"No. His exact words were 'Get your ass home by noon and bring that criminal with you so we can sort out this insanity.'" I toss the phone aside. "Such a way with words, my father."
"Charming." Colt sits up, sheets pooling around his waist. "Guess we're facing the firing squad today."
"We don't have to go." But even as I say it, I know we do. "Actually, we do. I need to get my things if I'm moving in."
"About that." He runs a hand through his hair. "We didn't exactly discuss the logistics last night."
"Too busy with other activities." I try for a teasing tone, but uncertainty creeps in. "Unless you've changed your mind about me staying here?"
"No." The firmness in his voice is reassuring. "I want you here. Just want to make sure you're still on board with everything. The arrangement. The timeline."
Right. The arrangement.The business deal we'd struck before last night's activities complicated everything.
"I am." I sit up too, clutching the sheet to my chest in a belated attack of modesty. "Six months married, then divorce after I inherit. That's still the plan."
Something flickers in his eyes, too quick to identify. "Good. We're on the same page."
But are we? The question remains unspoken between us as we prepare for the day. Showering separately, careful not to touch as we move around each other in the kitchen. As if we're both afraid to acknowledge what's happening between us.
I cook breakfast, grateful for the distraction. Simple omelets with the ingredients we bought yesterday. Colt watches me work, that intensity back in his gaze that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"You really are good at that," he says as I plate the food.
"At what?"
"Moving around a kitchen. Creating something from nothing." He accepts the plate with a nod of thanks. "Making yourself at home here."
The casual observation shouldn't affect me so much, but it does. Because he's right. I do feel at home here, in his space. The realization is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.
"Speaking of home," I say as we eat. "We need a game plan for my father."
Colt nods, all business now. "Let him yell. Let him threaten. But we stand firm."
"I also think we should set a date." I keep my voice casual. "For the wedding."
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "How soon were you thinking?"
"Two weeks?" I suggest. "Quick courthouse ceremony, nothing fancy. The will just stipulates I need to be married, not how elaborate the wedding needs to be."
"Two weeks." He sets down his fork. "You sure?"
"The sooner we're legally married, the sooner I can claim the inheritance." I focus on cutting my omelet into precise bites. "Unless you need more time?"
"Two weeks is fine." His tone gives nothing away. "Your father's going to love that timeline."
"My father will hate anything about this situation." I meet his eyes. "But it's not his life. It's mine."
A small smile curves his mouth. "There's that backbone I like."
Like. Such an innocent word that shouldn't make my heart skip. But apparently, I'm a teenager again, hungry for his approval.
An hour later, we pull up to my childhood home in Colt's truck. My father's cruiser sits in the driveway, along with another car I don't recognize.
"Company," Colt observes, his posture stiffening.
"Great." I resist the urge to bang my head against the dashboard. "Just what we need, an audience."
Colt reaches for my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine. "Whatever happens in there, we're in this together."
