24. Francesca
24
FRANCESCA
Graham grabs my hand and tugs me closer, scooting his chair back to give me room to see the monitors. I stumble slightly at the sudden movement, catching myself on the edge of his desk. The heat of his palm seeps into my skin, sending a shiver up my arm.
My eyes widen as I take in the name of the folder displayed on the center monitor.
Graham Oliver Carter.
“Your middle name is Oliver?” I step between his legs, getting closer to the monitor.
A soft laugh hits my back, and I swear I can feel it like a soft caress.
“Click on the folder, Francesca.”
I move the mouse so it hovers over the folder, and before I can talk myself out of it, I click it.
My breath catches as the folder opens and hundreds of documents appear. Bank statements, property records, legal filings. It’s all there, laid out in neat digital rows. My eyes skim over the files, catching on certain words and phrases. Trust fund. Inheritance. Marriage clause. Property taxes. The Alley.
I swallow hard, my hand trembling slightly on the mouse. “What is all this?”
Graham’s voice is low, almost gentle, as he replies. “My digital footprint.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all. “But why are you showing me this? I thought—I thought you were going to show me my files. My footprint.”
Graham’s hand settles on my hip, his touch light but steadying. “This is about more than just your files, Francesca. It’s about trust. Transparency. If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to get married, even just on paper, I need you to understand what you’d be signing up for. Who you’d be signing up for.”
I let out a shaky exhale, my mind reeling. Slowly, I lower myself onto his lap, perching on one muscular thigh. He makes a low sound in his throat, his hand flexing on my hip.
I turn my head to look at Graham, our faces only inches apart. His gaze is dark, intense, as it meets mine. My heart pounds against my ribs, desire and confusion warring within me.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
Graham’s hands settle on my hips, the warmth of his touch seeping through my cotton dress. He gently tugs me back until I’m perched on his lap, my back pressed against his solid chest.
“I wanted you to see mine first,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “So you’d understand.”
“Understand what?” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
His thumb rubs soothing circles on my hip as he speaks. “If I’m asking you to trust me,” Graham says quietly, “then I should show you that trust first.”
I swallow hard, my heart racing at his words. At the implication behind them. “Graham, I . . .” I don’t know what to say. This feels like a gift but the dangerous kind. I swallow hard. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I did.” His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it. Something deeper.
My gaze bounces around the screen. “And now what? You want me to go through your records and find your darkest secrets?”
“If that’s what you need. Or you could ask me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
I shake my head, something between disbelief and curiosity tugging at my ribs. “You’re really all-in on this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Just certainty.
I stare at the screen, at the folders and documents representing the most private details of Graham’s life. My mind whirs, trying to process everything that’s happening. The marriage proposal, the revelations about my own tangled legal situation, and now this. Graham laying himself bare, offering me unfettered access to who he is beneath the surface.
It’s overwhelming, intimate in a way that makes my heart squeeze almost painfully in my chest. I shift on his lap, turning to face him fully. His hands fall to my hips, steadying me as I meet his gaze.
“Tell me what you get out of it,” I whisper.
Graham exhales through his nose, then reaches around me for a red folder on his desk. My stomach tightens.
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just sets the folder in front of me, his fingers lingering on it for half a second before he pushes it toward me.
I stare at the red folder, my heart pounding. With trembling fingers, I flip it open. The first page is a legal document, the words “Irrevocable Trust” in bold at the top. My eyes skim the densely packed text, catching on certain phrases. Marriage clause, half the sum, stock portfolio, forfeiture of trust assets.
I look up at Graham, my brow furrowed in confusion. “What is this?”
He meets my gaze steadily, his jaw tight. “My inheritance. Set up by my grandmother before she passed. She was crafty and loved love, so her inheritance had stipulations for every grandkid.”
“What kind of stipulations?”
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “One of my sisters got cash, but she could only use it to open her own bakery. My cousin got Nana Jo’s house, but she had to live in it for a year. My brother got half of Nana Jo’s stock portfolio, but he had to stop racing and settle down.” He slides his gaze to mine, arching a brow. “He was going to do it, too. But then he impulsively joined a race for a woman, so he’s out.”
“And yours?”
Graham’s voice is low and even as he explains, “The other half of her sizeable stock portfolio. If I get married.”
I blink at him, surprise and understanding dawning. “Why didn’t you marry someone then?”
He stretches his neck from one side to the other. “I have to stay married for a year.”
I arch both brows at him. “And?”
He peels his gaze from me, gluing it to the folder. “And nothing. I didn’t want to fulfill it.”
Confusion sinks my brows low. “Why now then?”
“The thing is, I’m pretty sure my brother is in love.”
“With the race girl?”
“Eloise,” he says with a nod.
The pieces of the Graham Carter puzzle are forming a little clearer with every word out of his mouth.
“And he’s settling down now? So he’ll get his inheritance and you don’t want to be left out?”
Graham shakes his head, his expression softening. “No, that’s not it at all. My brother forfeited his inheritance when he joined the race. But he only joined to be with Eloise. And it’s not right. He should get it.”
I stare at him, understanding slowly dawning. “So you want to get married, to get your inheritance, to give to your brother?”
He nods once, his jaw tight. “Half of it, yeah. He deserves to have that safety net, even if he doesn’t think he needs it right now.”
I exhale slowly, my mind spinning with the implications of Graham’s words. He wants to marry me, not for his own gain, but to help his brother. To right what he sees as a wrong, to make sure Beau isn’t left without the security their grandmother intended for him.
It’s noble and selfless and so quintessentially Graham that it makes my chest ache. This man, with his quiet intensity and unwavering loyalty, never ceases to surprise me.
I search his face, looking for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. But all I see is raw honesty. He holds my gaze, his expression open and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. The intensity of it takes my breath away.
“Francesca,” he says quietly, his hands tightening on my hips.
I swallow hard, my heart racing as I stare into Graham’s dark, earnest eyes. “You’d really do that for your brother? Get married just to make sure he gets what your grandmother wanted for him?”
Graham nods, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on my hip. “He’s my brother. I’d do anything for him. For any of my family.”
There’s a fierce protectiveness in his voice, an unshakable loyalty that resonates deep in my bones. It’s the same ferocious love I long to feel the warmth of.
I close the gap between us, pressing my lips against his. It’s soft but not hesitant. It’s an acknowledgement. “You’re an incredible man, Graham Carter.”
Graham’s lips part slightly in surprise beneath mine before he responds, his mouth moving against mine with a gentle urgency. One hand slides up my back to cradle the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he angles my head to deepen the kiss.
A soft sound escapes me, something between a sigh and a whimper, as his tongue brushes along the seam of my lips. I open for him without hesitation, the kiss shifting from tender to heated in the space of a heartbeat.
He kisses like he does everything else: with singular focus and intensity. His hand tightens in my hair, the slight tug sending a delicious shiver down my spine. His other arm bands around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
Heat blooms low in my belly, curling through me like a slow, consuming fire. I moan, breath hitching, and he swallows the sound, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, deliberate and possessive.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, something distinctly him.
He tastes like he might be mine.
A breathy moan that escapes me, and he swallows the sound, his tongue delving into my mouth to stroke along mine. It’s hot and slick and so good that my toes curl in my sneakers. I grip his shoulders, the firm muscle flexing beneath my fingers as he takes control of the kiss.
And god, does he take control.
Romeo lets out a low whine, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor. The sound cuts through the haze of desire, pulling me back to reality.
I break the kiss with a gasp, my chest heaving as I blink up at Graham. His pupils are blown wide, his lips slightly swollen and glistening. He looks as affected as I feel, and a shiver of deep satisfaction races down my spine.
“We should—we should probably talk more,” I manage, my voice breathy and thin.
He nods, his hand flexing on my hip before he slowly releases it.
“Show me the proposal, Graham.”
He nods again, flipping a few pages over in the forgotten red folder on the desk. He clears his throat a couple times, shifting me on his lap a little. “I know this is a lot to take in. And you should take time to think about it. But I want you to know this isn’t just about my brother. Or your bookstore.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say next. “It’s about us. I won’t ever ask you to do anything you don’t want, including making this an official marriage. It can be a paper marriage. Or a friendship one. Fuck, it can be whatever you want. You have control, okay?” His voice drops to a low rumble, his eyes searching mine.
I swallow hard, my heart thundering against my ribs. His words wash over me, sinking deep into my bones and igniting a fire low in my belly.
There’s something between us, an inexplicable pull. It’s been there from the start. Growing steadily with each shared latte, each brush of hands, each lingering gaze.
His words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and possibility. I stare into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or reservation in their hazel haze. But all I see is unwavering certainty, a steadfast determination that both thrills and terrifies me.
My mind races as I try to process everything he’s saying. A paper marriage. A friendship marriage.
A real marriage?
Giving me control, letting me set the terms and boundaries. It’s overwhelming in its generosity, in the sheer level of trust he’s placing in me. Part of me wants to run, but I’d be a fool to turn away a helping hand. And that’s exactly what Graham’s doing: he’s throwing me a life raft.
“Show me.”
He nods once, the skin around his eyes tight as he hands me a few sheets of paper. “Take your time.”
I take the papers from Graham with shaking hands, my heart pounding as I begin to read. It's a prenuptial agreement, outlining the terms of our proposed marriage in clear, concise language.
The agreement states that we will marry and remain so for one year in order to fulfill the requirements of both the Ashburn clause and Graham’s inheritance stipulations. During that year, we will live together and present ourselves publicly as a married couple, a formality to serve our mutual goals. But privately, the marriage can be whatever we decide it to be. At the end of the twelve months, we will amicably split, with Graham retaining his full inheritance and transferring half of it to his brother Beau. I will retain sole ownership of Fiction & Folklore, free from any further claims or interference from my parents.
There are provisions for privacy, with neither of us disclosing the true nature of our arrangement to anyone outside of our immediate families and closest confidants. We agree to support each other’s professional and personal endeavors, to be partners and allies in every sense of the word, even if the romantic aspect is only for show.
My eyes blur as I read and reread the words, my mind struggling to wrap itself around the enormity of what Graham is proposing. It’s a business arrangement on the surface, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. A promise of partnership, of unwavering support and loyalty.
I stare at Graham's signature at the bottom of the prenuptial agreement, my heart racing. He's already signed it. He's fully committed to this plan, to helping me save my bookstore and helping his brother get his inheritance.
His fingertips graze my hip, pulling my focus back to him. I drag my gaze up from the paper to meet his eyes. They burn with a vulnerability that sends a shiver down my spine, but there’s also a vulnerability there, hiding in the tightness around his mouth, the slight furrow between his brows. He’s putting himself out there, laying all his cards on the table.
He’s giving me an out, a chance to walk away if this is too much. But there’s also hope in his eyes, a quiet longing that mirrors the ache inside of me.
“Okay.”
Graham’s eyes widen slightly, his fingers tightening on my hip. “Okay.” he repeats, his voice a low rumble.
I exhale slowly, my fingers tracing the edge of the paper. The words are there, black and white, ironclad.
One year. Partnership. Control.
My future, held in my own hands for the first time.
I look at Graham, searching for hesitation. There is none. I wet my lips, steady my breath. “Okay. Let’s get married.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features into something boyish and heart-achingly handsome. He reaches up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that steals my breath.
He exhales sharply, like a weight he’s been carrying just lifted off his chest. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on my jaw, his thumb still resting at the hinge. His voice is low, rough. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
And then he kisses me again.