Chapter 9 #2
Geoffrey tilted his head slightly. “Do you intend this to be temporary?”
“Yes. We’ll draw up the paper. We’ll be married for six months.”
They both studied me for a long moment.
“This is not solely about insurance,” Chandler said. The grin that was tugging his mouth made me angrier by the minute.
“It is about preventing avoidable harm.”
“And what does Belle think of this?” Chandler asked with an infuriating sparkle in his eye.
Geoffrey looked between us.
“She’s proud,” I said.
Chandler merely cocked an eyebrow and nodded.
“She needs time. She thinks I’m doing this because I pity her.”
There was a long pause in the room.
“And why are you doing it, sir?” Geoffrey asked in her perfectly polished British way. He watched me carefully.
“Why are you two suddenly so full of questions?”
First, the sudden urge to take care of Belle. Now these two were questioning me. It was quite the turn my life had taken the moment I saw her limp.
“And if she accepts. What then?” Chandler asked.
“Then we proceed,” I said plainly.
Chandler almost had a full smile now.
Geoffrey’s voice softened, just slightly. “You are aware that marriage involves proximity.”
“Yes.”
“Shared space,” he continued.
“Yes.”
“Emotional exposure,” he said with a careful nod.
I held his gaze. “This is business,” I repeated.
Chandler let out a low breath.
“She’s injured. She’s living in a van. She can’t afford a doctor,” I explained for what felt like the hundredth time.
“And you can fix that,” Chandler said.
“I can.” I wasn’t sure if they were being purposefully obtuse, but it was starting to irritate me.
Geoffrey inclined his head slowly. Chandler crossed his arms.
“If this blows up in your face—” Chandler started.
“It will not.”
Silence.
Geoffrey broke it. “If she agrees, sir, we will ensure the legal framework protects both parties.”
“Yes.”
“And if she refuses.” Chandler goaded.
“Then nothing changes.”
Chandler studied me for another long moment. Geoffrey nodded once. “Very well.”
Chandler exhaled. “God help us.”
“Now leave me. I have work to do.”
I tried to ignore the glance they exchanged. I know this had to sound crazy. This was crazy, yet to me it made complete sense. She would move in. I would help her heal, and then everything would go back to normal . . . I didn't even believe that.
I remained in my study longer than necessary, reviewing documents, until there was a small knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Belle stepped inside. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair slightly damp at the temples from the kitchen heat.
“Dinner,” she said.
“I told you to rest,” I snapped at her. I wanted to take back the words immediately, but Belle was not intimidated.
She merely put her hands on her hips and said, “Do you want to eat it or not?”
“You should not have come up the stairs. You could have sent Geoffrey. Or even called.”
She cocked her head, silently evaluating me. “I don’t have your number.”
I picked up my cell phone from my desk and texted her. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
“Now you do. Use it whenever you need.”
Her brows furrowed for a brief moment. I knew she was having trouble figuring me out. I was having the same problem myself today.
She leaned lightly against the doorframe.
“Anyway, like I said. Dinner is ready. Are you coming?” she asked, “or should I send it up on a tray like a secret Victorian child?”
“I’m coming.”
I stood.
As we walked toward the dining room, I became acutely aware of her presence beside me.
She moved carefully, putting as little weight on her injured leg as possible, but refused assistance.
Her stubbornness amused me. She was a walking contradiction, and I couldn’t stop trying to figure her out.
She was soft in appearance, yet unyielding in practice.
I did not understand how those things coexisted so seamlessly in her.
Firm but soft. Resilient but exhausted. Angry but ethical. I needed to understand.
We reached the dining room.
Candles were unnecessary, but Geoffrey had lit them regardless.
Belle noticed.
“Is this ambiance for the contract negotiations?” she asked dryly.
“It is standard practice.”
“For mergers?”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled. We sat across from one another. Plates already arranged. The room felt larger than usual. She folded her hands briefly on the table. There was something uncharacteristically still about her.
“You said to think about it,” she began. “I did.”
My pulse adjusted. I did not move. She bit her bottom lip as she seemingly collected her thoughts before she looked back up at me.
“You’re serious,” she continued. “About this being just for insurance. Like a business transaction.”
“Yes.”
“I get insurance, and to live here while I recover.”
“Yes.”
“No romantic expectations.”
“No.”
“No power plays.”
“No.”
Silence. She studied my face. Searching.
“For how long?” she asked.
“I think six months would suffice,” I said. Why was I so invested in this? “Or until you choose otherwise.”
“And if I walk away later.”
“You may.”
“And you won’t retaliate.”
“No. I would never do anything to hurt you, Belle.”
I think that surprised her as much as it surprised me. Yet I knew it to be true. It was one of those truths that exists deep in your soul. I would never harm her or allow any harm to befall her.
She exhaled slowly. Her fingers tightened slightly where they rested on the table.
“If this is a contract,” she said, “then it benefits us both.”
“Yes.”
“You get order.”
“Indeed.”
“I get insurance.”
“Yes.”
Silence. Then— “Okay.” The word landed softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”
My heart shifted. It fluttered in my chest. The sensation almost startled me. I had not experienced it in years. I was not certain it had remained possible. Somehow, I maintained composure.
“I will ready the paperwork,” I said evenly.
“Of course you will.”
“We will proceed tomorrow.”
“Okay. Let’s get hitched, Mr Renault.”
But her eyes were different now. And a small smile lit her face.
“Please. We are to be married in the morning. Call me Raphael.”
I studied her across the candlelit table. Soft yet unbreakable. Entirely willing to enter a contractual marriage to solve a problem she refused to let define her.
“Okay, Raphael.”
The sound of my name on her lips grounded me in a way only order and paperwork had in years. I did not know what this would become, yet relief settled deep in my bones.
“Now, let’s eat before it gets cold,” she said as she nodded to the plate of herb-roasted chicken before us.
We both started eating, and the energy around us settled into something impossibly familiar.
She would see a doctor. She would not sleep in that van tonight. She would not manage mere survival alone.
And my heart, despite my better judgment, had moved.
I lifted my glass. “To health,” I said.
She raised hers. “To insurance.”
Her mouth curved slightly when she said it. Suddenly, the house did not feel sterile anymore. It felt inhabited, like a place that could be an actual home.