Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Bridger
This is by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever considered doing, and I once jumped off a roof onto a trampoline while riding a bike.
My entire life flashed before my eyes that day.
But this is worse.
All I see in front of me now is an impossible future, pretending I don’t have legitimate feelings for Loren. For as long as we both shall live.
Or until Loren accidentally falls head over heels in love with some other guy who isn’t me.
Which would be the worst.
She claims that will never happen. But if it did, I’d have to let her out of our arrangement. That’s the deal, right? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And in this situation, I’m the idiot gander, honking out my love for a woman who’ll never want me back.
My only consolation is that I’ll be able to give her everything she needs, and most of what she wants. Security for her father. Two or three fewer jobs. The belief that she’s doing me the favor, so there’s no risk to her pride.
Conversely, by agreeing to marry Loren, I’m setting myself up for inevitable pain.
Not just emotionally, but physically. In fact, my heart’s already thrashing against my ribs.
Could I actually be married to this incredible human, my legal spouse, and never kiss her for real?
Never hold her in my arms in any authentic way?
I’d have to.
Because the last thing I’d ever do is push for anything beyond our platonic arrangement. We’re talking about a true marriage of convenience that’s the most inconvenient agreement I’ll ever make.
What a farce.
At least a wedding license with Rosalind would’ve come with zero strings attached. No emotional investment whatsoever. But a wedding license with Loren comes with all the strings.
Every single one.
And yet. Here I am, pressing the phone to my ear while my would-be bride scoots closer to me on Dexter’s old couch. Maybe my mother won’t accept my call, and I’ll have time to come to my senses, before—
She answers.
“Hello, son.”
So much for a last-minute reprieve.
“Heeeey, Mom.”
Loren leans in closer, trying to listen. The scent of her shampoo sure is distracting. I can hardly think. “Put it on speaker,” she whispers.
“No way.” I may be dumb, but I’m not a masochist. I need to keep Loren and my mother separated for … ever.
“I was beginning to think you might avoid me forever,” my mother says, dragging me back to reality. “I hope the fact that you’re calling now means you’ve come to your senses?”
Debatable. Highly.
“I was actually hoping you might’ve changed your mind about the terms of the trust,” I say. Might as well give that option one last shot. After all, wishful thinking never killed anyone.
But she sighs loud enough for me to hear, which is pretty impressive given the distance between us.
“You know the issue is out of my hands,” she says, primly. “That’s one of the advantages—or disadvantages—of a trust, depending on your circumstances. Once it’s in writing …”
“Yes, I know,” I cut her off. “I’ve heard it all before, Mom. Thanks.”
Another sigh. “You understand this isn’t a punishment, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t feel much like a reward,” I say. “But I guess that depends on your circumstances.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Well, my circumstances were that your father left, and I was forced to make every decision on my own. For both of us.” Her voice shifts to curt.
“Safeguarding your future was my priority. And I apologize if you disagree with the way I went about that.” I picture the cords along her neck straining.
I’d almost feel bad for her if she weren’t using his failures against me.
“All I’ve ever wanted was what’s best for you,” she adds.
“Come on, Mom.” I press out a laugh. “Be honest. You want what’s best for our branch of the Adams family tree.”
“You say that as if those things are mutually exclusive, but I assure you, they aren’t. With Rosalind by your side, you’ll be able to move mountains, my dear.”
“I could do that anyway, if you’d just support me. Instead, you throw up roadblocks.”
“Unconditional support is not my role as the trustee,” she says. “I’m here to ensure you reach your full potential.”
“Full potential,” I clap back, “is open to interpretation.”
“Perhaps, but the trust is not,” she says. “So.” There’s a brief hesitation. “Shall I contact Lyle Barrington? Or would you prefer to reach out to him yourself?”
Wow. The sudden subject shift is very Margaret Adams. Which is why I strictly limit our communication. Still, I decide to take the bait on this one. Even if it means dragging the conversation out a little longer.
“Why, exactly, would I want to call Lyle Barrington?”
“To ask for his daughter’s hand, of course. Rosalind has been nothing but cooperative with regard to this merger. I think she’s earned the formality of you receiving her father’s permission, don’t you?”
“Sorry to disappoint, Mom, but I won’t be calling Lyle Barrington anytime soon. And I definitely won’t be asking for anyone’s blessing.”
“Fine,” she quips. “If you insist on keeping this marriage strictly legal, we can do that, although I have no idea why you won’t at least try to embrace the traditions of matrimony. Rosalind is a lovely girl. And very compliant.”
“This isn’t about me not wanting to keep up appearances, agreeable as Rosalind may be. I simply can’t do it.”
“Why on earth not?”
Loren nudges my side, and I shoot her a glance. Her eyes are big blue globes, waiting for me to say the words, I’m marrying someone else.
That’s the plan we agreed to before I placed the call. I swallow hard, look away.
“I can’t marry Rosalind because I’m in love with someone else.”
Loren sucks in a breath.
Crap.
That wasn’t what we’d practiced.
“I must admit, I’m surprised.” My mother’s statement drips out slowly, and the way Loren’s gone into freeze mode suggests she’s equally stunned.
So I turn to her and mouth sorry, hitching my shoulders like I’m just putting on a show for my mom, not stating my true feelings.
“More to the point, I’m marrying somebody who isn’t Rosalind,” I add quickly. “The trust says I have to be married to maintain control, but the identity of my wife wasn’t stated in the fine print.”
My mother is quiet before responding. When she does, her words are frosty. “You are correct.”
“Wonderful,” I say. “Because I’ve found another woman. A different wife.”
Not a lie.
“I see.”
The ensuing silence lasts so long, I start to wonder if my mom hung up. “In that case, when can I meet the lucky bride?” she asks, coolly. “Your birthday is right around the corner. We don’t have much time to plan.”
Double crap.
Loren nudges me. What’s happening? she mouths.
I just nod. Give her a thumbs-up.
“You won’t be able to meet her before the wedding, Mom,” I say, loudly, tacking on a wince. “We’re too excited to wait. So we’ll be doing this soon. Very soon.”
Loren’s eyes widen.
“I can book the jet for later today,” my mother says.
“No, don’t,” I bark. “It’s just that … my future bride is a shy little thing. She’s really nervous about meeting you. I think we’d better wait until it’s official.”
Or never.
Loren swats my shoulder, and I can’t blame her. She’s definitely not shy. Or easily scared off. But the last thing we need is Margaret Adams showing up while we’re trying to pull off this wedding.
“I promise we’ll send lots of pictures and video,” I say.
“Don’t promise her that,” Loren hisses.
“Excuse me?” My mother clears her throat. “Is your shy little fiancée with you now? May I speak with her?”
“No,” I blurt. “I’m alone.”
“I definitely heard something.”
“That was my cat.”
“You have a cat?”
Loren facepalms herself. Yep. That’s about right.
“Anyway, it’s past time for her breakfast,” I continue, “so I’d better go. She gets kind of scratchy when she’s hungry. A real grumpy cat.”
Loren gapes at me.
“Just a moment,” my mother says. “If I don’t get to meet this bride of yours, how can I be certain she wants the same future I envisioned for you?”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I scramble. “We’re totally in love.”
“Bridger, I—”
“Gotta go,” I interrupt. “Stay tuned for wedding pics. Loren’s beautiful. You’ll see.”
My mother harrumphs. “Are you describing the woman you’re about to marry? Or your grumpy cat?”
I glance at Loren.
“My wife,” I say.
Then, without another word, I end the call.
Loren stares at me for a moment, then she gives my arm a light punch. “I’m grumpy?”
“I was talking about a fictitious cat,” I say. “You, I called beautiful.”
She exhales, and her cheeks bloom pink. “You don’t even have a cat.”
“My mom doesn’t know that,” I point out. “And she heard you hissing. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Fine.” Loren crosses her arms, chewing at her lower lip. “Do you think she bought it?”
“The cat or the marriage?”
“Both.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can she make things difficult for us if she doesn’t?”
For us.
I like the sound of that pronoun way too much. But I let that go to answer Loren’s question. “There’s some language in the trust about the trustee being able to contest the marriage if there’s evidence the parties didn’t enter into it in good faith.”
Loren huffs. “You and Rosalind aren’t exactly a love match.”
“True, but that would’ve been my mother’s sham marriage. You present an entirely different kind of sham.”
“Sham?” She wrinkles her nose. “I think I prefer being called a grumpy cat.”
I hoist a brow. “That gives me an idea for your new pet name.”
“What pet name?”
“Kitten.”
She squawks. “I don’t think so.”
“We’ll see.” I cock my head. “Either way, we’re going to need evidence that we’ve taken our vows in good faith. That way, my mother can’t try to prove otherwise.”
“What if she does?”
“Any kind of litigation could tie up my finances indefinitely,” I say. “Or at the very least temporarily freeze assets.”
Loren frowns. “Do you think she’d do that to us?”
Again with the us.
“Not if we take away the option,” I say. “Which means …” My voice drifts off.
“Which means what?”
“We should probably get married soon,” I say. “Before she can fly here to meet you. Or interfere in any way.”
“Wow.” Loren draws in a deep breath. “Guess we’re doing this ASAP, then.”
My jaw shifts, and I meet her gaze. “We don’t have to,” I offer, my voice deep and gentle. “Just say the word, and I’ll call—”
“No,” she insists. “This was my idea.” She squares her shoulders. “What else do we need to do to make us look legit?”
Us.
My heart pounds, and my jaw shifts. “Under the circumstances, you and I should probably … cohabitate.”
“Cohabitate?” She lets out a snort. “You sound like a zookeeper teaching kids about animal behavior.”
“Fine. I think we should live together.” I press out a chuckle, hoping my voice doesn’t crack like I’m some teenager whose vocal cords are changing.
Loren glances around. “This apartment only has one bedroom. And your place isn’t much bigger. Which is better?”
My throat goes dry at the idea of seeing Loren every night before bed, her face scrubbed clean, hair pulled back.
Shuffling off in my new favorite cow slippers.
“Before we worry about where to live, we should probably figure out all the legal stuff. Like getting a marriage license. And making an appointment at city hall.”
Loren gives my shoulder a light punch. “Don’t forget, you promised your mom pictures and videos of your oh-so-beautiful bride.”
You are, I think. The most beautiful.
What I say is, “This is a lot to pull off in a short period of time. Calling in some reinforcements couldn’t hurt.”
Loren blinks. “Reinforcements?”
“The other half of our square. Sayla and Dex.”