by Aimee Bishop
At the mention of it, I lost my appetite and set my fork down to refill on wine.
"Nothing’s happened yet. Just that letter."
"They have no right you know. From what I understand the will was very clear."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me."
"So, their main complaint seems to be that you're single and… what was it?"
"Unstable."
He chuckled to himself as he bit into a roast potato.
"Utter BS," he said. "Never heard such a crock of crap in my life."
"Right? Single parents have been raising children since the dawn of time."
He was staring off into the distance again. I hated when that look came over the face. I could never discern what he was thinking, could never quite figure out what he was going to come out with next.
"Hmmm..." was all he uttered.
I stared into the darkness of his eyes and wondered who the real man was behind them. He was a walking mystery, always knowing how to say the right thing while doing something else entirely. He was the sort of guy you watched in true crime shows, ones where women were swept away by the extravagant bachelor with a dark secret.
"You're staring at me," he said, without turning.
I glanced away and felt myself blush. I pretended I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Sorry, I was just thinking."
"About finding yourself a man no doubt."
"No... I wasn't thinking that at all."
"Well, you should. It could bolster your case."
"There is no case," I insisted. "Well, not from me anyway. If they think they can just swan on over and take Gracie from me, they have another thing coming."
He pushed his plate away and slid his wine glass over to take its place.
"I have an idea," he said. "One that can benefit the both of us."
His stared right into my eyes as though he was trying to set fire to my soul. I looked away, my cheeks burning.
"You need a person in your life who can add some stability."
"No, I don't," I said. "I don't need anyone. Never have."
He waved a hand to silence me.
"Hear me out. You need a man, and I need someone who can look like the perfect partner, some sweet but highly intelligent beautiful woman who looks and acts the part of a loving wife."
What is he trying to say? I thought. I didn't like the sound of this, and it was only going to get worse.
"Yep, a nice young wife and a child who could make me look like the perfect, trustworthy family man. I can show off pictures of the baby at meetings, and everyone will crowd around me and make those ridiculous noises people make when they see babies. I won't be seen as the ice-hearted jerk everyone thinks I am. I'll be, dare I say it, normal."
He swirled his wine around the bottom of his glass and watched the velvety crimson liquid cling to the sides. There was a predatory glint in his eyes, a hint of the man beneath the handsome facade.
"What are you saying?"
He looked up, his eyes the piercing into mine.
"I won't play around, Stephanie. I think we should get married."
An invisible icicle ran down the length of my spine. I'd never felt more uncomfortable in my life, had never wanted to run away so badly.
"Marry you? Are you serious?”
"Think about it. I get the family image, and you and little Gracie practically come prepackaged. It's adorable."
"You're insane."
"And of course you need someone to make you look stable."
"I told you, I don't need anyone."
"Someone to make you look stable enough to look after Gracie and give her everything she'll ever need. Stephanie, school fees and foreign vacations don't come cheap. Neither do nannies or private tutors. But she could have all that if I was her step-father."
I still couldn't quite take it all in. It sounded crazy. It sounded like a joke.
“Do you have no scruples?” I gasped.
“Scruples? What, like Russian money?” he winked.
I’d heard enough and couldn’t bear to be there any longer. How could this man who I barely knew - who was now my boss, no less – suggest we get married? It was absolutely insane! He didn’t even like children!
"I think maybe you've had enough wine for tonight. Thank you for dinner. You're a tremendous cook."
Screeching my chair back along the floor, I grabbed my purse and coat and left. He made no attempt to stop me, but rather just watched me leave with an amused look on his face.
"A charmed life could be yours," he called out as I reached the door. "Gracie will have everything she could ever dream of and more."
Tearing the door open, I hurried out into the frigid air and climbed into the car with my hands trembling as they gripped the wheel. Marriage. What a lunatic. It was an absolutely crazy idea. He's just playing games with me. He'll no doubt come into work tomorrow and laugh about the whole thing.
I drove home thinking I'd imagined the whole encounter and rushed inside to relieve Margie of Gracie.
The two of them were asleep by the fire, Gracie in her cot by Margie's side. The old woman woke up when she heard the creak of the door as I entered.
"You're home early," she said as she rubbed her eyes.
"Yeah, it was an... interesting night."
"Didn't have a good time?" she asked as she looked up at the clock.
"I need a drink," was all I could say.
After taking Gracie to her bed upstairs and pulling on pajamas, I came back for a much-needed gin and tonic. I was surprised to see Margie still lingering in the kitchen.
Didn't I tell her she could leave already?
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure. Just the one."
She took a glass between her arthritic fingers and sat down at the table, the red light from the fireplace shimmering on the wall behind her.
"So you finally were allowed inside the inner sanctum of the Corbin Manor," she said.
"It's quite the place."
"And Maxwell is quite a peculiar man."
"You can say that again!"
I debated whether I should tell her about his offer but decided not to. Gossip traveled fast around here.
"He's a real sweet guy when you get to know him," she said.
"Is he? I mean, I’m seeing glimpses of it, but I’m not quite sure how to read him."
She nodded as she sipped her drink.
"And especially after all he's been through, you'd think he'd become cold and hardened."
I waited for to elaborate but she never did.
"So... something happened to him?"
She drummed her fingers on the table and looked up toward Gracie's bedroom.
"His wife died in childbirth," she said.
Shocked, I almost dropped my glass.
"She was a lovely girl. Her name was Emily. She was a young law student and the two fell in love quickly. She got pregnant, and after the initial surprise, we were all delighted. Maxwell was ecstatic at the thought of being a father. It gave him something to work toward. All he wanted was to provide for his family, so he worked himself to the bone to save up to build his wife and child that house. But it wasn't meant to be."
She was still staring up at Gracie's room, still reliving the memory.
"Wh-what happened?"
"Hemorrhage," she explained. "Freak accident. She bled out before the doctors could do anything and the baby was stillborn."
"Oh, my God!"
"It almost killed Maxwell. He has never been quite the same since."
She drained the last of her drink and walked over to the sink to rinse out her glass.
"I better get home to Eugene," she said.
She left the house while I just stared out the window in a daze. So there was a reason he seemed so harsh and unfeeling. He wasn't cruel and unloving. He was suffering.
I was still reeling as I walked up to bed and for a long time, I laid there staring up at the ceiling, thinkin
g that I knew nothing about him at all.
All his comments flooded my mind, all the things he said about relationships and not liking children. None of it was true. It was all a defense mechanism, a way for him to distance himself from his grief. If he pretended he hated love and babies, then no one could talk about the people he’d lost.
The moon rose high in the sky, the pale light casting shapes across the ceiling. For a moment, I thought the stars were creating bursts of light.
Then I realized it wasn't the stars, it was the headlights of an approaching vehicle.
Jumping out of bed and peeling back the curtain, I looked down as Maxwell's car parked at my front door.
"What the?"
I waited for the sound of the doorbell, but it never came. As I descended the stairs, I could see the headlights move through the windows as he turned around to leave. What the hell was he doing? It must have been at least midnight by now.
I opened the front door, ready to call out to him but he was already gone. As I moved to take a step out onto the porch, my foot caught something and I looked down. A bouquet of roses sat on the top step. A card placed between the petals.
I mean it. I can take care of you both if you'd let me.
The world around me was spinning. Part of me thought I must have fallen asleep upstairs and dreamt this, but as I pulled a rose free from the bouquet, a thorn pricked my finger. As I sucked on the wound I could taste the iron tang of my blood. This was no dream.
Ascending the stairs with the flowers in my arms, I placed them in a vase beside my bed and climbed back beneath the covers with my mind running on overdrive.
I thought about the night we met and how I instantly felt drawn to him. To the mysteriousness of him, to how handsome he was, to some part of him I couldn’t put my finger on. I could feel, deep down, that even though he came across as cold and arrogant, that that wasn’t who he really was. And he had always been kind and tender towards me, even if his tone had been gruff at times. And now Margie had confirmed it, he was a good man. No wonder he wanted to get married. This wasn’t just about looking good and improving his reputation. He could have his wife and child. He could experience love again.
If I married him I could give Gracie everything in life she ever needed or could want. I would be able to stay home with her and raise her well - raise her in a way that would make her parents proud. We could both get the stability that I knew would be good for us. I’d never needed a man, and I didn’t now. But some part of me relaxed and felt safe at the thought of marrying Maxwell. As much as it scared me too.
And, besides that, though I didn’t understand it, from the moment I met Maxwell it was if I’d known him my whole life. He felt like a familiar soul somehow, in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
Over what must have been hours it was all coming together in my head and I found myself going against everything I'd ever thought about myself.
As crazy and impulsive as it seemed, in my gut I knew what I wanted to do.
Chapter 10
SIX WEEKS LATER
The Possum and Puckoon Inn had been taken over for the occasion with the upstairs bedrooms filled by my family. Naturally, the biggest bedroom in the inn was given to my mother, my bridesmaids and I to get ready.
Sheila had decked out the bedroom in pink ribbons and roses. She’d even placed a modest screen in the center of the room for me to change behind, not that it was giving me much privacy. Cheryl and my mom kept fussing over me, wanting to make sure I didn't have a single hair in the wrong place.
"Will you just leave me alone for five seconds," I said. "I still need to get into my dress."
Mom was crying. So was Cheryl. The two of them hadn't stopped hugging me since they heard the news. Dad, on the other hand, had kept his distance. I think he was just as scared as I was.
I was shaking, but probably not for the reasons mom thought I was.
"Honey, there's still time to change your mind," said mom.
"Don't say that!" Cheryl chimed in. "You don’t change your mind when a billionaire asks to marry you."
"I'll have you know my Harold wasn't a billionaire when he proposed, and he still isn't now. And you know what? We've gotten along just fine."
I listened to them bickering as I pulled on my dress. With not much time to plan the big day, it had all been a bit gung-ho. As a child, I'd always imagined that I'd have a long elegant wedding dress like a Disney princess. But with not enough time to get one designed, and nowhere around here to get one made anyway, I found that I had limited options. Not to mention the strange tradition in Solder’s Town. There were plenty of them, but at least this one was rather cute. Any girl getting married had to wear a dress that had been in the family for at least two generations. I thought it was quaint. Cheryl thought it was stupid. And mom said that her mother had gotten married during the Second World War and that her dress was made from an old parachute. It had then been stored in an attic for decades being nibbled by rats before being ditched at a thrift store.
"I'm not changing my mind," I called out from behind the screen.
But mom and Cheryl had stopped arguing and were now talking about the cake. I was thinking about how it would feel to lie in my gorgeous groom’s arms. Not that that would ever happen.
"How does the dress fit?" asked Cheryl.
"Actually, it's okay."
Last weekend, Margie had appeared on one of her usual late-night visits with a parcel in her arms. It smelled like ancient mahogany and mothballs.
"Technically I'm family," she said and thrust the thing at me. "It was my own mother's. Still beautiful and looks like new."
I'd pulled back the tissue paper to reveal a cream lace dress with a high neck.
"It's the best I can do," she said.
And I began to cry.
"Thank you." I'd wept as I hugged her. "Thank you so much."
~
"Are you ready?" asked mom, her hand winding itself tighter and tighter around mine. "Your dad is waiting."
She was still sniffling, still in disbelief that it was all happening.
"I'm ready as I'll ever be."
"Just tell me one thing. Are you happy?"
She looked into my eyes. I never was good at lying to her. Like all mother's she had a sixth sense when her children didn't tell the truth.
"I think I'm happy," I said, and as scared as I was, I was telling the truth.
At least I thought that there was a chance that I could be happy with him. It was exciting and exhilarating, and it was also terrifying. This was completely unchartered territory for me, and I had shocked myself with my own decision. But what was the point of living if you couldn't have adventures?
After what Margie had said about Maxwell, and the time we had spent together since that night at his house and now, it had become clear what a kind man he really was. He’d certainly had a cold exterior when I met him, but as we began to get to know each other better – and he began to trust me – that started melting away. And he was always so sweet and loving with Gracie. No matter what he had said about babies before, he couldn’t hide his affection for her.
Outside the church, dad was waiting for me. He stood still as I stepped out the car and took his hand, but his eyes were red raw from crying.
"You look so beautiful," he said as he planted a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. "If only… If only..."
I knew what he wanted to say but couldn’t. He was going to say he wished Suzanna was here.
"She is," I said, interrupting him. "I'm sure she's watching."
He closed his eyes to compose himself then nodded toward the main door.
"Are you ready?"
I looked behind me to where Cheryl and Gracie were dressed in their matching pink dresses.
"Let's go."
My legs were shaking more and more with every step closer to the aisle. There was the hubbub of chatter coming from inside. It wasn't until I reached the bottom of the aisle that I realized just how pack
ed the church was.
"Looks like everyone from the town is here."
Before I could take a breath or say another word, the organ started playing and there was the sound of hundreds of people turning around in their seats to look at me.
"There's still time," mom whispered over my shoulder.
"Shhh... I'm not changing my mind."
She sank back behind Cheryl and Gracie, and I looked up at Dad.
"Okay, let's go," he said.
Placing one foot in front of the other, I crept slowly down the aisle, still terrified, still thinking that it all had to be a dream. I could feel the heat from everyone staring at me, could sense that my knees could give out at any moment.
Then he came into view.
He was now looking right at me, his eyes as wide as a puppy's. I saw him mouth the word 'wow' as I approached him. When I reached the altar, I couldn't explain it, but it just felt natural to sink into his arms. He held me tight for a second and squeezed me.
"You look sensational," he whispered and kissed my cheek.
Beside us, the pastor cleared his throat and opened his book. It was time. In only a few minutes we were going to be husband and wife.
Chapter 11
The ceremony was brief, but the reception lasted well into the early hours of the morning. People were still dancing around Maxwell's backyard when it reached three in the morning and I was dead on my feet. It had been a whirlwind, an endless night of being kissed and congratulated, but it still felt so unreal.
I had a husband, a man I barely knew. All night he'd kept a respectful distance, and it was easy to occupy ourselves with our guests. But now that they were all either asleep, drunk or had gone home. It was now just the two of us.
We sat in the kitchen, a bottle of champagne between us on the table as we both yawned and rubbed our eyes.
"I can't believe it," he said.
"Me neither."
"Our wedding night. Feels weird to say it, right?"
"The weirdest."
Weren't wedding nights supposed to be romantic and fiery, full of passion and racy lingerie? The two of us were sat like old friends, doing nothing but holding hands.
"Thank you," I said. "For taking care of us."
