Chapter 10
Holland
I knock on Phoenix’s office door at four-fifty-nine.
I’ve actually been here since four-fifty, but I didn’t want to seem too eager, and I wanted to give myself a few more minutes before I officially committed to marry him. This whole shindig probably won’t include a bachelorette party; it felt right to take a moment and commemorate my singledom.
It has, on the whole, been unremarkable.
I smooth my hand down my shirt, checking to make sure everything looks okay; I’m dressed out of character in tight jeans, a white v-neck, and a fitted tan blazer. Thankfully I own a pair of tan ankle boots, because my knee keeps giving me trouble, and I don’t want to deal with heels today.
I brush away one last wrinkle as Wyatt opens the door to the office, and the smile I give him is genuine and full of relief.
I’m being stupid, obviously. I can face Phoenix just fine. I can face this room just fine. Nothing is different today from yesterday. Still, it’s nice to have two extra seconds before I’m forced to see him.
Usually when I see Wyatt, though—which admittedly is not often—he’s wearing an expression of vague politeness. Something about him is different today. He’s dressed the same, but he looks more alert—more present, maybe, his eyes quick and sharp and focused.
He steps back and gestures for me to enter the office, and then he returns to the same leather chair he was sitting in yesterday. He doesn’t open the large leather folder he always seems to carry; he just waits, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes on Phoenix.
Phoenix, meanwhile, doesn’t even look up from the papers he’s signing at his desk; he just waves one absent hand and says “Close the door, please.”
I do as he says, mostly because even though the office staff are all filtering out for the day, I don’t want to risk anyone hearing about this arrangement. The door clicks shut just as Phoenix speaks again.
“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he says, and I turn to find him gazing with reluctant approval at my outfit. I smooth my hands over my blazer once more.
“Money is changing hands,” I say. “We’re signing a contract. This is a business meeting.”
“I agree,” he says. He stands up, straightening his tie.
His tie, which is similar in color to the tie I yanked on yesterday, in this very office.
I can’t believe I did that.
“Are you ready?” Phoenix says, and I jump, pressing the back of my hand to my warm cheeks.
But he’s not talking to me. “Whenever you are,” Wyatt says promptly—and out comes the leather folder, which he flips open to reveal a legal pad.
I’m glad he didn’t ask me the same question, because I don’t know what my answer would be. I don’t think I’m ready; I don’t think it’s possible to be truly ready for something like a contractual marriage to a man whose mere face makes you angry .
But ready or not, this is what needs to happen. I need his financial support, as much as I absolutely hate to admit it. So I clear my throat and then dive in anyway.
“If we’re going to do this,” I say, “I have some conditions.”
“I’m sure you do,” Phoenix says under his breath. Then, louder, he goes on, “But that’s why we’re meeting today. Give me a moment, please, and we can discuss everything.”
I stare at him for a second, frowning. That sentence he just said was so… nice. Polite and professional. Is this what business-meeting Phoenix is like? Why can’t he be like this all the time? Is that too much to ask?
He would probably be nicer to you if you were nicer to him, a little voice chimes in my brain.
I ignore that voice.
Phoenix rounds his giant desk and takes a seat in the chair between mine and Wyatt’s. He looks back and forth between us for a second and then begins. “All right,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s start. First things first: duration. This contract would be for the remaining length of my grandmother’s life. She’s been given several more months to live, so realistically, we’re looking at the rest of the summer. Is that agreeable?”
I nod slowly, thinking it through as Wyatt’s pen scribbles furiously on his legal pad. “Yes,” I say. Then, more decisively, “Yes. That’s agreeable.”
Phoenix gives a brisk bob of his chin and speaks again. “Excellent. I propose the following, then: you and I marry quickly and quietly at Town Hall. We’ll take official wedding portraits, however, because my family will already be suspicious as is. For the duration of the contract, we will live together?—”
“Is that necessary?” I cut in, my stomach flipping at the thought of actually living with Phoenix. I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. “We’re over here on the island. Your family’s not going to know if we’re not cohabitating.”
Phoenix’s only response is a dry, humorless laugh.
“It will be necessary,” Wyatt says, putting down his pen and looking apologetically at me. “The Butterfields will be very suspicious about the timing of these nuptials, and more than one of them will want to prove that your marriage is fake. I think it’s safe to assume that people will be watching you.”
I blink at him. “I—are you serious?”
“Very much so,” Wyatt says.
“My family is insane,” Phoenix says. The words are short, clipped.
“I mean, everyone’s family is a little weird?—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “ Weird is not the correct term. My aunt Rita once tried to hit my uncle Clarence with her car because he set her living room on fire. My mother is deeply in debt but continues to expand her fascinator collection using my money. Barbara is just the same, and the cousins are all crazy, too. I’m glad to be alive, but my grandparents had no business procreating.”
“Okay,” I say, my eyes wide. “We’ll live together. Fine. But I get my own room,” I add.
He dips his head. “Yes. We will live together, but we will use separate rooms and separate beds. We will tell no one on the island—none of your friends or mine,” he says with a severe look, and I nod quickly in assent.
“Cat already sort of knows a little bit,” I admit, ignoring his glare. “But agreed for the rest.” I don’t want anyone knowing my shame. “Maggie…”
His expression softens the tiniest bit. “Maggie should be fine, as long as she doesn’t tell the rest of your family. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
Amen.
“As for public expectations,” he goes on, “when we are with my family, we will behave as a loving couple. We will hold hands and touch and all the normal things couples do.” The look he shoots me is cool, assessing. “Is this going to be a problem?”
I swallow. “No,” I say, because he’s talking about this in such a detached, businesslike manner that he must be totally fine with it. If he’s fine, I’ll be fine, too. “It won’t be a problem.”
“Good.” Another brisk nod. “For the sake of appearances, you will also need to conform to a certain look. Your normal attire is fine when we’re here, but when we’re in the presence of my grandmother or other family members, you’ll need to take my direction on clothing and styling.”
I grimace as images of pants suits and pearls fill my head. Three or four snarky replies dance on my tongue, but I hold them in, because I’m trying to be professional about this. “Fine,” I say. “How’s that going to work?”
Now Phoenix grimaces, looking even more put out than I do. “It may require a joint shopping trip, which will no doubt be painful for all involved.”
Good grief. Is he going to Princess Diaries me? Is this going to be one of those things where he passes his black card to a sales associate and she returns with piles and piles of clothing and makes me try all of them on?
But he changes the subject before I can protest or ask more questions. “For compensation, this is my offer,” he says. Wyatt slides a sheet of paper out of his folder and passes it to me, and Phoenix goes on. “One-third delivered upon signing, one-third delivered upon marriage, and the last third delivered upon dissolution.”
I take the paper, look at the number, and feel my jaw drop. I stare at it for a second, just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Then I look at Phoenix.
“You’re stupidly rich,” I say.
“Mmm.” He doesn’t look particularly happy about it. “Yes. I am.”
I lean back in my chair. “Does this include Maggie’s tuition?” I say, waving the paper.
“No,” he says, businesslike once more. He leans back too, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Maggie’s tuition will be added on top of that, as will any medical expenses you incur.” He gestures at my bad knee. “You’ll be added to my insurance as well, of course. Is this acceptable?”
“Yes,” I say. I guess I’m a gold digger now.
“My family is going to be very suspicious, Amsterdam,” he says, and it’s weird hearing him speak so professionally but still calling me that. He pins me with a look so serious that a little twinge of anxiety pulses low in my gut, and then he goes on. “They will be watching for any sign that something is not right between us. Lawrence wants to inherit, as do several others. Ultimately I believe it will come down to either Lawrence or me, but I can’t rule out other possibilities. So while we are with my family…” He exhales softly. “You need to look at me like I hang the sun, the moon, and the stars.”
“I understand,” I say, but my words are unsure.
“Do you?” he says, leaning forward. His black-brown eyes paralyze me, hold me so firmly in place that I can barely breathe. “You will need to behave, Miss Blakely”—he leans further, close enough that I can smell his leather-and-mahogany scent—“as though I’m the one you dream about.” His voice is soft but firm as he goes on, “We will need to convince them that we are deeply, deeply in love.”
And I swear at this very moment, you could hear a pin drop in this office—he’s staring at me so intently, so seriously. His black brows wing severely over his dark eyes, and his mouth is set in a grim, uncompromising line as he waits for my reply.
This is not my Phoenix, the one who puts fish in my mailbox and calls me rude names. This is executive Phoenix, get-stuff-done Phoenix—this is don’t-mess-with-me Phoenix.
He’s kind of…intimidating.
No, he’s not, I tell myself. There’s nothing intimidating about him. Suck it up. I look at the paper in my lap; I think about Maggie. Then, finally I nod.
“I’m in,” I say.
Some of the tension leaks out of Phoenix’s shoulders as he sits back in his leather chair once more. “Good,” he says. “In that case, now is the time to list your conditions.”
“I have two,” I say. “The first one is that we’re not going to sleep together.”
“Agreed,” he says immediately, his expression blank. “Next.”
“The second is that you cannot fall in love with me, and vice versa. No feelings will enter into this arrangement.”
I know it sounds stupid—I know. And the risk of us falling for each other is almost nonexistent. But I need to be thorough.
But Phoenix just smirks, and it’s the first time this whole meeting that I’ve seen an expression I’m so familiar with—now that our business is coming to a close, it looks like he’s back to his true colors. “You already said that,” he says. “Yesterday. You’re safe from me, Amsterdam. ”
“Fine,” I say, relief coursing through me. “That’s it for me, then.”
“If that’s all,” Wyatt says, “I’ll have a contract drawn up and ready for you to sign by end of day tomorrow.”
I stand up, nodding. “Sounds good. Thanks, Wyatt.”
Phoenix stands too, and I’m surprised when he holds out his hand. I stare at it.
“Shake, Gangster Glam,” he says, the faintest hint of taunting in his voice. “It’s what people do when they make business deals.”
I put my hand in his and squeeze it as hard as I can.
He cocks one eyebrow at me and squeezes my hand in return, a quick, bone-crushing pulse of pain.
“Ow!” I say, kicking him in the shin.
He winces and gives my hand one last squeeze, and I kick him again.
“Get out of my office,” he says, wrenching our hands apart and pointing at the door. “Wyatt will email you the DocuSign tomorrow evening. Start looking for a wedding dress; we’re taking official wedding photos in three days.”
My eyes widen as images of me in a frilly, floofy wedding monstrosity pop into my head. “That soon?” I say.
“Yes. I’ll pay, so don’t worry about price,” he says briskly, straightening his suit coat. “And I don’t care about the style, but choose something classy, please, and not too casual.”
I scoff. “I’m a classy person, Toucan.”
He just points to the door again. “Go. Wyatt will drive you home.”
“In the golf cart?” I say with a groan.
“Yes. Don’t complain.”
“Do you always do the things he tells you to do?” I say to Wyatt, who’s closing his folder and standing with a twinkle of humor in his eyes .
“He pays me well enough that I have no objections,” Wyatt says with a little smile.
Phoenix snorts from behind us, and when I look over my shoulder, I see that he’s returned to his desk. Is he going back to work?
“Leave your account information with Wyatt,” he adds, his attention already on the computer screen. “He’ll deposit enough funds for the dress.”
I nod and leave the office, Wyatt following closely behind me.
My mind reels on the way home, and I’m grateful that Wyatt lets me stew in silence. He ducks his head politely when he drops me off at Nana Lu’s, giving me another little smile, and I hop out after giving him my bank account info.
The gravel crunches under my feet as I enter the courtyard, but I barely hear. I nearly trip over the railroad tie, and it takes me several tries to get the door unlocked. When I finally get it open, I call Maggie.
Shopping for wedding dresses by myself is one of the most depressing things I can think of. I’m going to need reinforcements.
“You want me to do what with you?” she says. Her voice still hasn’t completely lost its sweet, youthful quality. “Did you say wedding dress? ”
“Yes,” I tell her, toeing my ankle boots off as I step inside. Sometimes I come home still half-expecting Nana Lu to be here, seated on that awful couch with a large-print book or snacking on a vanilla cupcake at the kitchen table. I always deflate a little when I realize the house is empty now. “Wedding dress shopping. I’m getting married.”
Maggie is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I’m confused.”
“I know,” I say, sighing as I trudge down the hall, past the living room, and to my bedroom. “It’s complicated. Come hang out with me tomorrow and I’ll explain.”
“You haven’t even been dating anyone, have you?” she says. “Why are you getting married? Who’s the guy? Holland…” She trails off, and I hear her take a deep breath before speaking again. “Are you pregnant? You can tell me if you are?—”
“ No! ” I say quickly. “No, definitely not pregnant. Come tomorrow and I’ll tell you, okay?” I try to make my voice coaxing, but it sounds more like begging. “Please? It’s only an hour’s drive.”
“I have statistics tomorrow, Holl,” she says. “I can’t—I don’t—” She breaks off and then sighs, the sound staticky over the phone. “You’re actually getting married?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. Seriousness bleeds into my voice, a reality that I still can’t quite believe myself. “I am. I promise I’ll explain everything, okay? Just come help me, please.” I swallow and then admit the truth: “I don’t want to shop for wedding dresses by myself.”
Without even changing clothes, I pull back my turquoise comforter and climb into bed, curling up on my side with the phone balanced on my cheek. I still have hours before I would normally go to sleep, but right now, I need to cocoon.
It’s Maggie’s soft, loving voice that plays in my ear as I close my eyes.
“In that case,” she says, “of course I’ll ditch statistics. I hate it anyway.” I can hear her teasing smile, the one I know she’s giving me because she can tell something’s up. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bride-to-be.”
My eyes sting suspiciously, but I blink until they stop. “Thanks, Mag.” I pause and then add, “You can’t tell anyone about this. ”
“I figured,” she says. “You’re going to explain everything the second I get there.”
“I promise,” I say, pulling the covers up under my chin and tucking them tightly in place. “Drive safe, okay?”
“I will. And Holl?”
“Mmm.”
“Start thinking about what kind of lingerie you want me to get you for your wedding gift.”
I just laugh.