Page 8 of Making the King

She falls silent, so I sneak a glance at her to find those dark brows hitched again.

“What?”

“You’ll teach me?” She scoffs. “Is it not enough that I have to stay under the same roof as you, but have to endure you at work as well?”

“Tough gig, I know, but I think you can handle it.”

She huffs again, and I bite back my smirk. I can see she wants to rile me up. She wants to make me mad, and it’s annoying her that I’m not biting this time.

As the ocean comes into view, out of the corner of my eye I see Cara sit taller in the seat. I love this place and my little patch of paradise. It’s nothing grand. The complete opposite in fact, but it’s mine, and it’s right across from the water.

At the end of the street, I turn onto my road, and a couple of houses in, I turn into my small driveway.

My shack is small. One bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and kitchen. The laundry is out the back in the small courtyard, but that’s the extent of my humble abode.

“Couldn’t decide what color to paint it?” Cara remarks as she takes in the façade of my house. Her new home.

I smirk, knowing she’s referring to the three different paint colors.

The timber cladding that surrounds my bedroom is a mint green, while the cladding that wraps around the front living area is yellow. The white trim is the only thing that ties it altogether, and the aqua front door is a statement piece.

No one but me has to like it, and since I do, I don’t really care.

“It’s unique.” I comment and she fake laughs.

“You’ve got that right.”

I try not to let her dig at my cozy shack annoy me, and climb out of my truck, hearing her do the same.

Opening the door to my home, I turn back to invite her in, but find her at the sidewalk, staring over the road to the mix of rocky banks and sandy beaches that stretch along this part of Santa Cruz.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I say, coming up behind her, and she nods.

“There’s something freeing about the ocean, so open and as far as you can see.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Well, now you get to look at it every day,” I remind her, and she turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Sometimes, I sit out here for hours staring at its beauty.” I gesture to the chairs behind me that sit under the living room window, and her eyes follow, spotting them. “There’s also a great view from my bed.”

Her face falls, and she turns back to the ocean.

“What about my bed? Is there a view from my room?”

“Sure there is. It’s the same view I get, since my bedroom is your bedroom.”

“What!” She spins on her heel, but I’m already making my way back to my door, stepping into my house.

“You can’t be serious?” she asks in a panic, stepping inside as well, and for a moment, she falls quiet as her eyes scan the small space.

“I’m very serious. You’re meant to be my wife. Your parole officer said he might do spontaneous home visits to make sure you are abiding by your parole terms. And since my home only has one bedroom, I don’t see where else you’re gonna sleep.”

Her mouth drops open before she storms through my little shack, going into my bedroom, and coming out the second door that leads to the only bathroom in the house. Then she steps into the kitchen, doing a spin before joining me back in the living room.

“This is it?” she asks, shocked, and I nod. “But there isn’t even a laundry room.”

“It’s outside.” I point to the back door, “in the little courtyard.”

“No.” She all but whispers, her face falling, her hard exterior vanishing for a beat before she puts her mask back into place.

“Yes. I’m sorry it’s not a palace for you, but with time, I’m sure you’ll come to love it as much as I do.”

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