Page 110 of Say You Will

“I’ll marry you,” she says.

I blink, thrown by her unexpected offer, hope lifting me like a kite on a breeze. “You will?”

She crosses her arms defensively. “So your cousin doesn’t throw a bunch of old people and babies out into the street. Yes, I will. But no more flirting with me. I’ll give you your business deal.”

And now my kite is in the trees.

“Really?” I ask silkily, lifting one eyebrow and covering my hurt and anger with snark.

“That’s what I said,” she snarls.

I draw the corners of my mouth into a smile. “I’m afraid I have to decline.”

She drops her arms and gapes. “What? This was your idea. You said you needed me to marry you. It’s what you’ve been working for all this time.”

“I was wrong. I’m not interested in a business arrangement.” It’s a direct quote of the words she said to me.

She sputters, and I lean closer, using my finger to tip her mouth closed.

“I find I need all the traditional trappings. Romance and emotional investment. You understand,” I say.

Straightening, I head for the living room. When I close the door behind me, something, probably a pillow, thuds against it. Seconds later, an incoherent scream of rage filters through the door.

I snap it open and poke my head inside. “You’re all right in here, love?”

She shows me her teeth. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m going to leave this door open after all”—I shoot her a finger gun—“so you don’t get cold.”

“Great.”

“If you need me”—I use my thumb to point awkwardly behind me—“I’ll be getting a little work done out here.”

“I won’t. I’m taking a bath, then going to bed.”

I nod.

“Good night, Henry,” she says.

I stand in the doorway and watch her get off the bed and head for the bathroom. Before Franki woke me up, I’d have convinced myself this ache in my chest was a heart attack. “Good night, love.”

When the bathroom door closes behind her, and the sound of running water begins, I return to the kitchen and set up my laptop, determined to focus on work for a while.

Oliver stands up from his little bed in the corner, gives himself a shake, then trots for the front door. I run a hand through my hair. “Little man, Franki took you out to do your business half an hour ago.”

He whines and scratches at the door, so after a quick check of the alarm system, I shove my feet into a pair of shoes and let him outside. Dachshunds aren’t supposed to climb stairs because of the potential for back injuries. So, like the well-trained pup he is, he stands on the wooden porch in the wash of the outdoor floodlights, waiting for me to carry him down the six steps from the porch to the pea gravel walkway.

With the side of my foot, I complete our usual routine of nudging the metal doorstop shaped like a turtle into place and leave the front door propped open a few inches. If it were winter, I’d bother with grabbing the keys and arming the cabin, but this should take no more than a minute or two. Oliver watches me patiently until I carefully lift him into my arms. He doesn’t wag his tail or snuggle into me the way he usually does. Instead, he puts his nose in the air and turns his face away in rejection. In fact, I’d call the way he’s been behaving since Franki read my texts from Spencer as “pissy.” He may not know why she’s upset with me, but he knows she is, and that’s enough for him to take sides.

I carry him down the steps. “Listen, I’m not the one being unreasonable here. She’s mad because I loved her on purpose? That doesn’t even make sense. I wasn’t choosing the company over her, and she’ll realize I’m telling the truth eventually when I don’t marry anyone else or take MPD for myself.”

He makes a sound in his chest in response, a blatant disagreement with my assessment. Dachshunds look like smalldogs, but Oliver’s growls and barks always sound deep chested, like they come from a much larger canine.

I set him down on the section of lawn illuminated by the lights from the cabin. “Hurry up and do your thing. The temperature is dropping, and I shouldn’t have left the door open. The cabin’s going to get too cold for Franki.”

Oliver takes off like a shot, but instead of heading around the side of the cabin or anywhere on the lawn, he heads straight back up the porch steps.

I lunge after him. “Don’t you dare climb those sta—”

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