Chapter 12
Shay
Students will be able to observe customs and traditions.
On my second wedding day of the year, I skipped the gown that cost more than most compact cars and required three people to cinch me into it, and went with a hot pink romper.
An adult onesie, as Gennie would say.
It had a cute little cut-out at the small of my back that made it a touch too risqué for teaching yet a-okay for writing names on desk placards, cubby stickers, and take-home folders.
The beaded crab earrings, just kitsch enough to avoid being creepy, brushed the sides of my neck every time I moved. Those earrings screamed louder than anything I owned and they said not perfect, not bridal, not a problem .
I put a lot of energy into viewing this as a business arrangement rather than a marriage.
I needed that insulation. It was the only way to save myself from spiraling down on memories of my first nuptial attempt.
And it wasn’t just the memories. It was the worst-case scenario thoughts too.
Had the ex been cheating? Had he always cheated?
Was he with that person now? What did they offer that I lacked? What had I done wrong?
Add in the trauma of my life ripping down the middle with an audience of friends and family to gasp in horror, and it was no surprise I’d spelled Aiden wrong five times. All the tattoos and dye jobs and binge-drinking in the world couldn’t lift that mess from my memory.
But sitting in that mess wasn’t going to erase it either.
The ex was out there living his life. He wasn’t wandering around a tulip farm, cutting his fingers while he tried to put the broken pieces of himself back in an order that made sense for this fresh, new version of his life.
I knew that with more certainty than I knew anything else about him.
That was another reason for the crabby earrings. He hated those things. The lobster ones and the koi fish. The octopus too. He hated all my weird and wonderful things, and for a time he’d convinced me I didn’t want them either. Shouldn’t want them.
It left me wondering what else I’d lost along the way. What I’d given up. And why I’d let it happen.
Jaime’s response to this business arrangement was short and direct.
“This isn’t a Hallmark movie,” she’d said last night.
“You are not allowed to forget about city life because one very fuckable farmer brings you freshly baked bread and offers to save your granny’s land.
You will come back to me, doll. They don’t get to keep you. ”
“This is temporary.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Trust me,” I said. “I’m coming back.”
She snorted. “Just wait until Daddy Bread Baker gives you his baguette.”
“You did not say that. I refuse to believe you said those words.”
“Was it my finest moment? No. Am I a dinging toaster of anxiety because I have five big-time IEPs and three behavioral 504s in need of hands-on help? Yes. If this week doesn’t end with another teaching assistant being hired, I’m gonna burn something.”
“What do you mean, five IEPs? I had three and you knew each of those kiddos.”
“Those three aren’t on my roster. Julius’s family moved, Gray’s got him into a program for sensory kids, and Madgalily’s decided to homeschool. So, I have five new friends.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before I dumped my drama on you.”
“As if I wouldn’t have called a time-out and told you I needed us to prioritize my drama?
No, doll, I’m good. I haven’t been to therapy in three weeks and I’m out of laundry detergent so I’m just wearing bike shorts under dresses which isn’t a problem but I feel like I’m crossing into questionable new territory of not wearing underwear here.
It’s possible I’m never going back. And I’m just ranty.
It’s fine.” She heaved out a sigh. “It’s fine.
You’re getting married! Sort of. That’s fun, right? ”
“It’s a lot of fun,” I replied. Part of me wanted to get in the car and deliver detergent to her apartment and promise everything would be all right with her class.
Better than all right. Awesome, like it always was.
The other part knew I had to stay here. I had to do this thing, this giant crazy thing where I grabbed the ripped fabric of my life and knotted it into some new creation that I wouldn’t recognize until it was done.
“And the odds are high my groom will show up this time. He wants me for my land, after all.”
“More than your land.”
I shook my head. “Not much more.”
I couldn’t nail Noah down. His thoughts hid behind a stone wall and I had yet to find the drawbridge.
For every shoulder caress and every glance at my mouth, there was prolonged silence and stomping away from me with a grumble.
If he wanted anything more than another business to add to his Friendship empire—and the occasional fake girlfriend—he did an excellent job of hiding it.
“Hey, so, do you want to hear about some real drama? Because there was a whole big thing at this poly meetup munch I went to the other night instead of going to therapy, like I should have.”
“Definitely, yes, but I have to move first. My ass falls asleep whenever I sit on the floor too long.”
“Get comfortable. It’s an involved story. And maybe your new husband will buy you some furniture so you don’t have to sit on the floor all the time.”
* * *
My first clue should’ve been the suit.
I should’ve known what was coming the moment Noah stepped into room nine dressed like he’d been born for the singular and specific purpose of wearing bespoke suits.
He had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a document folder.
His tie was a bit loose, a bit off-center, as if he’d tugged at it on the drive over here.
I had no idea why that made me press my thighs together and I didn’t want to explore it.
At that moment, with him standing in my doorway, I realized there had been a period in Noah’s life when he’d worn suits and carried documents and gave his tie an irritable pull every day.
It was a wonder that New York City was still standing because I was this close to sliding out of my chair.
The best gift, however, came from the items he wasn’t wearing.
Without sunglasses or a ball cap to keep his walls high, I could see him.
Still, I didn’t know how to read the expression on his face.
The pinch of his brows, the flat line of his lips, the dark glint of his eyes.
It was a look that could mean anything from exasperated to indifferent to battle-ready.
The marker I was holding fell to the floor.
The marriage was fake. The attraction to my future husband…that was all too real.
He held up a hand in greeting and glanced around at the desks and chairs stacked to the ceiling in one corner, boxes piled in another. It was clear he’d expected a less rustic situation.
“I have time,” I said, more for my benefit than his. “It looks worse than it is.”
He crossed the room toward the horseshoe-shaped table I’d designated as my chaos-free corner. “Why is it,” he started, gesturing with his folder, “like this? Why hasn’t the furniture been set up?”
“I haven’t done it yet.”
“Why are you doing it?”
I grabbed the marker off the floor and secured the cap.
“That’s what teachers do, Noah. We don’t have first-day-of-school fairies who make everything beautiful and organized.
” I pointed at the rolled-up rug perched on the windowsill.
“That’s part of the reason I was so frazzled yesterday.
I usually work on prepping my room over the course of three weeks, not three days. ”
“That, and the pudding cup.”
I dropped back into my chair. “Shut up about the pudding cup.”
He looked around again, tapping the edge of the folder against his palm. When finished with his perusal, he said, “I brought the prenup. I want to go over it before”—he tipped his head toward the door—“we finalize anything.”
I pulled my bag from the chair on the other side of the table. “Let’s do it.”
He studied the chair. It was second-grade-sized. “Seriously?”
“I sit in little kid chairs every day. You’ll survive.”
Another moment of staring passed before he dropped into the chair. His knees were level with the table. Somehow, it did nothing to dampen the power of that suit.
He opened the folder, saying, “This is a standard prenuptial agreement that states both parties will retain the assets and liabilities they bring into the union. Since I’ve requested use of your assets—”
Why did that sound filthy?
“—I’ve added language indicating I’ll fairly compensate you—”
And that. Dirty as hell.
“—though both parties may agree to non-monetary compensation. In other words, we could take it out in trade.”
And that. Definitely that.
“Prepping your fields, for example,” he continued. “I have no desire to haggle with you over every inch—”
Wow. Right? I wasn’t imagining this.
“—and all goods or services would be subject to your full consent, of course.”
I fumbled for my water bottle. “Mmhmm.”
He flipped a few pages. “Any products of this union—real estate, business ventures, offspring—”
“Offspring?”
He held up his hands and let them fall to his lap. “Obviously that’s unlikely in our circumstances but it’s standard for these agreements.”
I toyed with my water. It was a good place to fixate. “Okay.”
He traced the edge of the paper, silent a moment. “You should have your own counsel review this before signing.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
“No, Shay, I’m telling you what’s in the document but I don’t represent your interests. You should have someone else.”
“Like the guy in Florida who explained Lollie’s crazy will to me?”
Noah rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “He definitely doesn’t represent your interests. No. Not him.”
“Would’ve been nice for him to mention that,” I mumbled.
“Your mother,” Noah started, “she must have—”