Married For Convenience

CHAPTER 3: THE HERBAL TEA

A young woman was standing on the path above me, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing paint-stained overalls and a simple cotton shirt, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her face was striking, sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes that held an amused sparkle that made something in my chest tighten.

She was also the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

"You're not supposed to walk there," she said, a small laugh escaping her lips. "That side of the path is unstable. Everyone knows that."

I opened my mouth to respond, but all that came out was a sputter. She laughed again, and the sound was magical.

"Here," she said, reaching down toward me. "Give me your hand."

I hesitated. My hands were covered in mud and slime. I was a mess. I was also the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, and I was being rescued by a woman who looked like she'd just stepped out of a painting.

I took her hand.

She pulled me up with surprising strength, and I scrambled onto solid ground, my entire body dripping with filth. She stepped back, eyeing me with barely concealed amusement.

"You're a mess," she observed.

"I'm aware."

"You should probably clean up before you go anywhere. There's a cottage nearby." She gestured down the path. "I can help you."

I should have said no. I should have thanked her, walked back to the car, and endured Zhong's silent judgment. I should have maintained some semblance of dignity.

But I didn't.

"That would be... appreciated," I said, my voice sounding hoarse even to my own ears.

She smiled, and the sight of it made me forget, for a moment, that I was covered in swamp mud.

"Follow me," she said, already walking.

The cottage was small and crooked, its stone walls covered in climbing roses. A wild garden surrounded it, bursting with color and chaos. It looked like something from a fairy tale.

She pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, and immediately, I forgot about the mud.

The cottage was filled with paintings.

They covered every wall, landscapes and portraits, still lifes and abstract works. The colors were vivid, alive, pulsing with emotion. A canvas on the easel showed a woman's face, half-finished but already luminous. The brushstrokes were confident, sure, full of raw talent.

"Wow," I breathed.

She looked at me, her expression guarded. "It's not much. Just... practice pieces."

"Practice pieces?" I turned to her, incredulous. "These are extraordinary."

She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "I'm still learning. I've never had formal training. I just... paint."

I wanted to argue, to tell her that formal training couldn't teach what she clearly possessed, an instinctive understanding of color and emotion, a gift for capturing something intangible. But she was already moving toward a small cabinet, pulling out a folded shirt.

"This is all I have," she said, holding it out. "It's clean, but there are a few paint stains. I apologize."

I took the shirt. It was soft, worn, smelling faintly of turpentine and flowers. There were indeed paint stains.

"It's perfect," I said.

She smiled again, and I realized I wanted to make her smile more.

"There's a bathroom through there," she said, pointing to a small door. "You can clean up. I'll make tea.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I felt like a new man. I'd scrubbed the mud from my skin and hair, and the shirt she'd given me was surprisingly comfortable. It was too short in the arms, but I didn't care.

She was sitting at a small table, two steaming cups in front of her. The cottage was warm, lit by a fire in the small hearth. It felt... homey. Comfortable. Safe.

"Thank you," I said, sitting across from her. "For everything."

She shrugged, pushing a cup toward me. "It's no trouble. Drink, It'll warm you up."

I lifted the cup to my lips and took a sip. The tea was unlike anything I'd tasted before. It was rich and floral, with a hint of honey and something I couldn't identify. It was delicious. Warmth spread through my chest, loosening something I hadn't realized was tight.

"This is incredible," I said, taking another sip. "What is it?"

"Just herbs," she said. "My grandmother's recipe. She was a healer. She believed that tea could fix almost anything." She paused, a shadow crossing her face. "She was right about a lot of things."

I wanted to ask more, to understand the shadows in her eyes. But I sensed she was already pulling away, already building walls. Instead, I looked around the cottage again.

"You made all of these?"

She nodded, her eyes guarded. "Most of them."

"They're beautiful." I said it simply, honestly. "I've been looking for something like this. Something real. Something with soul."

She tilted her head, studying me. "You're the wealthy man, aren't you? The one who's been scouting for local artisans."

I nodded. "Kevin Tyre."

"I know who you are." There was something in her voice.

"Andrew told me about you."

"Andrew?"

"My friend. He thought I should meet you. He thought..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter."

"I would like you to consider working with me," I said. "Your talent is undeniable. With proper training, with resources, you could be…"

"I can't."

The words were sharp, final. She looked away, her jaw tight.

"May I ask why?"

She was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "I have responsibilities. My brother. My father's debts. I can't leave. I can't... I can't just walk away."

I understood. More than she knew. I'd spent my entire life trapped by expectations, by debts I hadn't created, by obligations that suffocated me.

We sat in silence, the fire crackling softly. I thought about my mother, about the promises I'd made to her that I was still trying to keep. I thought about the life I'd built, the success, the power, the isolation.

And I thought about the woman sitting across from me, her hands wrapped around her cup, her eyes filled with pain and hope and something that looked almost like defiance.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I shouldn't have... I don't know why I told you that."

"Because I asked."

She smiled, and it was sad. "You're a strange man, Kevin Tyre."

"I've been told."

She laughed, and the sound was brighter this time. I took another sip of the tea. It was still delicious. The warmth spread through me, settling somewhere deep in my chest.

"I would still like to help you," I said. "Not as a transaction. As... an investment. In your talent. In your future."

She looked at me, searching my face for something. I didn't know what she was looking for, but I hoped she found it.

"I can't promise anything," she said.

"I wouldn't ask you to."

She nodded slowly, and something in her posture relaxed. She was still wary, still guarded, but she was listening. That was enough.

"I should go," I said, rising reluctantly. "My assistant is probably preparing to call the military."

She laughed again. "Your assistant sounds like a handful."

"He's a menace. But he's loyal."

I walked toward the door, then turned back. "Thank you, ma’am, for the shirt and the tea. For... everything."

She nodded, her eyes unreadable. "Be careful on the path this time. And the name is Carrot"

I smiled. "I will." The name suits her. Her red hair had the bright color of a carrot.

I stepped out into the fading light, the village quiet and peaceful. I could feel the warmth of the tea still in my chest, the ghost of her laugh in my ears.

I was halfway down the path when I heard the scream.