Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  “Mr. Seagram, would you like to see some of our engagement photos?” She took him by the arm and steered him toward the living room wall to the series of pictures Tory had taken. She wished not so many of them were of that inflammatory kiss, and that she’d been wearing something more, and that Josh hadn’t made her feel so at home in his arms. She was sinking deeper, and the only way to stop herself once this ordeal of today was over was to stop seeing him—and absolutely to never kiss him again. Each time he kissed her, it was like adding another layer of adhesive on her feelings, gluing them into place. She was really in danger of getting addicted to that smile.

  Morgan held her hand out for Mr. Seagram to see. “Josh gave me this ring on the beach. We really like living so close to the water. Some nights you can hear the waves from here.”

  “Well, I guess that’d be the only perk.” Mr. Seagram didn’t look impressed. Granted, Estrella Court was a dump. No one was arguing that point.

  “Yeah, it’s a little far from campus.” She shrugged. “But we’re starting out. It’s our little home.” Something pinched inside her as she perpetrated this lie. The apartment complex was her home, though. She justified it that way—but it made her dizzy, all this deception. She wanted to fly away for a thousand reasons, not the least being that someone would be interviewing her on camera any second now.

  “Can you please come right over here beside your husband, Mrs. Hyatt? We’d like a tight shot of the two of you. Mr. Hyatt, please stand behind her and plant your hands on her hips. Yes, like that.”

  The pressure of Josh’s hands on her hips, pressing her down, grounded Morgan. If they stood together they could get through this.

  “Nice. Now, I’m Darshelle. I’ll be asking you a few questions.” The grilling began. “How did you feel when you first found out you’d been selected for the Seagram Scholarship?”

  Morgan couldn’t answer that one. If she had, the adjectives would have been terrified, guilt-ridden, worried to death, and so forth. Luckily, Josh picked it up.

  “Morgan has been working herself to the bone as a waitress to put herself through school. This scholarship will allow her to focus on her studies in the Accounting Department, and work, she hopes, toward her CPA certification.”

  Well, that was half-true. It didn’t actually help her focus on her studies, as she was going to have to find another job, but she was actually dreaming of her CPA certification. How did Josh know that? Lucky guesser.

  Darshelle smiled. “That’s great. I’m sure she’ll be great. Next question. Tell us about your courtship. That’s what all the viewers want to know about. Morgan, you start. Girls always tell it best.”

  Not in this case. “It was short,” was all Morgan could manage to eke out.

  Darshelle laughed. “How short?”

  Morgan couldn’t respond. The time ticked by. Josh nudged her, and when she didn’t say anything, he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked up her dropped ball. “Blessedly short. I mean, I saw her across the parking lot one day this summer, all tan and gorgeous and amazing, and I don’t know. Next thing I knew, we were these spontaneous kids, eloping and getting married in front of Judge Byron downtown.” He gave a little shrug and then kissed Morgan on her neck. Tingles went all over her skin.

  Ooh, when this was over, they were going to have to have a talk about physical boundaries.

  Unless, when this was over, they never had to see each other again until the next trip to the Clatsop County Building, spontaneous kids in front of Judge Byron for their annulment.

  The thought stopped the tingles.

  “Tell the world about how he proposed, Morgan. If you can.”

  That one she could answer, at least. “He took me to the beach. The moon was sailing high. The waves crashed in their dreamy rhythm. Josh said, ‘Will you wear this ring?’ and placed it on my finger.” She held out her hand, and one camera did a close-up on her hand, while the other camera held steady on her face.

  “Tell them what I did next, Morg.” Josh squeezed her.

  Fine. If he insisted. “He gave me a kiss that turned me into his slave forever.” There. That served him right. She glanced at him sideways, and he wore a look of both shock and new interest. Ha. Ha, ha.

  “Wow. Can we get an instant replay of that for the cameras?”

  Morgan snapped back to earth. “Uh, I don’t know. It might not be safe for prime time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure our cameramen can make it work for the audience.” Darshelle insisted, Morgan resisted, and Josh balked, until Mr. Seagram walked up and put his foot down.

  “A kiss for the cameras, kids. Let’s quit being coy. Man, I’ve never seen two newlyweds so shy about public displays of affection. Usually it’s too much. In your case, you have to be commanded.” His boisterous laugh filled the room, and Morgan looked up at Josh with a little trepidation. What if he refused? But the look in his eye said otherwise.

  As he came in for the kiss, Josh nuzzled her ear, and he said, “Love slave, huh?”

  “Slave for life was the verbiage, not love slave.” Morgan whispered this back just as Josh attacked her lips with a totally Hollywood-style kiss that made her need to grip the fronts of her shoes with her toes just to remain standing. It went on for possibly too long because eventually Mr. Seagram started clearing his throat.

  “Uh, that’ll do. It’s a wrap. You can wind that up now.” The three reminders finally got Josh to pull away from Morgan’s mouth, and at last loosen the hold he had on the back of her neck, where he’d been stroking her skin and sending her even deeper into lifelong slavery.

  She gulped and touched her collarbone, her face, doubtless, flaming red.

  “So after that, I imagine you said yes.” Darshelle was fanning herself.

  “I think he knew I was already his.” Morgan whispered after coming back to the now, knowing she had to obfuscate but still be accurate at the same time, and it killed her. Lies were not her thing. At this moment she ached for this to be a true story, to be her real story—a moonlight proposal on the beach with a kiss so explosive it made television news.

  But it wasn’t.

  She suddenly clenched. “Are we done yet?”

  “Almost.” Seagram bustled over to them, one of Tory’s snapshots in his hand. It was a smiling shot, just sweet. “I like this one. Can I have it for my files?”

  Morgan nodded, and Mr. Seagram got one of the cameramen to swing toward himself. “I have to say, the delicious decrepitude of this apartment complex makes what I have to say next all the more satisfying. What’s that I saw in there? A twin-sized bed?”

  The camera swung back at them, and Morgan’s nails dug into Josh’s forearm. She pulled them back as soon as she noticed what she’d done.

  “We like togetherness,” Josh stammered. One of the cameramen hit his forehead with the heel of his hand before swinging back to Seagram.

  “Young people. Young, poor people.” He tsked.

  With the camera aimed at Mr. Seagram, Morgan could relax a little. It seemed like the questions were done, thank heavens. She’d made it through without complete embarrassment, maybe, thanks to Josh. He really came through for her when she couldn’t respond.

  Nice guy. He made her look good, or at least not bad.

  “First, I’d like to say, as the media-feature couple for my newlywed scholarship, the two of you are the ideal. Smart, driven, facing up to your challenges.”

  “Not to mention drop dead gorgeous,” Darshelle added. “Doesn’t hurt the publicity.”

  Morgan colored. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but Josh totally was. That smile? It could make her drop dead with bliss.

  “I hope this scholarship will be a light in the wilderness. I have an agenda with it, you know. I think the trends are troubling, people waiting longer and longer to get married. I say, if I’d waited late into my twenties to marry, I never would have had my few short years with Nellie. She left me too young.”

  Oh! So he was widowed. Morgan’s he
art stretched out to him—and her hunch had been right: Seagram was lonely.

  “For that reason, you two are just the right example.” When he smiled on them beatifically, Morgan writhed inside. She was such a liar. “And now for my surprise. Drum roll, please.”

  One of the camera guys did a slapping drum roll on his thigh. Seagram’s eyes twinkled. One camera trained itself on Seagram while the other swung around to aim at Morgan and Josh again. She instantly tensed up, but she forced a pleasant, eager look to her face. She probably looked like a sea turtle struggling up the shore.

  “This wasn’t my original intention, but after meeting Mr. and Mrs. Hyatt last week, I decided it was the right thing to do.”

  Oh, dear. Morgan reached down and gripped Josh’s hand, which was gripping her hip tightly. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  “For the next year, or until both of you graduate, I’m giving you the sole use of my campus house.”

  From behind the camera, Darshelle gasped—loudly. “Sir!”

  “Shh. Darshelle. I know what I’m doing. The two of you will live rent free in one of my local properties, the one nearest to Clarendon College where you’re both enrolled. It’s not as nice as my home, but it’s a darn sight better than this place.” He guffawed, then continued. “Bigger, too. Room for a baby, if you want.”

  Baby! Holy moly.

  Mr. Seagram’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “Just kidding. No pressure. But seriously, you can move in as soon as you like. Today, if you ask me.” Seagram gave a disgusted last glance around the room. “I hope you like your surprise. You looked more stunned than surprised.”

  Morgan’s throat had closed over. The camera moved even closer toward her face. No way could she speak now.

  Leave it to Josh. “Thank you so much, Mr. Seagram. This is beyond anything we’d ever dared dream.”

  “Oh, believe me, that is so true,” muttered Darshelle. Then aloud she said, “That’s a wrap. Good work, Mr. Seagram.” She patted his shoulder and bustled him outside. As the crew packed up she turned back and spoke to Morgan. “Just a word of warning. I wasn’t kidding when I said the place was too much. Keep the place as tidy as possible. The current PR plan is to do frequent check-ins on the two of you.”

  “On camera?”

  “On camera. So nothing too wild or kinky.”

  Kinky! Morgan shuddered. “Of course.”

  This was too much. She almost slammed the door behind them after they paraded out, but she restrained herself. Then, in a fury, she swooped down on Josh.

  “How could you? How could you tell them we’d go there? This is so far beyond ridiculous.”

  “What’s wrong?” Josh looked puzzled, as if he didn’t realize that their lives had just turned to dust. “We’re only touring the place. We’re not moving in. We can go look at it and politely decline.”

  “Ha. Like we declined the hundred thousand dollars?”

  “That’s different. We can give that back later. Like we said, we won’t touch it. We’ll put it in a fund and then give it back at the end of all this. We can’t repay back rent, so we just decline the offer.”

  Morgan exhaled. Relieved, she said, “Okay. I’ll go with you to tour it. But that is all.”

  ∞∞∞

  Josh watched Morgan leave. He shouldn’t have been watching her hips sway, but the high heels she had on created such a great horizontal motion he couldn’t help himself.

  She was right. They could not even contemplate a move in together.

  He shut his door and then went to his room and took down that huge photo of the two of them en flagrante above his bed. He turned it to face the wall, and then pulled out his phone and found Brielle’s number. Her photo smiled out at him, the pretty one, where she’d just opened her letter notifying her of the position in Germany. She was so happy her eyes sparkled. Not blue, like aqua depths of a clear lake in Switzerland, but a sparkling green like life and springtime.

  He should not be comparing Brielle’s eyes to Morgan’s. Blue eyes versus green eyes. It was like apples and oranges. A person could like eating apples and like eating oranges. There wasn’t one or the other in a higher moral echelon, or even an attractiveness echelon, for that matter. It was a matter of preference. I can’t help that I’ve always preferred blue over green.

  He dialed Chip. “Hey, man. Thanks for helping me out with that ring.”

  “Did she like it?”

  “Of course. Women like jewelry.” And it had fit Morgan, first try. Huh. He just realized that.

  They talked about Chip’s vet practice for a minute and Heather’s new job as his office manager. Then Chip asked, “So how are things with you? I never asked about your breakup with Brielle. You okay with that?”

  It wasn’t something he’d expected his brother to ask. Josh looked around for a reason to hang up, but the conversation would have to come up sometime. “I’m fine, actually.”

  “Really? Because—” Chip sounded worried.

  “Really.”

  Chip waited a moment, and then he said something else Josh didn’t expect. “It’s just that—I thought you told me she was going to be incommunicado for a few weeks. So, how did the breakup even happen? Sorry, you know I’m a puzzle guy.” That was true, and Josh should have seen this question coming, but he didn’t, and he didn’t have a ready answer. So he punted.

  “It was something at the airport. I didn’t want to talk about it then, so I didn’t. We just agreed to date other people while we were apart, and so I did. And boom. Things were right with Morgan. It was our time.”

  “Huh.” Chip chewed on this. He didn’t seem convinced, but he let it drop. “How’s school then? You changed your major back to biology then, I assume, since Brielle was the only impetus for the switch to foreign policy.”

  Another piece of the puzzle! Dang it. “I’m still doing foreign policy.” Josh scratched his head as guilt at the deception started to make him itch.

  “Huh,” Chip said again.

  That huh bugged Josh. “Look, Chip. I know Bronco kicked my trash right out of the family when I changed my major, for whatever prejudiced reason. And yes, it was for Brielle. Pure and simple. I still love biology, and I probably always will. But even if it was for a woman, an incredible woman, that doesn’t mean it was the wrong thing to do, so I’m sticking to it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re totally over her.” Chip’s voice came low. “Is Morgan okay with that?”

  “She has to be.” Josh seethed. He never should have called Chip. There was no way he could make him understand, not without jeopardizing everything by telling his brother exactly what had gone down. He measured his breathing and continued. “Sorry. Maybe you’re right. Brielle still occupies a big place in me, but Morgan honestly doesn’t mind.”

  Chip gave his third huh, and the conversation was over.

  Josh punched one of the new bright blue throw pillows on his bed, and then he chucked it across the room. It landed on a line of Morgan’s shoes, toppling them in a domino effect. Sight of the shoes made his mind conjure an image of the backs of Morgan’s legs standing in them.

  “Bah!” Josh shouted. He couldn’t see Brielle’s face, hear her voice, even read a text from her. He growled in frustration. He should have pushed her harder to marry him before she’d left. Then he wouldn’t have a closetful of another woman’s shoes turning him into a cheating boyfriend who kissed blondes with stage fright and a soft spot for sick dogs. He swore.

  Eventually he calmed down again.

  Snail mail, she’d said. He could write her a letter.

  Since she’d never come through with an address, he hadn’t written anything more than a few half-baked lines. He wasn’t much of a hand-written letter guy. Who was, anymore? Besides, if he couldn’t send one, why write one, he’d told himself. But that wasn’t good logic. Nothing should keep him from writing, even if she couldn’t get the letter, or letters, yet. Maybe Josh could be one of those romantics. No
t that Brielle was a romantic herself, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t like to receive a stack of letters from him, written over time, as soon as things were safe for her to get mail. Wherever she was.

  He found some paper and sat down. It would be so much easier for him to type the letter and print it out, but handwritten would be more personal. Women appreciated personal.

  Dear Brielle…

  Dearest Brielle? My darling Brielle? Or no endearment? Ugh. This was going to be harder than he thought. He pressed on, and after a long time, he had half of something acceptable. He folded it and stuffed it in an envelope. Then, remembering the promise he’d renewed in the letter, he opened his Political History of Europe textbook to chapter eleven: “The Hapsburg Dynasty.” But his eyes landed on Morgan’s Advanced Accounting book lying right beside his leg, and he pulled out another piece of paper and scrawled something that was really playing through his mind. He then tucked it into the desk drawer beside Brielle’s letter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They pulled up at the address Darshelle had given them yesterday. She’d said she’d meet them here after church—Seagram wanted to make sure they all had time for church first.

  Morgan choked on her gum, which she’d swallowed involuntarily when she saw the house. “Are you sure this is the right place?” It had to be a mistake. She’d passed this house hundreds of times going and coming from class, and she thought maybe a wealthy retired couple lived in it, with its manicured gardens and the perfection of its colonial-style architecture. The columns! Were they marble?

  “This is the address.” Josh squinted at the numbers on the front of the house. “It’s pretty nice.”

  “Pretty nice! It’s a freaking palace!” Morgan’s heart whipped into a frenzy of palpitations. “It’s the kind of place they feature on TV shows with titles like Lives of the Ridiculously Rich.”

  “It’s not that nice. Come on.” Josh shut off the engine. “That Darshelle person is going to be here soon.” He was still in his suit and tie from church, and he looked like an executive. Morgan had always had a thing for a guy in a business suit. It was making Morgan’s mind go places it shouldn’t. She was going to have to say something to him—now.