“Well, I’ll take that on board.”
“Nope. No taking on board. It’s done. In fact, you boys can piss off for ice cream with Max. I'm taking Ruby shopping.”
I balk. It might have been mildly amusing to see Miles squirm under her insistence, but the idea of shopping has me fumbling around for an excuse I can use. “Honestly, no need. I’m sure I can find something in my bag to wear. I want to stay with the horses, and I need to make sure Maverick is settled.”
“Ice cream,” says Max, tugging on Hendricks’s hand, only to be ignored.
“See, she's the perfect woman for me.” Miles marches over and, before I can stop him, slings his arm around my shoulder, and I’m enveloped in the scent of cedar and leather, rich and masculine, and definitely not manure. Unfortunately for both of us, my entire body stiffens, and he drops his arm just as quickly. “I apologize.”
Hendricks snorts loudly. Story’s less subtle.
“Jeez, if this is going to be believable, you can’t behave like that.” She curls into Hendricks's side just to prove her point.
But she’s right. Much to my annoyance, Miles will have to touch me, at least in public.
“Um, could everyone just give us a minute?”
“Ice creeeeeaaamm,” Max repeats.
“Sure, Maxy, let’s go.” Hendricks grabs Max and spins him toward the door before marching them both out.
Story follows, and once the door is closed, I slowly turn to Miles.
“What’s up,wifey? Sorry,futurewifey?—”
“Don't call me that.”
He holds his hands up in defense. “I'm kidding, sorry, what’s up?”
“I . . .” Shit. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I was planning to say. The room feels like it’s spinning around me.
“Ruby?”
My eyes find his. The blue is so startling it’s like the rest of him is sepia. It’s so distracting that it reminds me of what I wanted to say.
“This marriage might be for the visa, so I come to England and ride for you, and learn to play polo, but I have a reputation to uphold.”
He frowns, looking so genuinely confused it’s almost insulting. “Do you?”
“Yes, and you have one to transform.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do, because it’s currently as polo’s most prolific womanizer.”
Miles scoffs. “Prolific. I hardly think so.”
“What would you call it then?”
“I would call it. . .” He thinks for a beat, and then I swear there’s teasing in his tone when he replies, “Discerning.”
My eyes roll heavily. “Potatopotatoh,it doesn't make it better. Everyone knows what polo players are like. If I had a dollar for every time . . .” I stop talking because I have no intention of getting into a debate with Miles Burlington about the number of women I’ve heard talk about his dick. He’d want me to rank them.
“Every time . . .”
I slice a hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. My point is, if I'm marrying you, this has to look real. And other people need to believe it. You have to behave like a real husband.”
“What does a real husband behave like?”
