by Dana Volney
“I need the money up front.”
“Logically, you’d get half on our wedding day and half a year later when we divorce.”
“Then I’m out. I’m more of the instant-gratification type.”
Not shocking news—he didn’t get an “I have my life together” vibe from her. From her innocent, lost look, he’d guess when she woke up in the morning she had no idea what she was going to need to do for the day.
“That was a specific amount ready on the tip of your tongue. What do you need it for?”
As long as the money wasn’t for something totally in left field, he would stay in his seat. If she said something like buying studio time, distribution, and advertising for a new band she shacked up with at Burning Man, then he was out. His life had no room for impracticality.
“It’s personal. I’d rather not share.” Her chin jutted out, and she gazed down at her keyboard.
The woman wanted almost a quarter of a million dollars. His bank account could take the hit, but it would still hurt. “Then I’m not going to pay.”
She shut her laptop and reached down for her bag on the floor. There’ll be a contract, don’t let her leave. Let her have the money now. He couldn’t let another woman get away—this time he had to follow through.
As it was, he was a little embarrassed at how his love life was turning out. He’d never imagined it would be hard to get married—not until he’d tried. What kind of person had to pay someone to marry him? This was a low point.
If he’d done this right after his dad died, he’d be almost divorced now and on his way to putting his life back together the way it was before.
“Hold on. Are you from here?”
“Yep. Born and raised. I actually just came back from Europe. I’ve been there for the past year.”
“What were you doing over there?”
“Living life while I can.” She held her coffee cup now with two hands and sipped. “I always wanted to pick up and travel, no plans necessary. Along the way, I had to teach English as a second language to fund my extended trip.”
“You speak other languages?”
“Enough to get by, and then I learned as I taught. They were basic classes.”
“Very cool.”
“I write for my blog too. I’ve been blessed with a lot of popularity this year. Hence the magazine interest.”
“My frat buddies and I had a bit too much fun racing cars in London once and nearly landed in jail.”
“I didn’t make it there. I meandered around the southern countries, trying to hit each one. My magnet collection about covers an entire fridge. Italy was my favorite.” She stared behind him for a second before gazing back at him with guarded eyes.
“Magnets?”
“I collect them when I travel and write the dates on the back.”
“How long were you over there?”
“About twelve months.”
“Why didn’t you stay longer?”
“Wanted to come back to see my family. I missed them.”
Family values. Good. There was a chance she was going to get along with his family.
“Are you from Casper?”
He nodded. “Same as you. I love Wyoming as my home base, but traveling is always high on my priority list.”
“Good. Glad that’s settled.” She chuckled, and he could hear her nerves.
This was foreign for him too. It was nice to know she wasn’t completely comfortable with this wild plan.
He checked his watch—he had a meeting with a general contractor in fifteen minutes. “So … what do you think?” A proposal had never been finer.
“I still need the payment first.” She sat forward, set down her cup, and clasped his folded hands in hers on the table. “We are basically strangers”—her brown eyes intensified—“but I promise you, I will stick to the deal and fulfill my end. No matter what. I can’t do that, though, without the payment, in full, up front. That’s the whole reason I’d do this.”
Her eyes bore into him, and he sensed her seriousness and desperation. Her soft hands continued to try to cover his on the table, and he glanced down.
“Fine.” Normally he played business close to the vest, but there was no other way to close this deal.
He was going to have to give her his mother’s ring to sell the union. But first he had to make sure to get her down the aisle and past the hurdle of asking but not actually following through with the “I do.” His gaze met hers again, but not before they rested on her lips for a moment—so pink and shiny and kissable.
This was fake. All fake.
Yep, he was out of his damn mind. And then there were her eyes. Beautiful brown eyes that stirred a sense of adventure he’d lost lately.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll live in my house,” he blurted out. “I don’t know what you have, and we’ll take care of the payments, but my house is big and I like it.”
She nodded, and her fingers slid away from his as she sat up. Her warmth was gone. It figured that he’d felt nothing for the slew of women who would have made great wives, but now that he was paying a gypsy-type woman for a fake marriage, his body was primed and ready to go.
“Will your family know this isn’t real?” she asked.
“They’ll probably guess—I’m really close to the deadline. How about yours?”
Her eyes darted around the room again, and four of her fingers ran back and forth over her thumb. “It would be best if they thought it was real. I don’t want them to know about the money.”
“Okay, then we tell no one. To everyone else, this is totally real.”
She reached out her hand and they shook.
• • •
The little voice in the back of Lilia’s head wasn’t so little anymore. Or quiet. The name change had really set her off. Marrying a stranger wasn’t a good idea—buying in so far as to change her name made her skin damp, her hands a little shaky, and her mouth dry. This is the right thing to do. This is the only way to give Dad a fighting chance. A chance she’d never regret giving him and one she wouldn’t tell anyone what she had to do to make happen. Unless her current last-ditch effort paid off, literally, and she could still call herself a moral person in the mirror.
She walked through the open door to Zack King’s office and sat down in a semi-comfortable, standard-issue, North Platte River Bank chair.
“I didn’t know you were back.” Zack wrinkled his forehead to look over his thin-rimmed glasses without turning from his screen.
“Couple of weeks ago. How’ve you been?” She clutched her bag on her lap, trying to get rid of her nervous energy. She wasn’t one for begging. But desperate times and all.
“Darla and I broke up. But other than that, all right.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
She’d known Zack from high school, and he was probably the unluckiest person in love she’d ever met.
“What brings you in?”
“Well,” she said and cleared her throat, “I need a loan.”
“Great. For how much?”
“One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.” She’d take far less money, an amount that would still get her dad the treatment he needed, if it meant the next year of her own life wouldn’t get highjacked.
“Are you buying a house?”
“No. I need the money for something else.”
“A business?”
“Not exactly.”
“What kind of collateral do you have?”
She’d always known that one day her drifter lifestyle would bite her in the butt. It’s why she hadn’t turned to Zack first. But miracles could happen at Christmas. Couldn’t they? “Hmm. Clothes?”
“Lilia, you know I’d love to help you out. But I can’t just hand out loans. I have to go through a process—one that involves collateral.”
She took a deep breath and slumped into her chair. “I knew it was a long shot.”
Perfect, she was so totally scr
ewed. There was only one other thing to do. “What do you know about Morgenstern Fabrication?” The least she could do was ask one person in town about her future husband before she said her I dos.
“Oh, I know Vinny.”
“Vinny?” She scrunched her face, and her nose wrinkled. No. Absolutely not. She’d be calling him Vincent.
“Ya, he owns the place. Good guy. We golf together in the summer.”
Okay, that wasn’t bad news. Zack was a good judge of character—male character, that is. He still sucked when it came to the women he chose to date.
She let Zack get back to his numbers and tried not to cry as she walked out of the bank. She was really going to have to make this commitment—something she’d never wanted to do even with Zenzo. And she’d loved him. Still did love him? She felt a lot of emotions for him, but more of the live-together kind than the forever type.
She angled into her car and couldn’t breathe. She liked her last name it was nice and strong and held her family ties. Lilia Morgenstern? That sounded like she should be a character in an Addams Family episode. Starting her car to turn on the heat, she reached for her cell phone. The seven-hour time difference made it evening in Italy.
She dialed, and with each ring, her heart beat louder in her ears. Why was she even calling him? They’d agreed breaking up was the best. Or rather, he’d suggested so. She hadn’t said much.
“Lilia?” His familiar Italian accent caused the ends of her lips to curve.
“Hey there.”
Music played in the background, and she could picture the little restaurant he was probably at with a gaggle of friends, wine, and a live band. Life seemed simpler over there.
“It’s nice to hear from you.” The music softly disappeared from his end.
“How are you?” She really didn’t know what else to say. She’d never told him why she’d had to leave in such a hurry.
“Doing well. Is it nice to be back home?”
“Yeah, it’s been a busy couple of weeks.” She picked at her steering wheel with her finger. “How’s business?” His custom sandal business was how they’d met four months ago.
“Baby, come back inside.” A woman’s voice that she didn’t recognize was clear on the other end of the line. There was a sensual laugh and what sounded like kissing.
Lilia froze, and chills zoomed down her spine. Baby? What the hell? Did their time together mean so little he’d moved on after only two weeks? Men. Pigs, the lot of them.
“I see you’re busy,” Lilia managed between gritted teeth. “I was just calling to tell you I’m getting married.” Whoa. Yep, she’d said it.
“You’re what?”
Oh, now she had his attention.
“Yep. So ... ” This could possibly be the only satisfying thing about her upcoming nuptials.
“To who? Is this why you didn’t say yes to me?”
“No one you know.” Or she knew. Zenzo didn’t need the details. She hadn’t said yes to him because committing the rest of her life to a person was terrifying—what if their love didn’t last and she was stuck with someone she hated? Divorce meant absolute failure, and she hated failing. “Anyway. Take care.”
She hung up and threw her phone on the passenger seat as if it were diseased. Before she could control her emotions, tears trailed down her cheeks. She’d left a wonderful life to come home because her dad was sick, Zenzo had moved on, and now she was going to get married and change her last name to make sure her dad got treatment. A treatment none of them knew would even work on his horrible cancer with a less-than-stellar survival rate. Was this really what she wanted to do? She stared at the bleak afternoon—the sun was gone and the sky threatened more snow.
No. But it was exactly what she had to do.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun was bright in a blue sky, and he was going to start sweating soon, even though the air was crisp. He was getting married in a matter of minutes. Dean had drawn up the prenup with the money requirements, secrecy clause, and the fact that this sham had to last for at least a year, along with the other standard you-can’t-have-any-more-of-my-money clauses. Dean had also pushed the marriage license and all the details through the proper channels.
Vincent held an envelope in his hands and paced in front of the courthouse doors. A clicking noise intensified, and he glanced over to see Lilia striding toward him. She had gained at least four inches from the hot-pink heels she’d donned. He stopped breathing as he took in the full picture walking toward him—she wore an open pink coat that fell mid-thigh with a shiny white 1950s style top that accentuated her collarbone. The mid-calf-length dress that cinched at her waist and flowed down to her legs swished in the light breeze. Her hair was pinned back, and a little bit of netting was secured in her hair, covering part of her forehead and part of her gaze.
Her half grin looked forced, ruining the fantasy that she was a true bride.
He took a deep breath. At least she’s not in jeans.
“Hi.” She stopped in front of him, leaving more than an arm’s length between them.
“You look beautiful.” For a fake wedding, she sure looked like a real bride. He wore a black suit, white button-up, and black shoes, plus a boutonnière. Which he’d probably have worn to his real wedding anyway.
“Thank you. You look good yourself.” He got more of a smile now from her as she ground one heel into the cement.
“Shall we?” He opened the big courthouse door, and as she walked past, a whiff of pomegranate filled his nose. He took a deep breath as he fell in step beside her. “I also have the paperwork.” He produced the envelope he’d toyed with earlier as they reached the elevator.
Somehow he felt odd giving her a contract before they promised to love each other forever.
She took the envelope from his hand and opened it, looking over the pages as they rode three floors up in silence. “Do you have a pen?”
“Yes.” He retrieved a pen from his inside breast pocket and watched her closely as she found the signature page again. “Do you have any questions?” He’d gone to his uncle that morning as a last option and tried to strike up a deal to buy back the company if they just let the will take effect. But Barry had made it clear he’d never sell—more like he’d squeeze every cent out of it and run it into the ground and then sell.
“I sign it, we stay married for a year, and here’s my check.” She waved the rectangle paper worth thousands.
He nodded as she shoved a chunk of his savings into her hot-pink clutch—money he’d worked late for, skipped family events for, and lost sleep over.
“Then I’m good.” She scribbled on the paper and handed them both back to him. He folded the papers, returned them to the envelope, and put all of it back in his inside pocket.
“You didn’t have to go all out.” He glanced at the length of her dress.
“What?” She followed his gaze down. “Oh, well, it’s supposed to be real, right? No one would believe I didn’t wear a dress. The rest of this story is going to be hard enough for my family and friends to believe. We’ll need to take some pictures. In fact”—she opened her clutch and produced an iPhone in a bright pink case that had little gold hearts all over it just as the elevator door opened—“we should start now. Smile.”
Her back and butt brushed up against him as she leaned in and held her phone up in front of them. Annoyingly, his body responded positively to her touch.
He wrapped his palm around her waist, and she tensed under his grip.
“For the photo,” he felt obligated to explain. This was her idea. They weren’t going to do anything half-assed.
She snapped some pictures of their smiling faces. The thumbnail haunted him—what would he think of the picture tomorrow or in a year? Today was surreal.
“Are you going to post them on Facebook?” he asked, anxious to get this marriage out there so it could disappear and he could go about his normal life.
“I’ll think about it. I mean”—she stared up into his
eyes and shrugged—“we’re in it now, right? This is what people do when they get married.”
“I guess.”
He could see her chest rise and fall with the deep breath she took. “Okay. Then we’re all in. Together.” She laced her fingers in his as they continued to the office.
His chest tightened at her touch. No matter where they were in a year, and even though he’d paid her, he’d be forever in her debt for helping him keep his dad’s company. He nervously smiled and held the office door open for her, making sure to keep her hand as they approached the reception desk.
“We have an appointment with Judge Hardwick,” he said.
The young receptionist clicked her mouse a couple times and then smiled. “Fill out this sheet.” She handed it to Lilia, which forced her to take her hand back. “When you’re done, the judge is ready.”
They moved back from the desk, and she started filling in the questions.
“How do you spell your last name?” she asked.
What if the receptionist overheard? He snuck a glance at the woman, who was, thankfully, interested in her screen. How reckless was Lilia to just blurt that out? “I’ll do my parts, and you do yours. Quietly.”
They should’ve just eloped to Vegas. People didn’t think twice about couples getting married on a whim there. Still, they managed to fill out the sheets and only got one semi-suspicious look from the brunette behind the desk.
“Judge.” Vincent shook the longtime family friend’s hand.
“How the hell are you?” The white-haired man in a black robe stood to the side of his desk.
“Can’t complain.”
The judge, a name he’d called him his entire life, moved his attention to Lilia and shook her hand. “No kidding. I’ve known Vincent since he was yay high”—his hand moved level with his knee—“so be good to him.”
“I promise.” She crossed her index finger over her heart. When the judge turned to his desk, Vincent caught Lilia rolling her eyes and shaking her head, clearly uncomfortable.
“I’m surprised your mother didn’t want to be here.” The judge picked up a laminated paper on his desk. “And that you aren’t having a grander affair.”
“We wanted this to be our day,” Vincent said, straight-up lying to his old friend. It was something he would have to get used to.
