The Prodigal Bride

“Zoey—” Her father scratched his cheek and sighed his frustration. “Marriage is not something to be taken lightly. It’s not supposed to be a business arrangement.”

“Sure it is,” she countered. “For centuries marriages were arranged for political, business and social reasons. The concept of marriage as a love match is really a rather modern concept.”

Her father grunted. “Why do you have to be so argumentative? So exasperating?”

Ellen leaned forward, jumping into the fray. “Maybe, given some time, you’ll decide that you want to stay married to Gage.” Her mother paused and divided a look between Zoey and Gage. “Maybe living together as husband and wife, you two will fall in love. You know, the best marriages are based on friendship.”

The note of forced cheer and optimism in her mother’s voice stirred a bittersweet longing inside Zoey. But she couldn’t dwell on longings and selfish wants anymore. She’d been chasing her dreams for years, leaving a trail of disappointment and heartache in her path. Time to sacrifice what she wanted to make sure no one else got hurt.

Her father took a deep breath and gave the two of them a thoughtful look. “Zoey, my father always told me that life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to what happens. I hope you gave this decision careful consideration.”

She swallowed hard. Did thirty minutes as they found a wedding chapel count as careful consideration? Somehow she doubted her father would think so.

Gage slid a hand to the small of her back and nudged her toward the door. “If you’re ready, Zee, my niece has been with the babysitter for four days. We need to get home and relieve the poor gal from Pet patrol.”

Zoey’s mother rose and gave her a tight hug. “We’ll talk soon, okay? With a baby coming, there is so much to plan! Have you told your sisters about your marriage and the baby?”

Zoey’s spirits lifted. Holly and Paige. Next to Gage, her sisters were her best friends. But how would they react to her news?

“Not yet. We wanted you to be the first to know.” And she’d known if she told her sisters, her parents might have found out before she could break the news.

As they made their way to the front door, she promised to be in touch with her mother before the end of the week, shared a wisecrack with Gage about the meter running on the babysitter and monitored her father’s brooding silence.

Make the first move, her conscience nudged her while the stubborn brat in her balked.

Gage opened the front door and stood aside for her to exit first. She took a step toward the porch, then hesitated when guilt kicked her in the shin.

“Dad—”

“Zoey—” he said at the same time, and they chuckled awkwardly.

She rushed over to her father and threw her arms around his neck, like she had every night as a child when he’d walk through the door at the end of a long business day.

“I love you, Baby Bear,” he murmured as he squeezed her to his chest.

The moniker took her back twenty years to nights when her favorite bedtime event was acting out Goldilocks with her father and sisters. Blonde Holly was Goldilocks, and Paige was Mama Bear, but the most dramatic and heartfelt performance each night belonged to Zoey.

Tears puddled in her eyes and, from a throat tight with emotion, she squeaked, “I love you, too, Papa Bear.”

Gage glanced across the front seat at Zoey, who was chewing a fingernail with a vengeance. “Haven’t kicked that bad habit yet, eh, Zee?”

She paused and stared at her finger as if she hadn’t realized what she was doing until he called it to her attention. With an annoyed twist of her lips, she sat on her hands and pressed her lips into a taut line.

He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. “So … that went pretty well, doncha think?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Were you not in the same room with us? They hate me now.”

Gage nodded. “Oh … so that’s what ‘I love you, Baby Bear’ means. It was code for ‘I hate my daughter.’ I was wondering about that.” Remembering the lingering hug the father and daughter had shared stirred a familiar longing in Gage. He’d always envied Zoey for the family she had, the love and support. The obvious affection Zoey’s father had for her was so starkly different from the animosity and indifference he’d grown up with.

She scoffed. “You know what I mean. I’ve failed them, and they’re hurt and disappointed and disillusioned and disgusted and angry and—”

“Yeah. Maybe. Understandably so. Did you really expect anything else?”

Sighing, she pulled a hand out and nibbled a cuticle. “No.”

“They’ll get over it.” He reached over and caught her hand in his, pulling it away from her mouth. “The important thing is they love you. They’re glad to have you back home and want to see you turn things around.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

Zoey tucked her hand under her leg again and rocked her head from side to side stretching her muscles. The gesture drew his attention to the smooth ivory arch of her neck, and he squelched the urge to press his lips to the pulse point under her jaw and inhale the fruity aroma of her shampoo.

Gage made the turn into his neighborhood, and he glanced at Zoey to gauge her reaction to the modest homes along the street. His house was a far cry from the dumpy trailer he’d grown up in, but what would Zoey think of it? She’d led a life of privilege with her parents well beyond his firefighter’s salary. “So this is it,” he said, pulling into his driveway. “Home sweet home.”

A smile tugged her sensuous lips when she faced him, and it was all he could do to not steal a kiss. “I like. Did you plant the pansies by the porch?”

He cut the engine. “Not really. I bought them already in the pots at Rani’s urging.”

Her eyebrow lifted in a way reminiscent of her father’s mannerism. “Rani?”

“My babysitter. She claimed my yard needed some fall color.” He hitched his head toward the house. “She’s inside. Come meet her.”

He turned to open his car door, but Zoey stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Gage, thank you. For defending me to my dad. You didn’t have to say all that stuff about how you wanted to marry me and all.” She puffed one cheek out as she sighed and rolled her eyes. “I appreciate your putting a positive spin on things with your ain’t-this-great-news shtick.”

A heaviness settled in his chest. She’d thought he was feeding her father a line to cover for her. More evidence that she viewed their arrangement from a far different perspective than he did. As if her frankness with her parents, calling their marriage a business arrangement that would eventually end in divorce, weren’t enough to prove that point.

Sirens in his head blared, “Warning, Will Robinson!” He definitely needed to reel in his feelings and expectations or he was headed for another disaster with Zoey. One that could kill their friendship for good. His hand tightened on the door handle. “You’re welcome, but … I said it because I meant it. I’m glad you’re here.”

Angling her head, she gave him a gooey-eyed look. “You’re the sweetest. I didn’t mean to sound like I have a problem with this arrangement. I’m looking forward to spending time with you. Catching up. Rebuilding our friendship.”

Friendship. The word landed in his gut like a brick.

Hello, Powell, can I paint you a picture? She only wants to be friends.

He forced a half grin. “Okay, then. Are you ready to meet the monster?”

She chuckled. “The monster?”

“Pet. She’s precious, and I love her, but she reminds me at times of Stitch.”

“What?” Zoey’s laughter bubbled through him with the effect of champagne on an empty stomach. Warming, intoxicating …

“You know, the alien from that Disney movie? A movie she loves to watch, by the way.”

“I know who Stitch is. I just can’t believe a little girl could be that bad.”