“What are you doing here?”
Harold gave her an amused look. “I live here.”
Christine stumbled into the kitchen, regarding him warily. “But shouldn’t you be at work?”
True it was Saturday, but Harold had no problem working Sunday – nor working the day after he got married.
“There’s a pack brunch this morning.”
“Oh, right.” Marguerite had told her that, she had just been a little distracted by other things.
Harold folded his newspaper. “We don’t have to go.”
“No, pack is important.” Wasn’t loyalty to the pack the whole reason for their marriage?
Harold nodded and pulled out his tablet. He was checking his e-mails, or maybe checking his stocks, or who knows? Perhaps he was bidding on an antique china doll on an auction site. She really had no idea what to expect from her husband.
Christine pottered around the kitchen, making herself some tea. She watched him out the corner of her eye, expecting him to jump up and run away at any moment. But other than a few grunts, he did nothing more than swipe his finger across the screen of his tablet.
She sat down opposite him and absently dunked her tea bag.
“Are you really not going to work?” she asked suspiciously.
Harold gave her a quizzical look. “No, but I may need to make a few calls before we leave for the brunch.”
“Okay.” Christine chewed on her lip. All week long she had been lamenting the fact that she wasn’t spending any time with her new husband. Now that the opportunity arose, she wasn’t sure what to do or say.
“I guess I should skip breakfast if we’re having brunch.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said. “My mother will be in charge of the food – she favors alcohol over calories. There won’t be much sustenance.”
Christine snorted. “If it were my mom you’d be swimming in red meat, biscuits, and gravy. She wouldn’t let you leave the table until you were ten pounds heavier. She’s a feeder. We all generally did our own thing during the week, but every Sunday was family dinner night, and she made us eat enough calories to last the rest of the week.” She chuckled at the fond memories. Though, their last family dinner was probably best forgotten. Her mom was virtually crying into her mashed potatoes, and her dad had stared at her all night as if she was about to be executed. “Does your family do anything like that?” she asked, shaking that particular memory.
“Not really. The pack gets together a couple of times a month, but not our family. It has to be a special occasion for us all to come together.”
Christine looked up at him through her lashes. “Like our wedding?”
He smiled. “Indeed.”
“How long before we have to leave?”
“An hour.”
“I’m going to get dressed.”
Harold nodded.
Christine moved to leave taking her tea with her, but she paused and chewed her lip. “Umm, how should I dress?”
He slanted his head. “However you like.”
“Well, is there a dress code?”
“Casual.”
“Okay.”
She doubted that meant jeans and a sweater like it would back home. Well, back in Texas. This was her home now. She was sure she could find something. Maybe she should have bought more new clothes as Marguerite told her to.
*
“What’s going on?”
Harold stilled as Christine glided downstairs. The delivery guy let out an ‘ahem’ to get his attention.
“Ah, here.” He pulled out a bill and passed it to him.
The dour man suddenly perked up. “Thank you, sir. Ma’am.”
A small frown played on Christine’s face, but it didn’t detract from her loveliness. Dressed in a form-fitting dress, it highlighted her small waist, and the neckline drew attention to her breasts without showing them. It was a modest dress but hinted at her sexiness, particularly with the strappy sandals.
Jeez, when had he ever paid attention to anything a woman wore? It even distracted him from the fact that his investigator had discovered that her ex Roark was the one calling and breathing down the phone at his Christine. Christine assumed it was Sabrina, but no, it was definitely Roark.
“Who was that?”
“Delivery guy,” he replied absently.
“He must have been good at his job. That was a hundred you passed him.”
“What?!” Harold peered in his wallet. Shit. He meant to grab a ten. Well, too late now.
He cleared his throat. “You look lovely.”
Christine seemed pleased and even gave him a small twirl. “It’s a new dress.”
“It suits you,” he said with feeling. Though there was precious little that she could wear and not look lovely.
“You like the lemon print? Your mother wasn’t keen.”
“I like it,” he muttered as his eyes wandered all over her.
“What was he delivering?” she asked.
“Your car.”
“My what now?”
“Your car.”
“Ah, seriously, my car?” she repeated incredulously.
“I understand you drove a car back in Texas.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“It wasn’t feasible to bring it here,” he explained patiently, “so you should have a new one.”
“Wow, just like that.”
“Why not?”
“The rest of us scrimp and save for things like that.”
Harold quirked an eyebrow. Christine wasn’t like any alpha’s daughter he’d met. Usually, they were spoiled princesses who thought presents were a given. “Didn’t your father buy you…”
*
Annoyance rippled through Christine. Did he think she was some princess who merely had to snap her fingers at her father to get what she wanted? Is that the kind of woman he wanted?
She wasn’t sure why, but it annoyed her how casually he spoke about buying a car. As if it were nothing. Acquiring a new thing was nothing to him – did he feel so indifferent about the way he had acquired a wife?
“No,” she denied quickly, “I bought my car myself. It was kind of a junker, but I liked it.”
She may have lived at home before she married, but she tried and tried to pay rent to her parents – she tried to stand on her own two feet. Her father had offered to help her buy the car, but that was at the start of his money woes, and she was adamant a little independence couldn’t hurt anyway.
His lips pursed in distaste. “A junker?”
“Well, it wasn’t very good with hills,” she admitted, fondly thinking of the mean green bug machine that had served her… not well, or adequately but had served her mediocrely for a good few months.
It was a green beetle, and yes it broke down whenever it got to a steep hill it didn’t like, but driving five miles out of her way to avoid the hill wasn’t an issue. It was cute, and it was all hers.
“It sounds dangerous,” he said censoriously. “You should never have bought it.”
“Not really, I had…” She bit her lip; she was going to say she had Roark check it over before she did, but decided against it.
Perhaps Harold knew the direction of her thoughts because subtly his demeanor became a lot less friendly.
“Why don’t you take a look at the car and if you don’t like it, we can send it back.”
His voice had taken on an almost chilly edge, and she realized perhaps she was being a little ungrateful. No one else had ever bought her such an extravagant gift – then, no one else she had ever met could really afford it. But Harold did it as if it were nothing. Perhaps it was nothing to him. Perhaps he bought expensive cars for all his lady friends.
Christine batted that thought away. So what if he did? Or rather, so what if he had? That didn’t make any difference to her now.
She smiled at him, trying to ease the wary look on his face.
“Can I take a look?”
“Of course.” He blew out a breath of relief and pressed his hand to her back, lightly guiding her outside.
She was prepared to hate the car – some inner demon of hers wanting to be stubborn and difficult. She expected some flashy, expensive beast of a vehicle – like Harold’s own car. Needlessly fast, needlessly powerful and altogether a status symbol.
Christine gasped. “Oh, my word!”
She trotted towards the green beetle, her jaw hanging open. It wasn’t exactly like her old one – her old one had been just that – old. This was a new model beetle, but in the same green and with stripes down the side.
“Do you like it?” he asked a little stiffly.
Of course, she did. How could she not?
“I love it,” she admitted. “Thank you… Harry.”
He scowled before realizing she was teasing and some of the tension left him.
“How did you get the same color?” She stroked her fingers along the paintwork.
“I had Thomas arrange the custom paintwork. He spoke to your parents and had them send him a picture of your old car.”
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad. It even goes up hills.”
Christine giggled and turned to kiss her husband. She had intended for a small peck on the cheek, but he turned at the same time, and their lips met. Hesitant at first in surprise, but Harold soon deepened the kiss. She moaned as his tongue pressed into her mouth, seeking hers. She dropped her purse to the ground, completely uncaring as her arms snaked around his neck and his wrapped around her.
*
The car had gone over even better than he expected. Of course, he was hoping that Christine would like it – that it would somehow be a nice little taste of home – but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so thrilled.
He had considered that she would need to get around, so he merely had Thomas look into getting a replica of her old car. It was as easy at that. Very little thought or effort had gone into it. He felt bad about that. How happy could he make Christine if he actually did try?
“Harold!” snapped an indignant voice.
Christine drew back from him instantly, her pale cheeks flaming. But he held onto her, only letting her escape his kiss, not his arms.
He growled as his grandmother and parents approached. He perhaps should have heard them coming, but while kissing Christine, a tornado could probably hit, and he wouldn’t notice.
Christine turned red, and he squeezed her waist.
“What are you doing here?” he growled in a very unfriendly tone. He was irritated by their interruption, though, truthfully, his tone was never particularly cordial when speaking to his older family members. They usually wanted something from him.
“What on earth… that kind of display in your driveway is completely inappropriate!” hissed his grandmother. Her furious gaze settled on Christine, thinking she was to blame. He supposed she kind of was – not that there was any blame to be had. But he certainly hadn’t carried on in this way with any other female. He hadn’t wanted to – Christine was… different.
“Only pack members will see us, Grandmother, and they’re quite aware that we are married.”
“I think it’s a disgrace!”
Christine pressed her lips together.
“Your grandmother’s quite right, darling,” said his mother. “You don’t see your father and I carrying on this way.”
There was a reason for that – they couldn’t stand one another. It was a miracle they ever managed to produce five children, though his father once hinted – while drunk – that alcohol was heavily involved.
“Is there a reason for this interruption?” snapped Harold impatiently.
Christine patted his chest in disapproval.
“We wanted to make sure you were coming to the brunch,” replied Marguerite before adding reproachfully, “since you missed the wedding breakfast.”
“We’ll be there,” piped up Christine.
“Do you have a visitor?” asked Harold Sr., aiming a kick at one of the beetle’s tires.
“No, that’s Christine’s new car.”
She smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“This?” snorted Harold Sr. “Surely you could have found something better than this thing.”
“I like it,” muttered Christine.
Harold smiled at her and held up the keys. “Perhaps you could drive us to the hotel?”
His family let out grunts of disapproval.
Christine beamed at him and grasped the keys. “My pleasure.”