The Marriage Arrangement Read online

  THE MARRIAGE ARRANGEMENT

  ANYTHING FOR LOVE

  KIM LORAINE

  Copyright © 2022 by Kim Loraine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Comma Sutra Editorial Services

  Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Design: T.E. Black Designs

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Kim Loraine

  About the Author

  1

  SAVAGE

  I stood outside Becca’s house, my stomach churning with the knowledge of what I was about to do. I’d been awake for hours, gone for a punishing run, showered, dressed, and hopped on a ferry before the sun was even up. Now the manila envelope in my hand felt like it was a fucking explosive as I held it and waited for this fiery little blonde baker to open the door.

  Hopefully I’d caught her before she and Scarlett began baking for the day. She’d said things got going early, but I hadn’t thought to ask exactly how early. By the scent of melted butter and sugar filling the air, I was clearly too late.

  I rang the doorbell, hoping she’d answer and I wouldn’t have to deal with her wide-eyed sister. But no one came to the door.

  “Bloody fucking hell,” I muttered as I adjusted my cap and zipped my jacket to my chin. It was baltic this morning without my cold weather running gear on.

  I banged on the door, calling out, “Becca, let me in, lass. I’m freezing my bollocks off out here.”

  Something hit me in the back of the head, making me spin around to find the culprit. There she was, the one who got away. More like the one who never gave me a fair shake at winning her.

  Becca Barnes stood behind me with a yellow apron tied around her front, her hair in a bun atop her head, and flour streaking one cheek. She also had a wad of dough in her tiny wee fist.

  “Did you just assault me with . . . cookie dough, lass?”

  “Yeah, I did. What are you going to do about it, Taylor?”

  “That’s a real waste. I thought you were meant to be a baker. Bakers . . . bake, don’t they?”

  She cocked her hip and lifted her chin defiantly. “Normally, yes, we do. This morning is an exception. What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to see you.”

  “Why? We’ve said everything we need to say.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “You could have texted me.”

  “Aye, but then you’d have been able to ignore me.”

  Her gaze traveled my body until she stopped on the envelope in my hands. “Oh God. Are you suing me for some bullshit reason? Taylor, I can’t afford to be sued. I’m barely keeping things going as it is.”

  “No, I’m not suing you. Why would I be suing you?”

  Her shoulders loosened and she looked relieved. “Then why are you here?”

  “Can we go inside? I’m fucking frozen.”

  She rewarded me with an expression that said I was full of shit. “You’re a hockey player. It’s thirty-five degrees out here. Don’t you have, like, superhuman powers of cold deflection?”

  “While I love that you think I’m a superhero—”

  “Villain.”

  “I’m not dressed like a hockey player. I still get cold. Besides, if memory serves, you like a bad boy.”

  Her cheeks went pink, and she huffed out a breath. I could see it in the air, a little puff of annoyance at herself for her reaction to me. This could work. This might be the in I needed.

  “Let me in, lass. I need to ask you something.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I was about to take a coffee break anyway. Follow me.”

  We walked around the little house until we reached a converted garage, complete with a bakery truck with a logo splashed across the side that read BSB Bakery. The delicious scent of baked goods was stronger over here, and my stomach growled.

  “How do you stand it?”

  “Stand what?”

  “Working in these conditions? I’d eat it all and never sell a single thing.”

  She shrugged. “I like money.”

  “Fair.”

  Music blared from inside the garage-turned-kitchen, and I caught sight of Scarlett working with a piping bag, her brow furrowed in concentration as she decorated a three-tiered cake.

  “This is where you bake everything? And you sell out of that little truck?” I asked, disbelief coloring my words.

  “For now, yeah. We’re leasing a space downtown, but our entire kitchen needs to be gutted and redone.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  She took a tight breath, that tension returning to her shoulders and around her eyes. “It is.” Then she leaned in through the doorway and called, “Scar! I’m taking a coffee break.”

  Her sister looked up from what she was doing long enough to give me a double take and then offered a thumbs up before going back to work.

  “Come on. Coffee’s in the house.”

  We went inside through a door around back and came right into the cozy kitchen. Immediate warmth hit me. “Thank fuck. Heat.”

  “You’re a wuss.”

  “You’re clearly a yeti. You’re not even wearing a coat.”

  She shrugged, then headed for the coffeepot on the counter, blessedly full, and grabbed two mugs. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Just a bit of cream.”

  After getting us our coffees, she motioned to the kitchen table, and we sat facing each other.

  “So what in the world brings the bad boy of Seattle hockey to my doorstep at seven in the morning?”

  “I need you to marry me.”

  She choked on her coffee, spitting it all over the table. “I’m sorry, say that again?”

  “You heard me. I need you to marry me. Today.”

  “Why would I do that? I don’t even like you.”

  That stung, but I’d earned it. “Oh, come on, Tink. You like me at least a little. You’ve let me put my tongue—”

  “Stop right there. That was a mistake I made. I might like your tongue, but the man attached to it leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “What if I offered to pay for your new kitchen in exchange for your hand in marriage?”

  “What is this, the Middle Ages? No.”

  “Just in name. We don’t have to . . . you know.”

  “No, Taylor, I don’t know. What in God’s name could be so bad that you’d need a wife to get out of it?”

  This was it. The moment of truth. I took a deep breath and raked a hand through my hair as I pulled together the words I wanted to say.

  “Look, this app thing is getting out of control. They want me to be on some reality show next and sign a five-year endorsement deal.”

  “Isn’t that just money in your pocket?”

  “No. I mean . . . it is, but it’s also me being forced to use this bonkers app, date women I don’t really like, then post about it, and, you know, sell my soul for profit.”

  “Aw, you poor baby. You’re famous and being used by the big bad corporations for their financial gain. Must be hard.”

  “I’m serious, Becca. I’ll pay for a state-of-the-art kitchen. I’ll take care of you.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  “I know that. I just . . . I need help, and this is the only way I can get out of this bloody contract.”

  “How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long do we have to be married?”

  “A year, just to be safe.”

  Her brows shot into her hairline. “An entire year? Are you crazy?”

  “And we have to live together.”

  “What? You said in name only. I can’t move off the island. I need to be close to the bakery. To Scarlett.”

  I’d already thought of this. I’d thought of everything. “I’ll buy a house nearby. We can live there.”

  “Why do we have to live together?”

  “The contract with Meet-Cupid stipulates the agreement is void if I’m married and in a committed, co-habitant relationship.”

  She bit her lower lip and trained her gaze on the coffee mug in front of her. “You’ll redo the kitchen exactly how we want it? No questions asked?”

  “Aye.”

  “I get my own room?”

  “Aye.” My chest tightened in anticipation as she was obviously warming to the idea.

  “One year living with you. Do I have to pretend to love you?”

  “Only when we attend public functions. And we’ll need to post on social media every now and then.”

  “But other than that, I can go about my life?”

  “With the exception of dating. I can’t have my wife dating ot
her men.”

  “And you won’t see other women.” She said it like a statement, not a question.

  “Aye, you’ll be my moon and stars, lass.”

  “I don’t see how we’re going to do this today. We need a license, an officiant.”

  I placed the envelope on the table. “Taken care of.”

  She opened the flap and pulled out the marriage license I’d applied for, both of our names already written down. “Are you serious? You knew I’d say yes?”

  “I hoped so. You’re a smart woman, business-minded, and even though you say you hate me, you don’t really.”

  “I do.”

  “Look, you already know your lines.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not helping your case, Taylor.”

  “Fine, hate me. But I need you to marry me tonight before the auction, love me or hate me.”

  “I suppose you’ve already booked an appointment at city hall too?”

  I smirked. “Aye. And I’ve got a suit in my car.”

  She took a heavy breath, then let it out in a rush. “What time is the appointment?”

  2

  THREE MONTHS EARLIER

  BECCA

  “A dating app wants to sponsor the team?” I asked my sister Clara as we sat together in the living room of the house they’d just moved into.

  I bounced my baby niece Quinn in my lap, her little gurgles of pleasure making me smile through the stress of the last few weeks.

  “Yeah, they got a look at the roster and think it’s a perfect match. Hot hockey boys. What’s not to love?”

  “Hot, huh? You been lookin’ Mrs. Wilde?” My brother-in-law, Maverick, sauntered in from the kitchen, a tool belt around his waist and a smirk on his lips.

  “You know I have a thing for cowboys, Mav. Not puck boys.” Clara’s cheeks went pink.

  He leaned down and kissed her before plucking Quinn off my lap and giving her loud kisses on her neck until she giggled.

  “That’s right, mama only likes cowboys.” He snuggled her close. “Tell your mama her sink is all fixed and she should come give her favorite cowboy some sugar.”

  Clara gave him a smile so full of adoration my stomach twisted as she stood and laid a kiss on him. I rolled my eyes. They were so in love it hurt to look at them.

  “Well, you can count me out when it comes to this dating app. I’m not interested. Is it too much to ask for to just meet someone the old-fashioned way?”

  Mav cocked one brow. “I happen to love doing things the old-fashioned way, Becs. I think more people should try it.”

  Clara smirked. “Of course you do.”

  “Yes, we all know. Now please never remind me how you and Clara . . .”

  “That’s enough. Aren’t you supposed to meet Scarlett at the bakery location? You need to get out of here before you’re late. She’ll freak.”

  I glanced at my phone and saw I had missed two texts from our sister.

  “Well, shit. I’ll never make it to the space in time. She moved up the walk-through.”

  “Who did?”

  “The landlord. I swear, she doesn’t want us to rent the space.”

  Mav jerked his chin toward the door. “Come on, I’ll take you to the ferry. You’ll make it in time. Just have a little faith.”

  Scarlett was too sweet. It made her a pushover, easy to take advantage of. This was a prime example. We weren’t supposed to meet for the walk-through until this afternoon. Which meant I should have had plenty of time for this visit and to get home for lunch before we had this meeting. Now everything was shot to hell.

  I stared down at the texts on my phone.

  Scarlett: Can you be here now? She wants to get this done so she can get an earlier flight for her vacation.

  Scarlett: Where are you? I told her we could make it.

  Scarlett: I don’t want to go alone. I’m not as good at negotiating as you.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I hitched my bag over my shoulder.

  Me: Don’t sign anything until I’m there.

  Of course, even with Mav tearing through the Seattle streets, I didn’t make the ferry. I waited in the terminal, legs bouncing with anxiety, hoping for a response from Scar.

  The walk-on crowd began loading onto the boat, people chatting happily, quite a few couples holding hands, carrying fresh bouquets from Pike Place Market.

  I sighed, letting nostalgia wash over me for the barest second. I’d had that once upon a time. True love, or so I’d thought. Until he got drafted by the NFL and left his college girlfriend behind. Hint . . . I was the college girlfriend. I’d been so young and wide-eyed. Now I just laugh at the girl I used to be. The one who believed in fate and love, romance and the ‘good ones.’ Now I know they don’t exist. No matter how much we want them to.

  I sat quietly, scrolling through Scar’s social media posts for the bakery, responding to emails and comments, until the ferry docked and I could finally run for the storefront location.

  Sun beamed through the window as I sat on one of the bench seats, the vinyl creaking with every shift of my hips. It was a full boat today, the weekend crowd getting out of the city and heading for the charm of the island.

  My phone buzzed in my hand, a message from Scar.

  Scarlett: I signed the lease. As is. I’m sorry, she wouldn’t wait.

  “What? No! Oh, shit on a shingle.”

  A low chuckle from behind me had me turning around to face a tall tattooed man sitting in the booth behind me. He was manspread across the entirety of the bench, his dark ball cap pulled down over his eyes.

  “Something funny?”

  Tilting his head up, he flashed me a panty-melting grin.

  “Aye, lass. You.”

  “You’re laughing at me?”

  The man raised his face, hitting me with a mischievous grin. “Your nose does this adorable crinkly thing when you’re cross. With your blonde hair and that green shirt, you look a wee bit like Tinkerbell.”

  The only thing that kept me talking to him was the Scots accent. I swear. That was it—except for the tattoos running down his forearms and peeking out above the collar of his henley. Okay, so there was more than just the accent.

  I couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just a friendly, playful person. “Does that make you Peter Pan?”

  “Oh, no, my wee darlin’. That makes me Captain Hook. I’m too much of a bad boy to be claiming anything more gallant.”

  “You know Captain Hook poisoned Tinkerbell, right?”

  “No. He tried to poison Peter Pan. Tink got in the middle. She saved him.”

  “Same difference.” I shrugged.

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. What if Hook was the one Tink should’ve been pining for all along? Peter was a spoiled brat who didn’t know what he had. Hook saw right through him. She should’ve allied herself with the pirates. She would’ve been better off.”

  My lips twitched in a smile. I couldn’t stop myself. “Okay. You keep telling yourself that. Clearly you’ve got an untapped villain arc you need to explore.”

  Turning away from him, I stared out the window as the boat sailed toward Bainbridge. We were very nearly there already, the crossing only taking thirty minutes. Soon I’d be on my way to the house I shared with Scarlett, hopeful she hadn’t made a decision that would bankrupt our fledgling bakery. The hot Scot plopped down in the bench seat across from me, invading my space with his cocky smirk. “So you don’t like a bad boy, then, lass?”

  I shook my head and forced my gaze everywhere but on him. “No. It’s been my experience that all bad boys stay bad. Even when they pretend they’re reformed.”

  “Have a lot of experience with that?”

  “Once is enough.”

  His face turned serious. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m sorry I have to say it.” The boat slowed as one of the crew came over the intercom and announced our arrival. As the crowd of walk-on passengers lined up, ready to disembark, I typed a quick message to Scarlett and slowly gathered my things.