Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“There were shenanigans?”
“Pay attention—enough with the flirty eyes and sex voice!”
His mouth lifts in a slow grin. “Sex voice?”
“Stay on topic,” I demand, pointing at the paper in his hand. My cheeks feel so fiery, they must be contributing to global warming.
“Well, these are our names, and that’s my signature.” He gives the paper another cursory glance.
“But it’s just something to make the marriage look legit. To make us look—” I shake my head and start again. “To make Evie and Oliver look like they were getting married for real. Right?” Yet the truth of the situation feels like an ache in the center of my chest.
“Our names, not theirs,” he says softly. “It looks like we did this, Mila. It looks like we got married.”
My shoulders sag. Just like Baba said. “But we can’t be!” I explode incredulously. Suddenly. But my bubble bursts in the face of his solemn expression. “It was a religious ceremony in a religion neither of us follow, in a country we don’t live in. How can that be legal?”
“It wasn’t religious, exactly.”
“Seemed pretty religious to me! The white robes and the . . . the . . . chanting and burning.” Granted, it was a while ago I last stepped into a church, but I see the similarities.
“It was spiritual, which is what Evie wanted.”
It was lovely, from the bits I remember. The soft chime of bells and melodic incantations and the elderly priest’s serene expression. I was nervous on my walk down to the altar, despite the mini vodkas, but I do remember feeling calmed (once I’d managed to kneel) like I was witnessing a ritual with history and meaning.
“It was a symbolic ceremony that isn’t legally binding—”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I wish I could say I feel relieved that he’s making my point for me. But his expression doesn’t exactly help.
“That’s why Oliver arranged for a senior member of the civil registrar’s office to attend. To marry them legally afterward.”
My brows pinch. “I don’t remember anyone like that being there.”
“You don’t seem to remember much though, do you?” His gaze dips to the papers in his hand.
That can’t be our marriage certificate. Or a translation. It just can’t be.
“I think we have to face facts.” He lifts his head, his eyes boring into mine, corkscrew sharp. “I signed this. And you signed it too.”
“But I didn’t mean to.” My hands lift, then fall, the motion one of futility.
“It’s just paperwork, Mila.”
“Legally binding paperwork!” I cry, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “I can’t be married. Not to you!”
“Wow.” His response is an unhappy-sounding chuckle.
“I didn’t mean it like that. But we barely know each other.” And then there’s the small but very freaky matter of yesterday’s date. How can that be anything but a bad omen? Urgh. I’m turning into Baba. “I’m sorry, but we just can’t be married. It’s that simple.”
“Saying it, repeating it, won’t change this.” His grip tightens on the certificate, his tone still even and not at all I’m sick of your histrionic shit.
But why isn’t he calling for his helicopter and running in the opposite direction? Fin DeWitt isn’t the marrying type, according to his besties, who made him sound like the king of commitment-phobes. Which is fine because I’m not interested in commitment. Or men. Or anything other than getting my life and business back on track.
What if being married nullifies the Deubels’ agreement—what if they refuse to pay?
“No.” I refuse to dwell as I snatch the certificate from Fin’s hand. “There has to be something we can do.” I spin away and head for the closet.
“Like what?” he calls after me in that slightly amused, half-taunting tone of his.
“I solve problems for a living,” I retort, pivoting to face him. “I once wrestled a groom’s ex to the ground when she turned up at the church in a wedding gown. If I have to go full WrestleMania to sort this out, I bloody well will!”
In the closet, I rifle through a couple of drawers for my underwear and slip my knickers on under the robe.
“I’d pay to see that.”
His voice sounds close, but I ignore it as I wiggle the cotton over my hips with as much dignity as a girl can muster.
“Also, government offices are closed today.”
I angle a frown over my shoulder to where Fin stands in the open doorway. He makes no attempt to hide his interest as he leans against the frame, his arms folded across his chest.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He makes a gesture, sort of, go ahead.
“At least turn around,” I demand in a huff.
“Seems kind of redundant, don’t you think?”
His answer and the way he’s looking at me make my insides squirmy and hot. It’s inconvenient that I find his brand of gives-no-fucks confidence so attractive. In fact, I sort of hate that it has this effect on me.