“Great idea,” Rupert says as we walk up the pathway to the yellow cottage I rented for the summer.
When I found it up for rent, I considered the location extremely convenient. Staying right next to my soon-to-be fiancée seemed almost too good to be true. I could get to know her but also give us both space at night, but now…now this just seems awkward.
When I’m inside the house, I shed my suit jacket and sit on the couch, kicking my feet up on the coffee table.
Rupert joins me and lets out a deep sigh. “Shit, I can’t believe I met Kitty Katherine.”
“Yeah, what the fuck was that about?” I was so perplexed by the whole fiancé/financier thing that I haven’t fully processed everything else. “Is she some sort of celebrity?”
“In a niche market. She rides hobby horses and has been documenting her journey for a while now.”
“What the hell is a hobby horse? I haven’t heard of that breed before.” And I know just about every single breed. My family has an incredibly large stable with a line of champions, a fact that I hate. If I ever do become lord—which I don’t want to—I’d release the horses from their show duties and let them live freely.
“Mate.” Rupert chuckles. “It’s not a breed; it’s a horse on a stick that you ride.”
I slowly turn toward my friend. “You mean the kids’ toy?”
He nods. “Indeed. There’s a whole world of hobby horse riders. And they perform in competitions, ranging from dressage to obstacles. It’s fucking intense, especially when they get into puissance—high jumping—something Kitty hasn’t done for a while. She focuses more on dressage.”
“How…when…why are you into this?”
Rupert shrugs. “Boredom got the best of me, along with mindlessly scrolling social media, and well, it was hobby horse competitions and honey harvesting that caught my attention.” He leans forward. “Have you ever seen a honey farmer scrape the beeswax off the comb with a hot tool? It’s fascinating.”
I study my friend for a moment, knowing he truly is a by-product of a rich family with nothing to do. “You truly concern me at times, Rupert.”
I lean my head against the couch and pull my phone from my pocket. “This is a fucking disaster.”
“I mean, did you expect victory, coming all the way here to marry someone you haven’t even talked to? There isn’t a high success rate with never-before-seen fiancées.”
There’s some validity behind that statement.
“I expected her to be on the same page as me. Christ.” I drag my hand over my face and go to the Fiancé-er app, where I have several other matches. At least I have that going for me. “Maybe I can find someone else. I have quite a few matches.”
“Let’s see them.” Rupert takes my phone from me and starts looking through them. “Hmm, this lady once married her cat and is now looking for a human marriage. She seems like a winner.”
“Skip,” I say in an annoyed tone, causing Rupert to laugh.
“This one looks normal…eh, never mind. She’s into satanic rituals, and I’m all for letting your freak flag fly, but I think she’d eat you alive, especially given this picture she posted of her mouth dripping with blood.” Rupert examines it closer. “Are we just going to assume that’s fake blood? Because if it’s animal or human, I think we have the responsibility of reporting her.”
“Give me that.” I snag the phone from him and scroll through the matches myself. One after another, there’s something wrong with the candidate. And it has nothing to do with their looks and everything to do with their personality and the information they’re willing to give.
Like the current girl I’m looking at has collected every hair that’s fallen from her head and made her own extensions. I don’t know, that just screams having too much time on your hands.
Or the next woman, who I thought could be a winner with her knitting hobby and desire to have a family, but then she posted a picture of herself wearing a shirt that says Earl Grey Is Piss Water. That’s just not an attitude I can be married to.
“Christ, is there not one decent person out there?” Although terrible at reading, Renley seems like the brightest choice.Her common sense is questionable, but at least she had the wherewithal to try to defend her house with a candlestick from a stranger who came to marry her.
Got to give her credit for that.
“You really can’t get on board with Earl Grey piss-water girl?”
I give him a side-eye and that’s all it takes, because he says, “You’re right. Clearly, she’s deranged.”
“What the fuck am I going to do?”
Just then my phone beeps with a text message. I glance down at my screen and see that it’s from my father.
Fucking great.
