The Wrong Man by Natasha Anders
They were standing in the middle of the living room, close enough to feel each other’s body heat, but they weren’t touching. Her arms had dropped to her sides, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. And still he continued talking.
“I don’t even know what it means to be in love. How do I know if what I’m feeling is what you’re feeling? I’ve never been in love, but if it means that you can’t imagine spending a day without that person, if the prospect of seeing her excites you and you find yourself grinning like an idiot at the thought of her, then I guess I’m in love.
“I stayed awake, you know? The nights that I stayed over, I stayed awake as long as I could. I watched you sleep, and I can’t remember ever being more content, more at peace, or more protective. I’m still working on trying to figure out what that all means, but what I do know is that I want more for us. I want everything for us.”
“Tell me what happened when Laura Prentiss walked into the cabin this morning.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Lia,” he said, his voice brimming with apology. “I saw her and I panicked. I kept remembering the attack, and I wanted you out of there. It wasn’t logical, it made no sense, but I didn’t want you anywhere near her. I kept imagining you getting caught in the middle of something like that. Of you being hurt. I just wanted you safe.”
“Is that why you sent Tyler with me?”
“Yes.”
“Who was watching your prized client while you were coming here?”
“Spencer. I didn’t want you out of Tyler’s sight until you were safe with me.”
He’d picked her safety over Laura Prentiss’s. That was a huge deal and went a long way to solidifying his unintentional declaration of love.
“So what’s the new plan, Sam?” she asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm lightly with her fingers. His muscles jumped beneath her touch.
“I don’t know. I know you want marriage and kids and the whole shebang. And a house with the picket fence, all of that. But that’s . . . it’s a little overwhelming.”
“No, Sam, I don’t want those things. Not anymore.”
“Then . . . what?”
“Simple. I want you. Just you. And a dog. Definitely a dog.”
His lips widened into a smile, and he opened his arms to her. She stepped into them and was home.
“What are you doing?” Lia asked groggily, many hours later. It was close to three in the morning, and they’d talked till deep into the night. They’d made gentle love once, but Lia’s still-lingering flu had kept things pretty tame compared to their usual standard. Now she woke up to find the bedside light on and Sam sitting up in bed, furiously scribbling on a piece of paper.
“Couldn’t sleep. I watched you for a while—you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he said, his voice filled with awe, and she smiled. She sat up against the headboard as well and tucked the sheet under her armpits, not out of any false sense of modesty but because it was chilly.
“What are you writing?” she asked, trying to look over his arm to see.
“Still busy with it, give me a second.” He gave her that cheeky grin she so loved and went back to writing. After a few more minutes of scribbling, he put the pen aside and gave her a gentle smile. He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing over her cheek and then her mouth.
“I know how important guidelines are to you, so I thought I’d whip up a list of rules from which to build the foundation of our relationship.” Lia’s stomach flipped nervously at that revelation, and she frowned at the piece of notepaper in his hands, not sure she wanted to see it.
“Sam, the last list of guidelines didn’t exactly stick.”
“That’s because they were dumb.”
“Hey,” she protested, offended. “They could have worked!”
“For other people maybe, but not for us. These ones are tailor-made for us.”
“Fine,” she said warily. “Hand them over.” He gave her the slip of paper, and the first thing that caught her eye was his name.
“Your second name is Noah? That’s a great name! Maybe we can convince Spencer and Daff to name their first son Noah. That’ll take some doing, because Daff isn’t your biggest fan. But we could tell her it’s someone else’s second name, that could work. But—”
“Lia! Focus,” he urged on an exasperated laugh.
Samuel Noah Brand’s Guidelines to a Long and Lasting Relationship with Dahlia Rose McGregor
Rule 1—Always sleep beside me.
Rule 2—Always tell me you love me.
Rule 3—I adore you.
Rule 4—I love you.
Rule 5—Marry me, please.
Rule 6—And make me the happiest man alive.
Lia read and reread the note. Not sure if she was reading the words right, she blinked and dislodged a tear she hadn’t even known was there. It trailed down her cheek and landed on the paper, just missing the last rule.
“Lia?” he prompted, his voice shaking.
“Sam, you don’t have to do this,” she whispered, her own voice less than steady. “Not now. I’m happy. I want you. I have you. That’s enough for me.”
“Yes, but back when you were pretending to go all gaga over the thought of being pregnant,” he began, and she remembered the night in question with a smile. He’d looked totally freaked out. “I was thinking about medical plans, kids’ names, schools, and how our little girl would look. And then I really freaked out when I realized that I was disappointed when you took me from ‘Ha-ha, maybe I’m pregnant’ to ‘Ha! No, on the pill, sucker!’” He affected a high-pitched voice to imitate her, and she grinned at his falsetto before his words sank in.
“Are you serious? You were disappointed?”
“Imagine how weird it was for me,” he said. “I think that’s when I first had an inkling about my feelings for you.”
“I love you,” she said, swiping at another tear, and he cupped his palm around her nape and tugged her closer for a kiss.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Eventually.”
“Eventually?” he asked, lifting his head and glaring at her. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I’m not upstaging my sister. I want her wedding to be the only focus right now. Let’s tentatively schedule our marriage discussion for . . .” She squealed and then laughed when he yanked her onto his lap and kissed her again.
“You’re so full of shit,” he muttered against her mouth. “You said yes, so we’re engaged. It can be a long engagement or a short one. But I want at least an engagement ring on your finger before arseholes like Gregory think they still have a chance with you. We clear?”
“As crystal.”
“Lia, I’m going to say it now, okay? Out loud,” he warned, and Lia couldn’t stop herself from grinning ear to ear. For someone who had already told her he loved her more than once, he was certainly turning this into a production.
“Aaanytime now,” she singsonged when he swallowed nervously. He glared at her.
“I love you.” The words were curt and not very romantic, but she’d take them, because they were completely sincere.
“I know, Sam. And I love you, too.”
EPILOGUE
Five years later
Mason Carlisle slammed into the hospital waiting room. He was wearing green scrubs and a huge grin on his handsome face. Lia entwined her fingers through her husband’s and they both surged to their feet along with the rest of the room. Heavily pregnant Daff had to be assisted by Spencer. She was expecting their second child, a girl, to go with their beautiful three-year-old son, Connor.
“It’s a girl,” Mason announced proudly, his eyes gleaming with tears. He and Daisy had chosen to wait until after he completed his degree and they moved back to Riversend before starting their family, and this was their first addition. Neither had wanted to know the sex of their baby, but Lia had known it would be a girl. She’d always known their first child would
“Daisy’s fine. God, she was so amazing,” Mason continued, self-consciously scrubbing a hand over his wet cheeks. “We’re naming the baby Primrose.”
“Ha, told you it wouldn’t be Delphinium!” Sam muttered triumphantly. “You owe me breakfast in bed tomorrow morning. Along with my other B of choice for dessert.” She shot him a scandalized look before wildly scanning the room to be sure nobody else had heard his words. Thankfully they were all too focused on congratulating Mason.
“Primrose?” Lia repeated, a little disgusted. “Oh gosh, oh no . . . this means Pansy’s next, followed by Poppy,” she continued in dismay, and Sam laughed out loud this time.
“You’re fucking crazy, but I love you,” he said, dragging her close for a kiss. He led her to Mason, and they both hugged and congratulated him before asking if they could see Daisy. Mason nodded, he had his phone to his ear and was telling Charlie the good news. The twenty-year-old was currently in her second year at college in Cape Town. She was studying marine biology, and her brothers could not stop bragging about her to anyone who would listen.
“Come on, let’s go check out this kid,” Sam said, tugging Lia toward the door, and she sighed in exasperation.
“Sam,” she said, then repeated it more loudly when he continued forward. “Sam!”
“What?”
“Forgetting something, are we?” she asked pointedly, and he stared at her blankly before his face cleared and he grinned sheepishly.
“God, sorry!” he apologized and picked up one of the little baby seats from the plastic hospital chairs, while Lia got the other one.
“Forget the babies again, Sam?” her father asked. It was becoming a standing joke in the family. Sam was an amazing father, he loved the twins to bits, but after six weeks, it was still hard for him to remember that it wasn’t just him and Lia anymore. They’d only been married for three and a half years—Lia had insisted on a long engagement while they figured out their careers and living arrangements.
They had spent a fair amount of time between his place in London and Daisy’s little house in Riversend during that first year. Aisha had been happy for their preschool arrangement to continue more sporadically until Lia and Sam finally settled into a regular routine. Sam had spent the year setting up the South African division of Brand Executive Protection Services, which he now ran from his office at their home in Riversend. Sam had people and systems in place on the ground to ensure he still delivered top-notch service, but he was happy to only travel a few times a year.
The rest of the time he spent on or in the water. He and Mason had collaborated on a house, not too far from the Carlisles’ houses, for Sam and Lia. And while helping with the build, Sam had discovered a talent for carpentry, a hobby that was becoming a side business as more people took interest in his dramatic, beautiful pieces of bespoke furniture.
Lia, in the meantime, had continued slogging toward her degree and was now a qualified full-time teacher at the preschool, where she had been teaching for the last three years. It was the happiest and most rewarding work of her life.
Life had been wonderful, but a year ago, while they were making love, Sam had told Lia he wanted to make a baby. She smiled at the memory. They’d discussed it afterward and decided the time was right. The twins were conceived less than two months later.
Trevor, the gentlest dog in the world, was an awesome big brother to little Sophie and Noah. The dog was still Sam’s constant shadow, but he loved the entire family, canines, kids, and all. They couldn’t have asked for a better dog. Even Sam’s mother—whom Lia happily called Mimsy, despite his protests—adored Trevor, and suffice it to say, she was a tough lady to please. The woman had been an irregular visitor over the last five years when she wasn’t happily partying all over Europe. But she was usually content to visit for weeks at a time, just long enough to drive everybody mad. She had been present for the twins’ birth and had stayed for a week afterward before leaving again, content to adore them from afar.
“Daddy’s going to handcuff himself to your seat from now on, okay?” Sam cooed to Noah, who was watching him through narrowed eyes, the infant on the verge of falling asleep. “I promise I won’t forget you again.”
Lia laughed. He always felt so guilty after one of his little lapses.
“You’ll get used to them,” she comforted, wrapping her free arm around his waist as they followed the crowd to the viewing room, with Mason proudly leading the way. Sam dropped a kiss on top of her head and stopped, allowing the rest of the family to pass them until they were the only ones in the hospital corridor. Lia looked up at him questioningly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing at all. Everything is perfect. I just love you, Dahlia Brand,” he said, his heart in his eyes. His gaze dropped to the babies before drifting back up to hers. “I love all of you. You make me so fucking happy.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Elsje, thank you so much for the invaluable information on the ins and outs of foundation phase education.
Mark, thanks to you I now know that a euro sign is the absolute best cap for a sexting penis. And the vagina—using round parentheses instead of the more flabby-looking back and forward slashes I originally wanted? Inspired.
Lorinda . . . coitus carousel? This is why we’ve remained friends for so long.
Melody, I’m truly grateful that every single one of my books so far bears your awesome editing touch. It’s always fabulous working with you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Natasha Anders was born in Cape Town, South Africa. She spent the last nine years working as an assistant English teacher in Niigata, Japan, where she became a legendary karaoke diva. Natasha is currently living in Cape Town with her temperamental and opinionated budgie, Sir Oliver Spencer, who has kindly deigned to share his apartment with her. Please feel free to contact her (or Oliver) on Twitter @satyne1.
Natasha Anders, The Wrong Man