Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband

by Yvonne Lindsay

  She looked in the mirror and lifted her chin. She wasn’t a Forsythe for nothing. She’d pull whatever strings she could to ensure her privacy, even if it meant having everyone attend to her here at the house.

  Amira sat at the table of the famed Okahu Bay seafood restaurant on Auckland’s waterfront and looked back at the city. It was a perfect mid-autumn day. A light breeze ruffled the sea and a dozen small yachts engaged in trying to make the most of the wind as they jostled about in the bay and beneath the sea wall. Across the road from the restaurant a school group of kayakers made a colorful splash against the blue of the water. In the distance, the towers of Auckland City punctuated the intense blue skyline.

  She sighed. A perfect day to be doing the least perfect thing she’d ever had to undertake in her life. Today she was going to tell Brent the wedding was off—face-to-face. No text message this time. She’d deliberately chosen this public setting because she knew Brent wouldn’t make a scene here. Not that he’d make a scene exactly anywhere else, but she knew she’d need the buffer of other people around her to at least keep the exchange on a civil level.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled. He was here. She turned and smiled as he walked toward her, immaculate in his black perfectly-cut suit, an open-necked turquoise, black-and-white-striped shirt beneath it. His eyes were hidden by the dark-lensed designer sunglasses he wore, but she could see he was pleased to see her. His lips curved into an answering smile as he bent to give her a kiss.

  As brief as it was, she felt it all the way to her toes, and she hoarded the sensation to her. It was the last time they’d be so intimate. She thought of the life growing within her. At least she’d have that, she reminded herself.

  “Have you chosen what you want to eat yet?” Brent asked as he lowered himself into his chair adjacent to hers and picked up the wine menu.

  “Not yet. I thought I’d wait for you.”

  “I’m easy. I’ll have the seafood medley. Why don’t you try the scallops. I hear they’re delicious.”

  When she nodded her assent he gestured to the waiter, placed their order and pointed to the award-winning Pinot Gris on the wine list that had recently become his favorite.

  “Oh, no wine for me, thanks. I’ll just stick with mineral water today,” Amira interrupted as Brent started to order a bottle of the wine.

  “You’re sure? Well, in that case, just bring me a glass for now,” Brent told the waiter. He turned his gaze back on Amira. “Are you feeling okay? You’re a bit pale.”

  “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired is all.” Amira rushed over the words.

  She hadn’t realized the strain of what she was going to do was showing a physical effect already. They made desultory conversation until their main courses arrived. Amira could barely eat the delicately flavored seared scallops drizzled with a lime and coconut cream dressing. Instead, she slid them one by one off their skewers and pushed them about her plate. She jumped when Brent reached out and put his hand on hers.

  “What’s up? Something’s bothering you.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably, and the words she needed to say clogged in her throat. Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she raised her gaze from her plate to meet his. There was no avoiding it. She had to tell him.

  “I’m calling off the wedding. I can’t go through with it.”

  There, she’d said it. She reached for her mineral water and took a sip, surprised to see her hand so steady as she put the glass back on the table.

  “You what?” Brent’s voice was deadly cold, but the heated slashes of color that appeared on his cheeks gave immediate insight to his anger.

  His hazel eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, reminding her of the predatory stare in a panther’s eyes before it struck its prey. Amira fought back the tremor that threatened to rock through her body and focused on her breathing, on calming the now erratic beat of her heart.

  “I’ve asked Marie to prepare a statement to the media to say that we’ve both agreed to withdraw from our engagement.”

  Rage flared inside him, hot and fast, threatening to consume the cool demeanor that was his trademark in business. Brent beat back the flames of fury before they could erupt. How the hell long had she been planning this? He chose his next words carefully fighting to keep his voice level.

  “You talked to Marie about this before you told me?”

  “I had to.”

  “You had to,” he repeated. He lifted his glass and took a long sip of his wine. “And what made you decide you had to break our engagement? Hmm? Last I saw, my finances were still intact. Had a better offer, perhaps?”

  He saw her flinch at his words and allowed a slither of satisfaction to slide beneath his anger. His vengeance was slipping through his fingers, and he was helpless to stop it. He didn’t do helpless.

  “Your financial position has nothing to do with it, Brent. Look, can we be civil about this, please?”

  “Civil? You want me to be civil? How about a reason why, Amira? Wasn’t last night good enough for you?” He leaned forward and pitched his voice low so only she could hear him. “Didn’t you come apart in my arms as we made love, as I kissed your body? All over.”

  To his satisfaction, a flush rose in her cheeks and a tiny gasp broke from her lips. Lips that had in return touched him in places that warmed and roused to her touch with an alacrity that left him raging with a heated desire that showed no sign of abating. Not even now.

  “I thought I could deal with it, go through with the wedding but I can’t.” She picked up the white linen napkin from her lap and dabbed at her lips, her knuckles gleaming white as she clutched the stiff white cloth. “It’s over, Brent. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  She slid her engagement ring off and put it on the table between them. He leaned back in his chair and eyed her carefully. She refused to meet his gaze.

  “Harder than it has to be. That’s a joke. And what about the money you owe me. I agreed to your terms. We signed a contract. If you don’t fulfil the terms of that contract, cent for cent, I will sue you for breach of promise—and won’t that make for some interesting publicity?”

  He may not have the satisfaction of doing to her what she had done to him eight years ago, but he drew some comfort that his demand she fulfill the terms of their contract would destroy her financially.

  “I’m a woman of my word.”

  He scoffed in disbelief. “Really? Then what do you call this?”

  Amira rose from her chair, dropped the cloth napkin onto her seat and gathered up her handbag. If he’d thought she was pale before, she was even paler now. A pang of sympathy was swiftly quashed. Let her be rattled by his demand. She’d learn soon enough that she couldn’t wriggle out of the contract. That every last word was binding.

  “I fulfilled the first part of our deal. You have the consents you needed, and you will get your money. I personally guarantee it.”

  With that she spun on her heel and headed for the stairs leading out of the restaurant. From his position on the balcony table he watched as she walked with clipped steps to where her BMW was parked and gracefully got in then drove smoothly away. Without so much as a sign of any distress. Had she planned this all along? If so, he’d seriously underestimated her.

  Brent played her parting words through his head. You will get your money. I personally guarantee it. How on earth was she going to do that? He knew for a fact she had no personal wealth of her own. No hidden offshore accounts that could possibly meet the multimillion dollar requirements of their agreement. She was in no position to personally guarantee anything.

  So what, then, was she up to?

  Amira drove toward the city, her hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. She’d done it. She’d actually done it and walked away. She should be feeling a sense of lightness, of relief. Instead she wanted to howl in misery. For the second time in her life, she’d rejected the man she loved above all others. For the second time because
of her grandmother’s control.

  “You won’t have any control over me anymore, Grandmother. This is the last time you pull my strings,” she vowed through a throat choked with emotion.

  She swung into the underground parking lot in the building housing her lawyer’s offices and parked in the designated visitor’s parking space. For a few moments she just sat there in the artificially illuminated glare, forcing her breathing to settle and her body to stop trembling. The journey from the restaurant to here had passed in a blur; she had no memory of the road she’d traveled. The knowledge frightened her. She couldn’t afford to be so oblivious again, she scolded herself. She had another person to consider now, and she couldn’t afford to put that tiny life at risk by any means.

  The ride in the lift to the eighth floor was swift. A quick glance at the mirrored walls of the car confirmed she still looked the same as she had when she’d left home this morning. Still as cool and poised as if she hadn’t just ripped her heart and her dreams into shreds. At least she had her training and poise to thank Isobel for, she admitted with a self-deprecating shake of her head. If nothing else.

  She was ushered into Gerald Stein’s office by one of his administrative staff as soon as she arrived in the main office. Gerald rose from his seat and put his hands on her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her forehead in welcome.

  “My dear. How are you?”

  She couldn’t exactly tell him she was a total wreck, now could she?

  “I’ve ended my engagement to Brent Colby and,” she said while reaching into her handbag for the letter from her obstetrician, “I think you’ll find that this confirms that I will still be able to meet the terms of Grandmother’s will.”

  She sat in a chair and watched as Gerald read the letter, his face changing from his usual calm demeanor to one of complete disbelief.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  Gerald was speechless as he sat back down in his chair, shaking his head in denial.

  “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

  “The terms of Grandmother’s will were clear, were they not? Either marry before my thirtieth birthday or bear live issue before that date. Gerald, I’m not prepared to marry just any man to satisfy her dictates. No matter what hold she has over me I cannot do that. Nor can I just let my rightful inheritance slip into Roland’s hands. You and I both know he’ll burn through the immediately accessible funds before starting to sell off the other assets. A man like him would do irreparable damage, and then where would Grandmother’s charities be?” Not to mention the Fulfillment Foundation, she added silently. “At least this way I’m not bound to someone I neither like nor respect, and I can still continue my charity work in Grandmother’s stead. That is what she wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, of course. But Amira, having a baby on your own is no small task. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? And what about the father? Who is he?”

  “The baby’s father is of no consequence.” Sharp pain dragged through her chest. Of no consequence? He was everything but. Amira continued, “Besides, Grandmother left me no other option, did she?”

  Amira reached into her handbag again and drew out her copy of the agreement she’d signed with Brent. She put it on the desk between them.

  “Now, based on the fact that I am pregnant and can fulfill her stipulations, I want you to raise a loan for that sum.” She stabbed her forefinger at the amount written in words and in figures in the middle of the agreement. “And I want you to pay that to Brent Colby.”

  “What? You can’t be serious. Amira, that’s an enormous sum of money. It’s not as if Colby needs it.”

  “Whether he needs it or not, it’s what we agreed to when we became engaged. I’m still obligated to keep up my end of the deal.” Amira tried to ignore the stab of pain in the region of her heart. Oh, how she wished it could have been different.

  “Surely there’s a loophole or an escape clause.” Gerald slid his glasses down his nose and peered at her, realization dawning on his wrinkled face. “Oh no, Amira. Tell me you didn’t sign this without a legal opinion.”

  “I read the document thoroughly. It encapsulated everything we’d agreed upon. There are no loopholes. Gerald, I was quite happy to marry Brent until you disclosed that additional clause. Had I known about that from the beginning…well, things obviously would have taken a different path, wouldn’t they?”

  “But Amira, this agreement says nothing about not having to meet your obligations if the wedding doesn’t take place.” Gerald read aloud the clause that looked like it was on the verge of triggering a coronary. “And furthermore, the said Amira Camille Forsythe will make over to the said Brent Colby a sum of money being not less than ten percent of the amount Amira Camille Forsythe would inherit upon the occasion of her marriage. Would inherit! This is disastrous!”

  Gerald placed the paper on his desk and rubbed at his chin before continuing. “This has been so broadly phrased that it wouldn’t have mattered who you married or even if you married. Amira, you are obligated to pay this money to Colby no matter what happens.”

  Gerald’s words died on the air as the truth behind them slowly sank in. Brent had set her up all along. Whether she went through with their marriage or not, he’d stood to gain massively. Amira reached her decision quickly. No matter what Brent’s motives, hers had been less than honest also. She’d promised to pay him, and now she could afford to. In every transaction there was always collateral damage to some degree. She could put this behind her now and move on.

  “Gerald, you’re my lawyer. Grandmother’s estate pays you to take instructions from me unless I fail to meet the terms of my inheritance. Is that correct?” Amira fought to hold on to the final shred of control she had left.

  “That’s correct, of course. But I’m more than that, my dear, and you know it,” Gerald said.

  “Then, please, in this instance, can we keep emotion out of the equation. I’d like you to raise a loan for the money I promised to make available to Brent, and I’d like you to see to it that he receives that money as quickly as possible. Please defer repayment of the loan until two weeks after the due date of my baby.”

  “If that is your last word on the matter—”

  “It is. I’m sorry to have to be so blunt, Gerald, but you know I have no other choice.”

  Choice, as she understood the term, had never been hers. But, she thought as she pressed her hand against her belly, that would change with the advent of this new life, this new hope for her future.

  Twelve

  “There’s how much been deposited?” Brent fought not to shout down the receiver at his bank manager.

  The man repeated the sum. Brent thanked him then replaced the phone. How on earth had she raised that much money in less than a fortnight? Tomorrow would have been their wedding day, the day he’d been looking forward to as his coup de grâce in their relationship. The day where he’d finally extract his revenge. But she’d forestalled him in that quest, and now, it appeared, she’d preempted his attempt to drive her into financial ruin.

  Something wasn’t right. He paced to the window of his home office and gazed out across the estuary. She should be destitute and frantic, not calmly depositing several million dollars in his bank account.

  There had to be more to her grandmother’s will than she’d let on. Some other clause that had given her a different method of accessing the funds she so desperately needed. But what was that clause?

  Brent spun back to his desk and punched in a series of numbers on his phone before switching it to speaker. When his investigator answered, he wasted no time in getting to the point.

  “I need to see a copy of Isobel Forsythe’s will. What will it take?”

  “It’s simple enough. A letter of application to the High Court together with payment of their fee and it’s yours.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “I’ll apply to the registrar, Mr. Colby, but it ma
y take some time.”

  “I don’t pay you to keep me waiting.”

  “Yes, sir. When do you want it?”

  “Yesterday,” Brent barked at the phone before disconnecting the call.

  He raked his hands through his hair, then clasped his fingers behind his head and stretched against the tautness in his neck and shoulders. What the hell had Amira been up to?

  Later that afternoon an e-mail arrived with a scanned copy of the late Isobel Forsythe’s will as an attachment. Brent glanced over the basics—the bequests to staff and to charities—finally he reached the part he’d been looking for.

  He felt all the blood drain from his face as he read the subclause under the conditions of Amira’s entitlement to inherit that stated in cold black and white that she was never to marry him under any circumstances. There’d never been any love lost between the old battle-ax and Brent, but this? This was proof the woman was nothing more than a manipulative monster. How dare she have toyed with Amira’s life—her happiness—like that.

  It made more sense about why Amira had canceled their plans and withdrawn from their arrangement. He didn’t want to feel any pity or sympathy for her, but this gross influence over her life was unbelievable. He’d long believed that Isobel had kept Amira under her thumb for her own purposes, much like a personalized marionette, there to do her bidding. This was proof positive of his theory.

  Another thought occurred to him. How long had Amira known about this? Surely she’d seen a full copy of the will. Surely she’d known even before she asked him to marry her that she couldn’t do that and inherit at the same time. What the hell had she been up to?

  There was more. Brent read on, and his earlier disgust was rapidly replaced with a new level of fury he’d never believed himself capable of.