Chapter 6 – Daisy
I t’s the wedding of the year… at City Hall.
“That’ll be sixty-one dollars for the license. Did you bring a witness with you?”
Grant places his Black Card on the counter and the clerk’s eyes boggle. “Yes, an attorney.” Nothing says romance like having legal counsel present.
“Who painted that large mural in the hallway?” I’d rather focus on art than that sick knot forming in my belly.
“It was a public mural painting event last year and several local artists participated.”
“Oh, that’s exciting! Do you know if they’re-”
“Daisy,” Grant clips, tapping his credit card impatiently and cutting our conversation short. “The judge will be waiting.”
The clerk swipes his card while shooting a quizzical glance my way. I’m full of questions myself when it comes to the man beside me.
Friday night, I crawled into bed, promising myself it would be the last night I would do so without coming clean. I had held some faint hope that the staff would take pity on me and let me stay on as a maid. I hadn’t meant to keep the farce going so long but having a real bed, a roof over my head and regular meals was hard to give up.
But, unlike the other three who treat me as much like family as their employer’s wife, every time I had seen Mr. Radcliffe, I’d been more and more convinced that the man would see me turned out the second he learned the truth.
And, instead of finally coming clean, Grant had woken me, ripping me from sleep while ripping the covers from my body and exposing the fact I’d raided his dresser for a clean shirt to wear to bed. It smelled delicious, like him, but I had wisely kept that to myself. My excuses about the mix-up had sounded feeble even to my own ears in the face of his cold anger and calculating stare.
On a side note, I’d thought I was still dreaming when I found Grant Barclay standing before me in only his boxer shorts. For a white-collar guy, he’s got a hard-working hottie body.
He’d made me an offer, one I was in no position to refuse. Charges of trespassing, squatting, criminal impersonation and theft for the meals consumed under false pretenses and who knows what else with only a home on the streets to return to if I hadn’t agreed. What real choice did I have?
So today, I’m truly set to become Mrs. Grant Barclay.
For a little while.
“You’ll live in this house and have a generous allowance while we’re married-”
“An allowance? Like I’m twelve?”
“And, there will be certain duties I’ll require of you but-”
“Duties?”
“Nothing too difficult or distasteful for a charlatan like you to manage,” he had snapped. “When the time comes, I’ll give you five million dollars to go quietly on your way.”
“Five million for one year of marriage?!” I’d repeated, stunned.
“Yes, and not a penny more so don’t even dream of trying any more trickery. Comply with my rules and you’ll make more than any cleaning girl turned trespassing con artist could hope for. Defy me though…” He’d left that threat hanging but I could pretty well picture the hell this man could unleash if he chose to.
While Grant signs the document our friendly clerk passes across the counter with no evident emotion, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the pen. But, he calmly pats my left hand with his own. “You’ll be fine, Goldilocks.”
Goldilocks again. He’d called me that the other night when he’d been in a far worse mood. I’m not sure why it causes a little flutter in my chest this time or helps my hand find the required steadiness to sign but it does.
When I look up, the clerk is beaming at us as though we’re a very-much-in-love couple instead of relative strangers. She doesn’t notice the way Grant moves his hand away once he gets what he wants – my compliance. He’d made it clear he’s not looking for romance in his marriage which is fine because I’m not either.
Soon enough, I’m standing in front of a judge while wearing Mom’s white summer dress once more with Grant’s stone-faced attorney flanking me. Grant takes my hand in his again and holds on tightly this time. “I’m not going to bolt,” I mutter, blowing out an annoyed breath.
“No, you won’t and the year will pass swiftly and pleasantly,” he whispers. Is it me he’s trying to convince or himself? “Not that I’m complaining about the economy of it but why didn’t you purchase a proper wedding gown over the weekend?”
“With what money?” I whisper back.
He scowls and adjusts my headband like he did that day on the sidewalk last week, making that silly flutter in my chest speed up. Why must his touch have this unexpected effect on me? Am I doomed to be like all the other Potter ladies - my sister, my mother, my grandmother - a poor picker when it comes to men? Nope, not happening. I need to remember that good looks can conceal an ugly soul better than anything else.
The judge is set to begin when the clerk ducks in with a few flowers. “For the beautiful bride,” she says apologetically to the men and with a sincere smile for me.
Unexpected kindness, it gets me every time. My eyes feel watery as I thank her and grasp the offering, clutching them to my chest. Dear City Hall Employee, you are my best friend today.
Grant looks furious as he stares straight ahead, asking the judge if we might get on with things. Five minutes later, I’m Mrs. Grant Barclay.
How odd it felt sliding a gold band on his finger and feeling a slimmer, lighter one placed on mine as we recited the expected words and finished with ‘I do.’ Afterwards, he escorted me out of the judge’s chambers with nary a kiss to seal the deal. We may as well have bought a car for all the significance of the moment.
“The dress is old and borrowed. The flowers are blue. My ring is new. Good enough, right?” I say to myself as Grant speaks quietly with the attorney.
The man, Mr. Gray, gives me a curt ‘congratulations’ before he leaves and Grant walks me outside to where Anders waits by the Rolls. “Here. Go shopping if you wish since you didn’t get to choose a proper wedding gown,” he says, handing me that same Black Card.
I’ve never had a credit card of my own. It feels like temptation between my fingers. “You spoke of an allowance. What’s your trophy wife’s budget?”
“Trophy wife?” he snorts, disdainfully. “It’s our wedding day, Daisy, and that has no limit. Buy something that doesn’t come off the rack.”
Ass . I recall the gossip at Golden Gate. Penny-pinching was a common description of the Chief Financial Officer. Clearly, this is some sort of test. “Shall I buy a present for you as well?” I ask.
“Do you have any idea what I might like?” he asks in that dismissive drawl of his before he turns to give Anders his orders. “Take Mrs. Barclay home once she’s finished in the city. I’ll be home later.”
I can see the curiosity in Anders’ eyes when he pulls away from the curb – they all think we married last week yet I’m wearing the dress again and he’d been told to drive me to City Hall this morning – but he doesn’t ask and I’m too preoccupied by that ‘I’ll be home later’ to chat.
I don’t feel like shopping but there’s something I should do while I’m in town. It’s been a week since I saw her last and what a week it’s been. “Anders, we need to make a stop.”
“Yes, Mrs. Barclay.”
The title doesn’t please me, not one bit today. “Just stick to calling me Daisy, okay? We’re more like friends, right?”
He gives me one of those conspiratorial winks he’s fond of paired with his charming grin. “As you wish, Daisy.”