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It feels wrong to have taken a shortcut. She’s got a whole week to realize that she can definitely do better.
We are sitting in my living room in silence now. Her cat, a ginger-colored feline missing an eye, is sitting on her lap, purring constantly. I feel shameful being jealous of the damn thing. She’s scratching him behind his ear and he looks completely in bliss.
Rue’s got this Goldilocks appearance that seems unreal. Golden curly hair with pure blue eyes. I can’t tell if her flushed cheeks are because of our situation, or something else.
“So, um, is this one of your days off?” she asks, her voice small. After I’ve been staring at her for the last five minutes, I can’t blame her for feeling nervous.
Can’t help but stare at her, not when she’s like a magnet, pulling my attention away from everything else in the room.
“Yeah.” Tapping my fingers against the arm of the chair, I try not to be a constant wall of awkwardness. “I will be back starting tomorrow, so you’ll have the place to yourself for a few hours. Try not to steal anything.”
The last part is supposed to come out as a joke, but with the lack of humor in my voice, her face scrunching up is the perfect response.
I really can’t do this.
I don’t know how to talk to women, especially pretty ones. My tongue feels so thick I could choke on it if I swallow wrong. Finding my words is challenging enough, saying them out loud feels impossible.
“Anyway, I want you to feel comfortable here. I know it is a change from what you are used to, but living up here is nice.”
She cradles her cat to her chest, looking away. “Trust me, I’ve noticed.”
Is she even going to last an entire week? I won’t be surprised if when tomorrow comes, she already slipping away with her bag and cat.
When Brutus told me about this whole mail-order bride ordeal, he warned that it’s a trial and error kind of thing. He’d met three women before coming across his wife. If Rue didn’t work out, did I even want to try again?
“What is his story?” I asked, looking at the cat.
She looks down and I get a sliver of a smile. Can I count that as a win? “His name is Cheeto and I rescued him from my old apartment complex. When I found him, he was in pretty rough shape. A few expensive bills later, he’s been at my side since.”
I’ve never been an animal person, though I’ve never exactly tried having a pet. Deciding that sitting across the room from her is not really a good start to this whole thing, I abandon my chair and join her on the couch. She stiffens up a little, looking up at me hesitantly.
“Can I?” I ask as I hover my hand over hers. Don’t want to touch her, not while she’s feeling as stiff as a statue at the moment.
Rue bites her lip like I’ve asked her the most difficult question. Nodding after a moment, she pulls her hand away long enough to give me the chance to pet the animal.
“You both share very similar characteristics,” she mutters under her breath, “he usually doesn’t like strangers.”
Cheeto only continues to vibrate as I stroke his back and brush the base of his tail. He’s soft, I’ll give him that.
When I lift my gaze, I catch her watching me. Now there’s a lump in the back of my throat the size of my fist and I don’t know what to say.
She smells good, far better than anything on this mountain. I have to fight the urge to press my nose against the crook of her neck and breathe in whatever is clinging to her skin. Don’t want to give her another reason to not want to stick around.
“I’m bad with people,” I admit after a passing second, “I don’t dislike you.”
As awful as it sounds coming out of my mouth, Rue’s brows lift before a smile starts to return to her lips.
“Well, while I won’t steal any of your possessions, I’ll definitely try to squirm my way into making you love me,” she promises before her face reddens further. “Or whatever it takes to be your wife.”
Fuck, she is still interested? Maybe I haven’t entirely messed up my chance at having the beauty becoming my wife.
Appearances shouldn’t be the only qualifier. I need to know her better before I go making any big decisions. Need to see what kind of person she is.
“So, why don’t you tell me your story, Rue? Why in the world do you need to join this program?”
Her mouth purses and she avoids my eyes. Is it a touchy subject? Maybe I shouldn’t have waited the first five minutes to ask her such a personal question.
“Sorry, you don’t have to–”
