Page 19 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

"I don't know. Something more... menacing? I was picturing a gothic mansion. Maybe some gargoyles."

She snorts. "He's not a supervillain, Mike. He's just a guy."

"A guy who made you sleep on a couch in your own home."

"His home," she corrects quietly.

"Right." I kill the engine. "That's somehow worse." I pause. “Is he a big guy or…?”

“He’s normal, I guess.”

I look at her face. “Is he going to try to kick my ass?” If he does, it’s fine by me. When you’re on the autism spectrum and have ADHD, you tend to get into a lot of fights as a kid. I know how to take a punch. And how to throw one if need be.

She snorts again. “Only if he’s more of an idiot than I think he is. He’s not as big as you, that’s for sure. You look like you work out. A lot.”

I do my best not to preen under her observation, but damn it feels good to be seen. “I was scrawny growing up. And a weird kid. Got my fair share of ass kickings. Until Mitchell was old enough and in school with me. Then he—my younger brother—protected me. Fuck, that’s humiliating to admit.”

Her eyes soften and she gives me a genuine smile. “I was a late bloomer too. Didn’t really have boobs until the middle of high school. My curves showed up and then some. But don’t worry. Kurt is harmless.”

I nod.

I really had expected more.

More house. More presence. More of something worth being annoyed over.

Instead, Kurt answers the door in khakis and a colored p olo shirt embroidered with the Austin Armadillos’ emblem.

Interesting. I’ll have to ask Evelyn about that later.

There's a protein shake in his hand, and irritation is written all over his face when he sees Evelyn behind me—then flickers to confusion when he notices my hand resting casually at the small of her back.

"What's going on?" he asks, looking past me like I'm not even there. "You said you were just grabbing a few things."

"She is," I say evenly. "We're not staying long."

His eyes narrow, finally deigning to acknowledge my existence. "And you are?"

I don't offer my hand. "Mike."

"That's it?" He scoffs. "Just Mike?"

"That's sufficient."

Evelyn hides a grin by turning around. Smart woman.

Kurt looks between us, his expression shifting from confusion to something uglier. "Wait." He points at Evelyn. "Is this that murder mystery thing you were rambling about? Is he an actor?"

"I'm not an actor," I say.

"He's my husband," Evelyn adds as if she didn’t just drop a bomb on his ass.

The protein shake freezes halfway to Kurt's mouth.

I watch with great satisfaction as his brain visibly short-circuits. It's like watching a computer try to run software it wasn't designed for.

"Your what?”

"Husband," I repeat helpfully. "We got married in Vegas."