Never should have tried my luck with the program. I should have let those old dreams of a wife and babies and a house full of laughter go. Should have gone fishing this weekend and got on with my damn life—
“Is everything okay?” Jessica’s voice is hushed behind me as I lead her through the rooms. The lighthouse buildings are all made of the same whitewashed stone, with oak floorboards and woven decorative fishing nets displayed on the walls. There are ships in bottles and seashells clustered on wooden shelves, and brightly colored woven rugs on the floors.
“Fine.” I’m being rude to her and I know it, but I can’t seem to help it. Can’t get myself out of this sudden funk.
It’s ridiculous to be hurt by her reaction to me. Unfair, too. If I didn’t want her shock, I should’ve broken the program rules and sent her a picture.
Maybe if I didn’t like Jessica, this wouldn’t be so bad. If she turned her nose up at me and my home right away, if she acted above it all, it would be easier not to care what she thinks. But my would-be bride peered around herself so wide-eyed back there, soaking it all in, and she even forced a shy smile for me, the wind tugging on her caramel hair.
Offered to sell her extra stuff, too, like she really is thinking about staying. As if I’d ever make her do such a thing.
I know it won’t happen. There’s no way a beauty like that winds up here with me.
But she’s sweet, and so she’ll keep pretending. Torturing me.
“It’s so big.” Her awed voice follows me past the sitting room with its unlit hearth and squashy sofas, then the doorway to the kitchen with its old fashioned range. I should stop and show her around properly, point out the features and the facilities, but I can’t think straight. There’s a low, buzzing noise in my skull. I never have guests.
“The other building is a workshop.” I sound gruffer than I mean to—like I’m daring her to start a fight. Hardly. My boots stomp against the staircase as we climb to the second floor. “This one’s the living space. It looks fancier than it is from outside. It’s a cottage, really, bolted onto the rest of the lighthouse.”
Jessica mumbles something. I catch the words “big cottage”, and huff as I reach the top of the stairs.
Doesn’t matter if she likes the house. That won’t make her wantme.
I’ll show her the guest room, then make myself scarce. If she wants to see me… she can come and tell me so. Otherwise, she gets a free day and night’s vacation on the coast.
The colorful little buttons on her backpack rattle together as I drop her bag on the guest bed. The room is small but bright, converted from an old reading room last week just so I’d have somewhere for Jessica to stay that isn’t my bed. Somewhere that proves she can trust me not to take liberties with her.
“Pretty,” my mail order bride murmurs, rubbing the cream and white quilted bedspread between her finger and thumb. It’s one I made in the evenings last winter, sewing together old scraps by the fire, but I don’t tell her that. My cheeks go hot at the thought.
“Bathroom’s next door.” The floorboards creak as I shift my weight, watching as Jessica moves slowly around her room. She stops by the window, poking at the vase of dried flowers I put there, then frowns out at the choppy sea.
I tell myself to leave, but instead my feet carry me over beside her. As I get close, I catch a whiff of roses and sage. Soft and classic, just like her.
“We’re higher up than I realized.”
I peer down at the rocks far below us, my face carefully blank. My scars itch, and the skin on my face feels hot and tight. “It’s safe. Just stay away from the cliff edge if you go outside, and don’t wander out in a storm.”
She’s only here one night. It should be calm anyway.
“Won’t we be together?”
I say nothing, scowling out of the window. And beside me, Jessica sighs.
“I’d like to freshen up if that’s okay,” she says quietly after a moment. I nod, and I don’t blame her for wanting me gone. After years of wanting a chance at love, I’m shaping up to be the brute everyone thinks I am. Rude and gruff and growling. A beast in his tower. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’ll be up with the lantern. Got some work to do.” Lies, lies, lies. There’s nothing that can’t wait until Jessica’s gone, but I shove my hands in my pockets. “Find me if you need anything.”
Jessica speaks to the floor, her shoulders slumped, and my aching heart sinks down into my belly. “Okay. Thank you for hosting me, Mr MacGregor.”
* * *
I always thought I’d make a good husband, if only someone would give me a chance. Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard with the local women around here. They all think I’m some kind of monster just because my face is messed up, and none of them ever really drew me in anyway.
ButJessica…
Fuck. Jessica. I spent less than half an hour with her, and already I’m hooked. Craving her presence; wondering over and over what she’s doing. Whether she likes it here. She’s a stranger to me, and yet she’s an itch I can’t scratch. A sudden constant presence in my brain.
But here’s where I need to face facts, because I’m not winning any Husband of the Year awards today, am I? Or fiance awards. Mail order groom awards. Whatever. The point is, I’m fucking this up and I can’t seem to stop.