Page 66 of Unlocking my Boss's Heart

“Well, I figured you two would be more alike…. You’re both driven people, but I don’t see much of him in you.”

“Yeah, we’re driven alright, but with quite different characters.”

The wind suddenly picked up, and a cool gust blew past us. Celia wrapped her arms around herself.

“Do you want to go back to the house?”

“Not yet.” She continued wandering between the flowerbeds, running her fingers over the hardier lavender plants. “Your parents seem to have a good marriage.”

“It’s now, yes. But it started out rough...two strangers thrusted together in an arranged marriage by their parents.” I observed Celia as I told her this, the wind blowing her hair left and right. “Let’s just say their early marriage years were…contentious. My father spent most of his time at work, and my mother poured her soul into gardening; in the evening, they argued.”

“So, growing up, you had an absent father, and you didn’t like what you saw of your parents’ marriage.”

“Yep, that about sums it up.” The admission left a bitter taste in my mouth. I’d buried those memories deep, but they always had a way of surfacing at the worst times.

With another gust of wind, the plants in the garden swayed, and the leaves rustled. I inhaled the earthy smell in the air that indicated rain.

Celia reached out to a peony flower, stroking the petals thoughtfully. “Marriage is hard, no doubt. But the whole romance around it, meeting someone to spend the rest of your life with, is so dreamy.”

Her words struck a chord, one I wasn’t ready to face. All this talk about marriage was starting to make me uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the idea of marriage that bothered me—it was the vulnerability that came with it.

“Right. Yeah, I suppose it’s good for some people.” I tried to keep my tone casual, but I could feel the weight of our conversation pressing down on me, forcing me to confront emotions I’d long kept at bay.

“You didn’t strike me as a quitter,” she said, searching my face. “I mean, finding the right someone is a challenge, but that’s what makes life, isn’t it? Getting past those obstacles and having the reward of a partner and confidant.” She chuckled. “I’ve probably romanticized it a bit.”

The awkwardness of this subject was grating on my confidence. I had never discussed marriage, except in a courtroom.

“I’m guessing your parents had a good marriage?” I said, not to appear rude since she wouldn’t stop talking about marriage.

“They still do,” she answered, turning her face upward, her lips slightly parted as the first raindrops began to fall.

She looked carefree at this very moment; something both sharp and warm sizzled through me. Our feverish kiss in my office assaulted my mind. I put my hands in my pocket so as not to pull her against me and kiss her feverishly again right here in the garden.

But insecurity started to rear its ugly head.

She’d been talking about partners, confidants, marriage….

A droplet hit the nape of my neck, and another landed on my lips. The storm above us wasn’t the only one roiling; the one inside me was, too. Though I’d thought in passing that Celia could be a good stepmom if Reeva’s child was mine, I kind of felt cornered right now.

“It’s all good and romantic until…. You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Haven’t you seen your fair share of ugly divorce cases? It surprises me that anyone in our line of work would ignore that,” I replied defensively.

She opened her eyes, and her carefree expression disappeared, replaced by a determined one. Almost fierce.

“Of course, all we see related to marriage are divorce cases because we’re lawyers. No good marriage would need a lawyer.And there are a lot of them. It seems a pretty dim view to hold and not consider the other half.”

“It’s not a dim view but a realistic one,” I retorted, feeling as fired up as she was.

And why were we now arguing about marriage? This shouldn’t have been our subject of conversation…yet the more she was for it and I against it, the more I realized that my one rule in life—to never let a woman get too close—had started to crumble, leaving the gate open for her.

“We should probably get back.” I rubbed the back of my neck, hating the conflicting emotions raging in me.

“Yeah, let’s head back before we’re totally soaked.”

Just then, a gust of wind blew and lifted her skirt up. She squealed, crouching down while holding her skirt together.

I laughed—hearty laughter that rumbled through me—at the unexpected Marilyn Monroe skirt-blowing-up scene unfolding in front of me.

“It’s not that funny!” she said, hiding a grin.

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