by Dana Volney
Lilia opened her clutch, and he clasped his hands in front of him. He’d figured she wouldn’t open that sucker up until she was at the bank. Then, all of a sudden, she held a bouquet of little white flowers with hot-pink pearls speckled throughout the arrangement.
“What else do you have in there?” He smirked.
“Tic Tacs.” She winked at him.
The judge laughed so hard, it was a wonder he could stand up. As it was, he bent over and wheezed for a few seconds.
As they stood there and listened to the canned speech, Vincent watched her out of the side of his eye. He was about to agree to marry someone who hadn’t even known how to spell his last name. He took the vow of marriage seriously; it shouldn’t be just another business transaction in his life. His heart beat a little faster. He hadn’t slept much last night, worrying about anything and everything that could go wrong. If he could punch his dad right now, he would.
Lilia pressed her light pink lips together, and he watched them plump back into place. There were worse things in life than marrying a nice, stunning woman—like paying to do it.
“Do you have the rings?” The judge raised his white eyebrows.
Vincent took the red velvet box out of his pants pocket, opened it, and picked out his mother’s diamond engagement ring that went back two more generations, the wedding band he’d purchased to match it, and a gold band for him that matched as well. He should’ve been thinking ahead and given her the diamond ring to put on before this point—hopefully the judge wouldn’t notice the flub.
He repeated the right words as he held Lilia’s surprisingly cold hand. This was it. He was officially a fraud.
The rings, by the best luck of his life, fit her finger perfectly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the main marquise diamond set in a gold ring and the diamond-studded band below—it looked like it was always meant to be there. Then he gazed into her eyes, and the room stood still. For a moment this was really his life—marrying Lilia, pledging his love, and meaning it.
The judge asked her for a ring, and Vincent had to reach back into his pocket, releasing her hand in the process.
The spell was broken. Neither of them meant these vows.
As soon as they said their I dos and signed a little piece of paper, his troubles would be gone. Marriage, in all its glory, boiled down to a contract—and contracts, he knew how to manage. This was another deal in a long list of deals he’d made for his company over the years. Nothing more.
• • •
Vincent held out a gold band similar to the one on her finger, only thicker. Her ring finger now bore a fat, sparkling diamond.
She hadn’t told her parents what she was going to do, let alone asked them to the wedding. If she showed up married, they couldn’t talk her out of it. She’d always taken her own path anyway.
She steadied her hand and pinched his ring between her thumb and index finger to stop her urge to puke.
“Repeat after me.” The judge read off the standard wedding speech, and she barely recognized her own voice as she repeated it. She wasn’t going to remember this moment tomorrow; it was a blur now. She might, however, remember the look on Vincent’s face when he’d promised to love her forever. There’d been a hint of sincerity in his voice—more than just going through the motions. It was probably all in her head, though—no woman wanted to admit, even to herself, that she was standing before a magistrate and playacting her wedding vows.
Vincent’s hand was hot as she steadied it to put the band on his fourth finger. She watched him as she said the words out loud. It was hard not to get caught up in the moment, to want him to really love her and to want to love him in return. But that wasn’t her lot in life. Not today. After she slipped the ring on his finger, she held on a little longer.
She focused on the judge’s forehead, trying not to cry or laugh or walk out as he listed all the good things about love. Who knew that a civil service got so touchy-feely? They should’ve just signed the license and been done.
A year. I can do this for a year—for Dad. One year of her life was nothing if it gave him even a minute more on this earth. She had the check, signed, and for the exact amount she needed. She would be able to help her dad receive a new drug treatment that aggressively treated pancreatic cancer over several months.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
In all her crazy, up-and-down thoughts about what she’d agreed to do, never once had she ever imagined kissing him. Which was weird, because he was such a hottie.
Vincent stepped closer, and her arms fell to her sides. His warm hand cupped her cheek, and his lips grazed hers. She felt the tingles deep in her toes. Her lips parted, and the kiss deepened, their tongues touching. It was like strokes of fire, melting her common sense until she was on the beach at Waikiki, snuggling close to a wide, masculine chest that smelled of spice and bonfire and was all male. Then the moment was over as quickly as it started—he moved back but remained close as he searched her eyes.
Kiss me again.
His hand slid from her jaw, and she worked to reset her bearings on life. Her body buzzed with a mix of excitement and bewilderment. She wasn’t going to date her husband. No. She’d decided to take this year and expand her blog and writing commitments. Plus, she’d sworn off men—they were all a letdown in the end.
“Sign here.” The paperwork sat on the corner of the judge’s cherry desk.
Vincent signed first and handed her the pen.
She signed her full name: Lilia Lucile Carrigan.
It was official.
“Would you like me to take a picture?” the judge asked after he scribbled his portion to send in for the official marriage license.
“Yes.” Vincent put his arm around her again. He sure was quick to get handsy.
“Say ‘marriage is forever.’”
They repeated the phrase that made her want to puke through her smile. She’d look at the pictures later. Right now she needed some air.
The judge was the only one smiling as they left the room.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern.” The brunette receptionist waved to them as they left.
Vincent clutched her hand a little tighter.
“We’re married. Holy crap.” At least she waited until she was in the elevator to scrunch her face.
There were so many things about this she hadn’t thought through. So many little details she didn’t know the answer to—or even what the questions were. She rubbed the band of her new ring with her thumb.
You only live once. Make the most out of it. Her mantra while she’d traveled in Europe pacified her frayed nerves now. This is worth it.
His thumb rubbed over her palm. His touch was the opposite of comforting when it started to register. Feelings are not part of this deal. There was one reason she’d agreed to get married. Nothing more.
“Let’s celebrate.” He opened the front door to the courthouse for her. “Do you want go out to dinner?”
“Sure.” That was a good, logical next step that would allow them to get to know each other. Possibly one they should’ve considered yesterday. She needed to start being rational.
“Where did you park?”
The sun was falling in the sky, and the chill to the air was brutal—more so than just the hour ago when they’d gone in.
“Down the block.”
“Actually, why don’t you come over to my house and I’ll make dinner? We can talk about the movers, too.”
“I packed up everything when I decided to travel last year. I only have suitcases right now. The rest is in storage.”
“We can get it out of there if you’d like.”
We. That was going to take some getting used to.
“I haven’t even seen your home yet. So, I don’t know.” How much space would she have? Was he clean or was there underwear and socks scattered about? He better be tidy—she hated piles of crap everywhere.
Just another in a lo
ng list of bizarre conversations she’d be having with her new husband.
“Let’s get your stuff before dinner then.”
“My suitcases are actually in my car because I didn’t know exactly how this was going down.” Hopefully the level of practicality downplayed how pathetic that sentence was.
“Perfect. Give me your cell number in case we get separated, but you should follow me over now.”
“Give me your phone.” She added her contact information and then, just for fun, took a selfie and set it as her profile picture while Vincent laughed. She texted, “We just got married!” to herself from his phone to save his number.
“Hey, Vince.” A voice from behind her caused her to whirl around.
“Jonathan.” The men shook hands. “Nice to see you again, man. How’s business?”
“Good. We need to have lunch and talk about a new project I just won the bid on.” A confused silence fell as the shorter blond man looked between them.
“Lilia, this is Jonathan. He owns a construction company I do business with. Jonathan this is Lilia … my wife.”
The word “wife” rang in her ears.
Jonathan extended his hand, and they shook. “Congratulations. I had no idea.”
“We had a private ceremony.” Vincent put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
She didn’t want to raise red flags for him and ruin their deal, or be a laughingstock over the sham. Even though this marriage was not for love, she didn’t want other people to second-guess them—she couldn’t take the sideways looks, humiliation, and disgrace if people knew she’d sold out. They’d agreed this was their secret, and she intended to make sure it was kept.
“We eloped.” She smiled warmly at Vincent and then directed her attention to the shorter man. “But when we throw the reception party, you’ll be on the list.”
They parted ways, and she said a quick prayer that they didn’t run into anyone else he knew. Or that she knew. She needed to soak all this in and get comfortable without being bombarded with questions.
“Reception party?” Vincent faced her, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Apparently you’re quite the social butterfly.”
He waited for her to continue, clearly not satisfied with her answer.
“I don’t want anyone to get suspicious. So, yes, add reception to whatever list you’re keeping. Oh!” She clapped. “We should have it on New Year’s Eve. That’s a fun theme.”
“Have at it. Let’s take this public.”
Public indeed. She had a sinking feeling that people would be asking a lot of questions long before the party.
CHAPTER THREE
Vincent set plates of shrimp linguine on the reclaimed tabletop in his dining room. Their dining room. He should probably change his terminology during the next year to avoid drawing attention.
“Smells delicious.” Lilia crossed her bare legs. She’d opted not to change after he’d helped her pick out a room upstairs and unload her suitcases. She’d chosen the room farthest from his: a second master with a full bathroom en suite that was across and at the other end of the hall from his.
Having her way down the hall would be good. They’d both maintain their own spaces.
“Do you cook a lot?”
He poured a glass of Chablis for each of them. “When I’m home. It’s the timing that’s hard because I work late.” He should treat her like his college roommate—that’s all they were. Roommates.
“We’ll probably miss each other a lot because I work from home during the day, so usually I try to get out at night.”
Perfect. He breathed a little easier; she was clearly approaching this the same way he was.
“Do you not like to decorate for Christmas?” She sipped wine and gazed at the half of the living room visible from their seats. “It’s like two weeks away.”
“I’ve never really had a need for it. I spend holidays at my mom’s, so decorating around here is usually a waste of time.” He took a bite of food and watched her face fall a bit. She was beautiful, with her small nose and big brown eyes, no matter her mood. “I have a company Christmas party this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
“Saturday.” Two days from now.
She nodded. A lot.
“You don’t have to come.” He picked up the wine bottle, topped off her glass, and added more to his own.
She was the one who was so gung-ho to fit in as a couple. It didn’t matter to him. The night would actually go more smoothly if she didn’t come. Although, then he’d have to answer questions by himself, because he couldn’t very well take his wedding ring off—not when he’d gotten married for the company.
“I’d love to.” She sat back in her chair and put her hands in her lap. “How formal is it?”
“Not very. It’s a fabrication business, so we’re pretty low-key.” He rubbed his new ring with his thumb—the band seemed tight all of a sudden.
“Every time I’ve seen you, you were dressed up.”
“I’m the owner. And today I got married.” Because they’d only seen each other twice.
She laughed. “That you did.” She lifted her glass toward him. “To impulsive decisions. May they always work out.”
The ends of his lips turned up. He and Lilia were going to get along just fine. “Cheers.”
His side of the deal had already worked out. But her toast implied that whatever reason she had for saying “I do” was still in the works.
“Are you going to tell me why you needed the money?” Sooner or later he’d find out—Dean could run a background check on her. Something he should’ve had done before he signed his name, binding himself to her. Vincent had never been so impulsive in his life or acted so recklessly without doing his homework.
“It’s not important now, is it? I’m here. We’re legal.” She gathered her dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.
It was important, for some reason, but he’d once again let it go.
He brought his dishes into the kitchen. When she whirled around, he tried to move out of her way but wasn’t fast enough. She knocked into his plate and sent it flying to the linoleum.
“Whoops.” She covered her mouth, and her big eyes widened. “I’m sorry.”
He grabbed a towel and knelt to pick up the plate and wipe up a couple drips of sauce. “Don’t worry about it. I have a ton of plates that I don’t need.”
“What’s this?” She pointed to large pieces of rolled up paper on the dark granite countertop.
“Plans for a meeting tomorrow.” He unrolled them to reveal custom blueprints for a new restaurant. “I’m proud of this one in particular. It’s got a lot of moving parts and timelines.”
“And this is what you do at your company. Make stuff like this?” She opened the freezer.
“Yep. We do projects locally, statewide, and once in a while we bid on some bigger projects around the region.”
She produced a carton of ice cream.
He had rocky road, mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and phish food flavors stocked in his freezer—she’d gone for the phish food by Ben and Jerry’s.
“Bowls are on the right of the stove.”
She put two black bowls on the counter. “How do you find out about projects to bid on?” She glanced over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.
He nodded. “We’ve been around for decades. I have a lot of contractor contacts and am on industry lists when people are looking for fabrication. I’ve started going after more nationwide contracts. Which will mean more travel.” He welcomed the new challenge and change of pace. After years of helping to build the company, and after the year of stress he’d endured, getting out of the office to court new business was long overdue.
She walked past him silently, bowls in hand, to the living room. When did she slip off her shoes? She was still in her fancy dress, and the intimacy of her bare feet made him smile on the inside. He was still in his suit, too, just without the jacket a
nd a couple of his buttons undone.
Lilia sat on the leather couch and handed over his favorite flavor as he took his seat on the opposite side. He’d always thought the vaulted ceiling was what made his cabin feel as cozy as the mountain range that paralleled it. Maybe the answer wasn’t the architecture.
“Is this the first time you’ve been married?” She dug into her bowl and right into the meaty questions.
“Yes. You?”
He darn near held his breath waiting for her answer.
“Yep. Ever come close before?”
“No.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and settled back into the plush cushion. He should light a fire or do something that would give him something to focus on other than Lilia in her white wedding dress with her legs curled under her slender frame, eating his favorite ice cream in his favorite room of the house. He might start to feel at ease, and where would that lead him? Neglecting his company like any other suckered newlywed, perhaps. No, thank you.
“But you tried, right?” Her spoon pointed far right. “Sounded like you had when we spoke at the coffee shop.”
“No. Dated a couple wonderful women.” And there he was, not being totally honest with his wife. He’d asked three women before Lilia to marry him, but each time he was the one who couldn’t bring himself to say “I do.” With Laney, he’d backed out as late as a couple hours before—and each time he had no idea why he couldn’t just bite the bullet. Marrying Lilia hadn’t been nearly as painful as he’d thought the commitment would be.
“And none of them fit your image of a perfect wife?” Her gaze narrowed.
“Something like that.” He got the impression her assumptions put her off. Whatever. She could adopt a narrow viewpoint of his situation if she wanted. Her opinion on the subject didn’t much matter.
“You’re lucky you met me. You don’t have to worry about this being anything but professional. You can treat this arrangement as work all you want.”
The fact that they were on the same page now was a good thing. Although the notion she had no intention of looking at their relationship any other way was a little harsh. She was good-looking and he was good-looking—to say it wasn’t possible was a little ridiculous. Not that he was hoping for anything different than their original agreement. Because he wasn’t. They were roommates with built-in responsibilities.
