Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
“The guys think they’re trying to help, but they shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I would never expect you to agree to something so crazy.”
Her half smile produces a dimple, and I almost pass out, it’s so pretty. “Marrying a nice, thoughtful guy isn’t so crazy, Sumner. It’s just the last-minute timing of it all. Not to mention, the fact that we’d be electing to lie to the federal government, and that’s never a good idea.” She pauses, squinting one eye. “Also, I would rather die than get married. To anyone. Real or fake.”
My throat drops into my stomach.
Bryce mentioned to me once that his half sister didn’t “do relationships.”
I wasn’t sure why. He wouldn’t tell me either.
That conversation has been sitting in the back of my head until now, but I had no idea her aversion to commitment was so extreme. “Why?”
She shrugs. Wrinkles her nose. “Reasons.”
“But marriage is so . . . great,” I say, kind of dazed.
A blonde eyebrow shoots up. “Has that been your experience?”
“Yeah. My parents have been married for thirty-eight years. They have five kids, and they act like they just got back from their honeymoon.”
Just for a moment, there is a dreamy light in her eyes, but it winks right out. “That’s lovely, Sumner. But not all marriages are like that.” She studies me, as if in a different light than usual. “Yours will be, though. Someday.”
I nod. She’s right. I won’t let it be anything but solid.
Traditionally, women are expected to dream of their weddings. But I’ve been thinking of mine since my oldest sister got married a decade ago. I want that moment, surrounded by family and friends, where I commit to love and protect someone my entire life. I want the person I’m marrying to know I mean it. Then I want to spend my life proving myself to them. I just haven’t met a woman that I could picture walking toward me in a white dress. Yet.
Liar.
My ears burn when I remember how many nights I’ve spent lying in bed, beating off while imagining Britta holding a giant bouquet of flowers, a long white train trailing after her. Or holding out her hand so I can slide a ring onto her finger.
An embarrassing number of times.
What self-respecting man jerks off to a wedding?
“I guess . . . I think marriage is an honor. Someone putting that much faith in you and believing you can rise to the occasion is a rare thing. You know?”
“Of course, that is . . . a beautiful idea.” She can’t quite hide her skepticism, but I can’t tell if she’s skeptical of me or the overall concept. “It’s just not for me.”
It occurs to me that I sound like I’m trying to talk her into the idea, which wasn’t my intention, as much as I would like her to consider it. Consider me. “I’m well aware you’re saying no, Britta. You don’t have to let me down easy.”
“Great. Okay.” She lets out a halting breath, twisting that ring again. “Will you . . . pay someone else? Or was I your only last-ditch possibility?”
Pay someone else?
What is she talking about?
I never had any plans to pay a woman to marry me, even if doing so could mean staying in Connecticut long enough to get called up to the professional development league. Did Bryce tell her that? Before I can question her meaning, Britta keeps going. “I’m not saying yes, obviously. I’m mostly just curious. If . . . if you had someone else lined up.”
All I can do is answer the question. This was a wild suggestion made by one of my teammates this afternoon. The idea of marrying Britta was incredibly tempting, and hearing someone say it out loud made my heart hammer like a motherfucker, but I never actually expected it to happen. “There’s no one else.”
Does she look relieved, or is that wishful thinking? “How much were you willing to pay me?” She tilts her head. “On the totally far-fetched chance that I was game for a green card marriage. Which I’m not.”
I’m a very honest man. I’m also a man who sees an avenue to the goal—and takes it.
I’m shocked to realize . . . she’s not completely against this. Marrying me. I can see it in her eyes. I’ve got a one in a million shot—but it’s a better one than I had walking in here. Is it deceptive to pretend like my plan was to pay her all along? Slightly. But maybe offering her money in exchange for her help is what I should have done in the first place.
Why else would she fake marry me?
This could be the missing piece.
I might have a minuscule chance to stay in Bridgeport and be married to Britta.