Chapter 6
chapter
six
Mike
I sit in the chapel and watch my younger brother marry for all the right reasons. I’m happy for him, but I’m so fucking confused.
Who is the woman I married?
Did I fall into some kind of weird trap? Corporate espionage or a revenge plan gone awry?
I’m especially glad that we signed that prenup. Which is 100% legally binding, provided her name is actually Evelyn Barlow.
I sneak a glance over at her pretty profile, and she’s watching the ceremony, a wistful look on her face.
As soon as my brother and the actual princess are married, I need to get my “wife” back to the hotel room. Until I know who she is and what game she’s playing, I can’t let her out of my sight.
After congratulating Mitchell and Evie, as he calls her, Evelyn and I head back to our hotel.
It occurs to me that I could just ambush her and demand answers. But that feels like the wrong tactic. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last decade of building my company, it’s to trust my gut.
I can't think of anyone who knew enough about my wedding plans to infiltrate my ceremony.
Harrison and Birdie Crawford knew since they set things in motion. My brother knew since he picked her up from the airport and drove her to Las Vegas for me. My assistant knew, but didn't have all the details.
I try to think of what info she could be after. It’s not like my company has a lot of secrets. We're pretty above board with what we do.
We ride in relative silence back to the hotel. The only sound is Evelyn humming along with the radio.
“We can order room service,” I say.
“Sure. I haven’t eaten since this morning, so I could definitely use some food.”
Once we're enclosed in our suite, she pauses and considers me.
“Do you know when the next event is?”
I frown, not understanding her question.
“I was just wondering if I could change out of this dress into something more comfortable.”
It sounds like a line intended for seduction, but I just don't know. My gut tells me she's sincere, but if that’s the case, how did we end up married?
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
While she disappears into the bedroom, I quickly change out of my tux. I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt and opt not to put on shoes. When she comes back out wearing a baggy pair of sweatpants and a Reading Rainbow shirt, I second-guess my theory about seduction.
But the thought does give me an idea about how I might discover the truth about my mysterious bride. When she pads barefoot over to the sofa, I give her a slow once-over and grin. I swear her cheeks pinken with a blush.
“Have anything in particular you want to eat?” I ask.
“Something cheesy,” she says.
“Uh... like fondue?”
She laughs, and fuck me if the sound doesn't make me smile wider.
“I was thinking more along the lines of pizza,” she clarifies.
“Oh, thank fuck. I have no doubt I could get fondue delivered, but I don’t think it would be quick, and I’m starving.” I grab my phone and text the concierge to place our order.
“Any toppings you hate?” I ask.
“Mushrooms,” she shudders.
“No fungi, got it. Beer okay?”
“Beer sounds great.”
After I order the food, I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, facing her. Might as well go for it and see where it takes me.
“So, as far as our marriage consummation, I’d like you to know that I’d prefer we not use any birth control methods.”
Her pretty green eyes bug out, and she chokes... on her own spit.
“I beg your pardon," she finally says.
“I’m thinking at least four kids, but I’m willing to negotiate.”
She starts looking around the room as I’m talking, as if she's searching for something.
“Are they recording us?”
“Who?” Fuck me, I hope she's not deranged. “Is who recording us?”
She sighs, then asks in a very soft voice. “Can we break character for a minute?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m curious, so I simply say, “Sure.”
She releases a heavy sigh. “Oh, thank goodness. This has been bonkers so far. It’s not that I’m not having fun.” A furrow creases her brow. “I just expected it to be different. You know? Like more people, for one thing. Like Clue.”
I stare at her, willing her words to make sense, but I’m so fucking confused.
She must see it on my face, and she giggles. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
Our food and drinks arrive, and neither of us speaks while I tip the deliveryman and get everything set up on the coffee table in front of her. I hand her a plate, then load up my own before sitting back down on the sofa.
“Have you ever been on one of these trips before?” she asks.
“Trips?”
“The murder mystery immersion thing.”
“Murder mystery,” I repeat slowly. “Wait, is that what you’re doing?”
“What I’m doing?” She stands and puts her hand on her chest. “Isn’t that what you’re doing too?”
A murder mystery game? That actually explains a lot about her behavior—the way she was always looking around at everything as if mentally cataloging her environment, not to mention the fact that she didn’t ask too many questions about our impromptu marriage.
I shake my head slowly. I set down my plate.
She sort of paces a little in a circle, then stops again. Her breathing comes out in little, rapid puffs of air. “I think I might be having a panic attack.”
I go to her and ease her back down on the sofa, then bend her forward so her head is close to her legs. “Deep breaths. I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out. Okay? You and me in this crazy situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
I rub circles on her back and slow my own breathing to try to get her to match me. “That’s right. Slow inhale and then release.”
She sits up, her breathing calmer. “Okay. I’m okay.” Her lips purse as she blows out another breath. She picks up her beer and takes a healthy swig.
“Can you start at the beginning?”
A nod and then she speaks. “My best friend bought me this trip. Murder mystery weekend. Complete immersion. Characters. Costumes. You know—fully committed to the game sort of thing.”
“Sure,” I say.
“So when I got upgraded to a bridal suite and told my fiancé would be joining me…” She shrugs. “I assumed my character was that of a bride.”
I stare at her. “And you thought marrying me was part of a game?”
Her expressive green eyes meet mine. “Yes,” she says brightly. “A very elaborate, very expensive game.”
I swallow hard. “And when you signed the prenup?” I ask.
She shrugs. “A very impressive and legal-looking prop.”
That does it. I laugh—low, disbelieving, helpless.
“This is unbelievable,” I say.
“Oh no, if you weren’t playing the game, then what were you thinking was happening?”
So I explain to her about how I was supposed to marry the other Evelyn Barlow, the real princess, to save her from an arranged marriage.
“But she and your brother fell in love for real on the way here?”
“Evidently.”
She puts a hand on my knee. “I’m sorry.”
“I’d never met her. There were no feelings involved.”
“Oh well, that’s good, I suppose.”
“But,” I say with caution. “There is the thing with our marriage.”
“Right. Because it wasn’t part of a game.”
“And the prenup wasn’t a prop, but rather a legally binding contract.”
She eyes me, her eyes narrowing a little. “Can you explain it to me like I’m a kindergarten teacher?”
“The prenup requires us to stay married for six months. And includes a cohabitation clause.”
“A what now?”
“Six months,” I repeat. “We’re required to remain married and living together before either of us can dissolve the union. I live in Austin, Texas. Does that work for you?”
She stares at me.
Then she blinks.
“The prenup made sense for the original scenario,” I say quickly. “It was meant to protect both parties. Optics. Stability.”
Then she laughs. Like full-on hysterical laughter that has tears streaming down her face. She holds her stomach. “Only I would accidentally marry a stranger in Vegas, and we live in the same damn city.”
“You live in Austin?”
“I do. How bananas is that?”
“Total bananas,” I say.
“So now you and I are just stuck?”
“For six months,” I confirm. “Unless your legal name isn’t Evelyn Barlow.”
“Nope, that is, in fact, my name. I can give you my ID in case you want to run a background check or whatever. Make sure I’m not an evil mastermind or something.”
“I’m not going to say I didn’t wonder initially. But I trust you,” I say, realizing I completely mean that.
“Well,” she says slowly, “this whole mix-up ironically solves a problem for me.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“For the last few months, I’ve been unsuccessfully looking for a new place to live.”
The way she phrases that makes it sound ominous. “Is your current situation unsafe?”
She chuckles. “No, not unsafe. I’ve just been unwanted. Still living with my ex-boyfriend, Kurt. He broke up with me recently, and I’ve been sleeping on his couch while I try and fail to find a new place.”
“Well, he sounds like an idiot,” I say impulsively.
“You have room for an extra person at your place? For these next six months? I promise I’ll keep looking for a place of my own.”
“Can’t be easy. Austin is not a cheap place to live, especially on a teacher’s salary.”
She sighs. “It’s been a challenge.”
“I have plenty of space in my condo. Convenient that we both live in Austin,” I say.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, convenient isn’t what it feels like. Meant to be is the thought quietly swimming through my mind. But I do my best to shove it aside because I am not that guy.
“Holy shit!” she yells.
“What?”
“Does that mean this ring is real?”
I grin at her. “I’m afraid so.”