Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Ledger
Growing up, we believed the Doherty mansion was haunted. Too big, too intimidating, and perched on its hill like something out of a Scooby-Doo episode. No visitors. No lights at Christmas. Just the looming house and Dante Doherty, who seemed to exist only for his company and his apparent hatred of everyone in town.
And now here I am, standing in front of its grand doors—again—feeling like an idiot for hesitating. The place doesn’t look scary anymore. More like it should open into a Downton Abbey episode, complete with a butler announcing my arrival.
What the hell am I doing here? Pondering about Galeana’s future and if I am seriously going to proposition her?
The plan sounded solid in my head when I left Mal’s place. Now . . . What should I do? Knock, talk to Galeana, and . . . what? Proposition her? That’s the part I’m still working on. Because “Hi, I’m here to offer you a marriage of convenience” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Before I can overthink it any further, the door swings open. And of course, it’s her.
Galeana Monroe stands there, wearing leggings and a loose sweater, her dark hair in a messy bun that looks like she yanked it up three hours ago and forgot about it. She’s mildly surprised but mostly suspicious, like I’m the Grim Reaper holding a clipboard.
“Ledger?” Her brows knit together as she takes me in. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting.” I shove my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels like I didn’t just stand here for two full minutes contemplating my life choices.
“Visiting.” Her tone is flat, unimpressed. “This is a terrible time.”
“Do you even know what time it is?”
Her fingers curl tighter around the edge of the door like she’s debating whether or not to slam it in my face. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.
“What do you want?” she asks, her patience thinning by the second.
“Just to talk,” I say smoothly. “Are you going to leave me out here, or are you going to let me in? You do understand that people will see me and talk, right?”
She mutters something under her breath—probably something insulting—but steps aside, waving me in with the same enthusiasm as someone welcoming in a hungry lion. “Fine. Come in.”
The house swallows me whole, as cold and intimidating as the last time I came to visit her. Polished wood floors, grand staircases, and furniture so heavy it looks like it might anchor the whole damn place to the ground. If someone told me this house had eaten a few souls over the years, I’d believe it.
I follow her into a sitting room that’s a little less perfect than I expected. Papers cover the coffee table, sticky notes are plastered on everything like confetti, and a half-empty mug of coffee sits precariously near the edge. The Galeana version of chaos. It’s oddly charming.
“Looks like you’ve been busy.” I nod toward the organized disaster, pretending not to notice the way her arms cross over her chest, her fingers tucking into her sleeves.
“Some of us actually work,” she shoots back, arching a brow.
I bite back a grin. “Didn’t realize you were already running the syrup empire.”
Her eyeroll is Olympic-level. She drops into an armchair and gestures vaguely at the couch across from her. “Are you here just to be annoying, or . . . what do you want?”
“I’m getting to it.” I drop onto the couch, stretching out and draping an arm across the backrest like I own the place. “What’s your plan, Galeana?”
She freezes for half a beat before she recovers. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got two weeks to figure out this marriage thing,” I say bluntly, because sugarcoating has never been my style. “What’s your plan? You swiping through Tinder for a husband, or did Stinson already throw his hat in the ring?”
“Eww, didn’t you mention earlier that he’s my cousin?” Then, her glare sharpens like a knife. “And how do you know about that? That I have so little time left?”
I shrug, all casual. “Small town. People talk.”
“And why do you care?” she demands, not letting me off the hook.
“Call it curiosity.” I hold her gaze, my smirk fading just enough to let her know I’m serious. “Are you giving up? Letting the inheritance go? Finding someone to . . . I don’t know . . . hold down the fort?”
She exhales deeply, letting out a sound that says she’s been burdened by this for far too long. “No,” she says quietly, but there’s steel in her voice. “I don’t think I want to give it up.”
Something in her tone makes me pause. There’s fire in her eyes now, flickering through the cracks in her walls.
“It should’ve belonged to my mom,” she says, her voice steadier now, though her gaze shifts toward the window. “We weren’t poor, but we lived in a very small apartment, you know. I’m not sure why she always said we didn’t have enough for vacation or to spend . . . until she died and suddenly, I have plenty of money to my name. Not a lot, but I was able to cover my student loans, buy a car, and my condo. I think she was hiding or . . . the point is that she left because of him. She had to run away because her father couldn’t stand the idea of a woman running his precious company. He wrote that clause to make sure it would never happen. I honestly don’t know why she ran, but Del’s Mom said it was the fact that she had to get married.”
She looks back at me, chin tilted up, defiant. “I’m not letting him win. Being in charge of Maple Haven as a woman—his granddaughter—is the perfect middle finger. A big fuck you, Dante Doherty. We won. So no, I can’t let that go.”
I remain quiet because, honestly, what the hell do you say to that?
“I could go back to Denver,” she continues with her monologue. “The college where I used to teach would welcome me. I can be a teacher again. Live a normal life. But it wouldn’t be fair to just leave it.”
Okay, there’s a fight in her. So, I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, and nod slowly. “Do you know that the economy of this town—and New England, for that matter—depends on your company and Old Birchwood Timber?”
She frowns. “What?”
“They’re major players around here,” I explain, keeping it simple. “If either of them goes under, it’ll affect thousands of people.”
“I . . . no one told me that,” she says, her voice quiet.
“You could leave and never look back,” I continue, my tone flat but honest. “But you’d be leaving a lot of people’s futures hanging in the balance.”
I know this because, even when I couldn’t care less, I’ve heard it before. Keir—the suit of the family—just gave me a whole damn economy lecture while I told him to shove Old Birchwood Timber wherever it would fit and leave me the fuck alone. “Sell it, manage it, but don’t just abandon it, asshole,” he said.
Galeana sits quietly for a moment, staring at the papers on the table like they hold all the answers she’s been looking for. Then, finally, she looks up, meeting my gaze dead-on. “Marry me.”
The words land like a bomb. The silence stretches, thick and deafening.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Marry me. At least for a year.”
I stare at her, trying to process the insanity of what just came out of her mouth. I mean sure, I came here to propose but the last thing I expected was for her to be the one doing it.
“You want me to marry you?” I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Galeana, you don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true,” she argues, though she doesn’t sound completely convincing. “And besides, it’s just business. I have rules.”
“Rules?”
She nods, leaning forward like she’s about to negotiate a corporate merger. “First, we’ll sign a prenup. You can’t touch the money or the company. Everything stays mine.”
“Generous,” I mutter, fighting back a grin.
“Second,” she continues, ignoring me, “it’s temporary. Once the year’s up, we’re done. No strings. No drama.”
I lean back, pretending to consider, even as my brain is already spinning. She’s serious about this. Marrying her. A year of playing house. A year of her mouth, her fire, her?—
Then an idea hits me, and a slow grin curls at the edges of my mouth. “What exactly am I getting out of this deal, darling? Because right now, it sounds pretty one-sided.”
She hesitates, clearly caught off guard. “I’ll . . . pay you a fee, I guess.”
“I don’t need money.” I tilt my head, enjoying the way she’s squirming under my gaze. “You have anything else to offer?”
Her cheeks flush, and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback.
So I decide to spell it out for her. Slowly. Deliberately.
“We’re not just going to be pretend spouses,” I say, letting my voice drop low. Her eyes widen as I lean in, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. “We’re going to be pretend spouses with benefits .”
Her jaw drops, her face going crimson. “Benefits? What kind of benefits? You need health insurance?”
“Don’t play dumb, professor. You’re smarter than that.” I grin, letting my gaze dip, just enough to make her shift in her seat. “I get you. Your mouth. Your perky tits. That pussy I’ve been dying to taste since Italy. Hell, even your ass. A year’s a long time to play house without enjoying the perks.”
She looks like she’s about to throw me out a window. Or kiss me. Honestly, I’m fine with either.
Her lips part, and her voice comes out breathless and sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”
I grin, slow and wicked. “And yet, here you are. Asking me to marry you.”
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, standing abruptly and pacing the room.
“Maybe,” I reply, watching her with a smug grin. “But you’re the one who proposed, remember? I’m just making the terms a little more . . . fun.”
“There has to be another way,” she says, almost pleading.
“Nope. That’s my price, take it or leave it.”
She stops pacing and glares at me, but there’s no real heat in it. If anything, she looks like she’s trying not to smile.
“Fine,” she snaps, pointing a finger at me. “But I’m writing the prenup. And you’re not touching my company.”
“Deal,” I say, standing and extending a hand.
She stares at it for a long moment, suspicion flickering in her eyes, before finally taking it. That’s when I pull her up, catching her off guard, and tug her into my arms.
“Oh, darling,” I murmur, my lips grazing hers as her breath hitches. “We’re sealing this with a kiss.”
Before she can protest, I tilt my head and claim her mouth. The kiss is anything but polite. It’s fierce, unapologetic, and hot enough to burn every rule we just laid out to ash. Her hands press against my chest as if to push me away, but then they curl into my shirt, holding on.
By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I’m grinning like a fool, and she looks . . . furious. And stunned. And far too tempting for my sanity.
I’m in deep trouble.
“Don’t push your luck,” she finally mutters, though there’s the faintest twitch of a smile on her lips, like she can’t quite help it.
I release her, taking a step back, though I’m already memorizing the flush on her cheeks. “See you soon, Mrs. Timberbridge,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door.
“Not yet,” she fires back, sharp as ever.
I chuckle, turning the knob. “Give it time, sweetheart.”
Her scowl follows me as I step outside, but the sound of the door clicking shut behind me only makes my grin widen.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.