Page 52 of The Reason I Married Him
Thankfully, Wyatt pulls away and continues setting the table, but that doesn’t stop Ryland from staring me down, a slew of questions rolling around in his head.
I ignore him, though, and get everyone drinks. The last thing I need is for Wyatt to do something brash, like sell off the land. So I keep my mouth shut and move around the kitchen, pretending to be helpful.
“That was great, thank you,”Wyatt says as he pats his stomach after dropping off his empty plate of food. “Was that homemade crust?”
“Dude, does it look like I have time to make homemade pizza crust?”
Wyatt laughs as I finish loading the dishwasher for Ryland. “No, but I wanted to be polite and not assume.”
“I appreciate it, but assume away with any shortcuts. The easier, the better for me.”
“Good to know.”
I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel. “Is there anything else you need help with? Want me to give Mac her shower?”
Ryland shakes his head. “Nah, I can handle it. You can head home. Thanks for doing the dishes.”
“Anytime,” I say.
“Here, I can walk you home,” Wyatt says as he comes up to me.
“Uh, I think I can make it,” I say, highly annoyed with him. Not just because of everything he did today but because he was so freaking charming during dinner.
He had Ryland rolling with laughter and Mac sitting on his lap at one point, playing with his cheeks. The entire dinner was consumed by him. And the worst thing? He sat next to me at the table and draped his arm over the back of my chair several times, making it seem like something was happening between us.
A budding relationship if you will.
It was subtle but significant, enough for Ryland to piggyback off catching us in the kitchen together. I can only imagine what’s going on in my brother’s mind at the moment.
“Nah, I’ll make sure you get home safely,” Wyatt says with a knowing smile. “Have a good night, Ryland.”
Ryland smirks as he shakes Wyatt’s hand. “Have a good night, Wyatt.”
And then with his hand on my lower back, Wyatt guides me toward the front door as if he’s my escort and I have no idea where I’m going.
When we reach the porch and head down the stairs, I spin away from him and whisper, “Stop that. I know where my house is, and I don’t need you acting like we’re a couple in front of my brother.”
“Why not?” he asks. “When you say yes to my proposal, it won’t come off as a big surprise.”
“Uh, getting engaged after being around someone for a week will be a big surprise no matter how many times you place your hand on my lower back.”
“Well, it will soften the blow. Trust me, I know about this kind of stuff.”
“You know about fake marriages?” I ask. “Please, tell me how?”
“Uh . . . it’s called being an author,” he says as he follows me to my guest house. I open the door, ready to slam it shut on him, but to my horror, he helps himself in. “I wrote a book with a marriage of convenience as part of the plot, so I’m well-versed. I know all the ins and outs of what to do and what not to do. When I say giving subtle hints to the people around you about a possible romance is key, I’m not lying. It played off beautifully in my book.”
“That’s fiction,” I counter. “This is real life. It’s completely different.”
“Some might say fiction is just research for real life.”
I stare at him, deadpanned. “Absolutely no one says that.”
“Some might.”
“No one,” I reply. “Also, what the hell do you think you’re doing, coming into my house? I didn’t invite you in.”
“Husbands don’t need invitations,” he says as he kicks off his shoes and looks around.
