“You can decorate it however you want. I only ask that you keep on top of cleaning since the housekeeper isn’t permitted to enter.”
She looks up at me. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Everything except for you.”
“Looks like Iris is making herself at home. I’m sure you love that.” Cal assesses one of the plants she added to the corner of our living room. My home has slowly turned into a nursery, with new plants arriving every day to fill empty corners and blank walls.
I ignore him as I take a sip of my drink. “How is the progress on your part of Grandfather’s will?”
He shrugs. “What’s the rush? It’s not like you’re becoming CEO
tomorrow.”
“No, but if I have my way, I will be by the end of the year.”
His brows rise. “Does Iris know about this accelerated timeline?”
“She knew the deal when she signed the contract.”