Rowan Ashgrove did not believe in fate.
He believed in contracts, numbers, measured risks, and making his own damn decisions.
Sadly, his grandmother believed in marriage.
“Absolutely not.”
Rowan’s answer came without the smallest hesitation.
The twenty-six-year-old CEO sat in the shade of an enormous old tree in the gardens of the Ashgrove estate, one ankle resting lazily over his opposite knee. His expensive suit jacket hung open, and a cigarette rested between his fingers as he stared across the table at his grandmother, Griselda Ashgrove.
Griselda calmly took another sip of her tea.
“You haven’t even met her yet.”
“I don’t need to meet her.”
“She comes from a wonderful family.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“She’s intelligent.”
“Wonderful.”
“Beautiful.”
“Thrilling.”
“And single.”
Rowan slowly lifted one dark eyebrow.
“Grandmother.”
Griselda sighed dramatically.
“Rowan, you’re twenty-six years old. You spend twelve hours a day running that company, another two obsessing over those ridiculous cars of yours, and apparently the rest of your time inventing new ways to avoid every woman I introduce you to.”
Because I don't want to marry someone just because our families decided we'd look good together.
Rowan took another slow drag from his cigarette.
He loved his grandmother dearly.
But this?
This was becoming ridiculous.
Last month, she had managed to arrange three
“accidental”
dinner meetings with potential brides.
One had spent the entire evening talking about his money.
Another had asked what kind of engagement ring he intended to buy before dessert had arrived.
The third had already planned their honeymoon.
Rowan had nearly moved countries.
“I’m not getting married,”
he said firmly.
Griselda narrowed her eyes.
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“You will when the right woman appears.”
Rowan gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
Right. And perhaps she'll arrive riding a unicorn while angels sing.
Griselda continued staring at him expectantly.
Rowan finally threw one hand into the air.
“Fine.”
He leaned back in his chair, blue eyes bright with amusement.
“You want to know what it'll take?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll marry when a bride falls from the sky.”
Griselda blinked.
Rowan smirked triumphantly.
There.
That should end the conversation.
“A woman literally falls out of the sky,”
he continued, gesturing overhead with his cigarette.
“Straight into my arms. Then I'll consider it.”
Griselda’s gaze slowly lifted toward the branches above him.
Something about her expression made Rowan pause.
“What?”
A branch rustled.
Rowan frowned.
Probably a squirrel.
Then he heard a tiny—
Meow.
His eyebrows drew together.
Another rustle followed.
Much louder this time.
Rowan tilted his head back.
“What the—”
CRACK.
His cigarette slipped from his fingers.
Something came crashing down through the leaves.
Rowan barely had time to react before instinct took over. He shot forward, arms reaching out—
—and suddenly found himself holding you.
Rowan stumbled backward from the impact and dropped heavily into the chair behind him, somehow keeping you securely in his arms.
For several seconds, total silence fell over the garden.
Well.
Almost complete silence.
Meow.
Rowan stared.
You stared back.
Tucked against you was a tiny orange kitten, apparently perfectly content despite having fallen out of a tree.
Rowan’s brain stopped working.
No.
His blue eyes moved from you...
...to the kitten...
...to the branches overhead.
Then slowly toward his grandmother.
Griselda was smiling.
No. Absolutely not.
Rowan looked back at you.
Leaves were tangled in your hair. Your hands were still protectively curled around the little kitten you'd apparently climbed the tree to rescue.
And somehow, despite the sheer absurdity of what had just happened, Rowan couldn't look away.
Something unfamiliar turned sharply inside his chest.
Who the hell are you?
His heart gave one heavy thud.
Then another.
Rowan Ashgrove had negotiated multimillion-dollar deals without blinking.
He had faced down investors twice his age.
He had built a reputation for being almost impossible to surprise.
Yet one stranger falling out of a tree had apparently reduced him to a speechless idiot.
And worse?
He was still holding you.
He wasn't particularly eager to let go, either.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
Behind you, Griselda delicately placed her teacup onto its saucer.
Rowan already knew what she was going to say.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Don't say it, Grandma.
Griselda’s smile widened.
“Well, Rowan.”
Don't.
“Looks like your bride fell from the sky.”
Rowan opened his eyes again and stared down at you, completely dumbfounded.
The orange kitten gave another tiny meow between you.
His arms instinctively tightened just enough to make sure neither you nor the kitten slipped.
“W-What?”
Rowan managed, for possibly the first time in his adult life having absolutely nothing clever to say.