Chapter 3
Chapter three
Cora
I’m pacing my cabin when a knock at the door pulls me out of my daze. I open it to Theo standing on the threshold, towering over me with a frown set so deep I worry he’ll never be able to smile again.
Guilt sweeps through me, and my shoulders sag, even though his presence eases a bit of my panic. “You didn’t have to come,” I say, but the words are empty. If he hadn’t come, I would have spent the night spiraling.
And he knows that. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and before I can say another word, he pulls me into a hug.
I stiffen at first—we rarely hug, and when we do, it’s always brief—but I quickly find myself melting into his chest, enveloped by his strong arms. Tears prick my eyes, the fear I’ve been holding back suddenly feeling safe enough to come forward.
Theo softly rubs my back, holding me tighter. “We’re gonna figure this out,” he promises, his breath warm against my hair. “You’re okay. It’s just a mistake.”
I inhale a ragged breath, pulling back. I shake my head, quickly wiping away the few stray tears, even though more are building. “But it’s not,” I protest. “That’s the problem.”
Theo looks at me quizzically.
“The visa I’m on—it’s a lottery system. It’s not merit based or anything. You either get it or you don’t. I thought being approved once meant I’d skip the lottery this time around but … I guess not.”
Further confusion skates across his features. “Can you switch to another type of visa?”
I shrug. “They’re getting harder and harder to get.
And the process takes so long that I think it’s too late for me to apply for something brand new without having to go home first.” My voice breaks a little on the word home.
Even though it’s where I’m from, Canada doesn’t feel like home anymore.
It hasn’t since the moment I got to Thatcher Ranch.
Theo nods slowly. “You have a laptop?” he assumes.
I nod, gesturing to the kitchen counter where my computer sits, closed.
He strides across the room, grabbing a stool and taking a seat, opening my laptop with the confidence of a man who battles visa denials daily.
I grab my own stool, pulling it up beside him and taking a seat.
And then, over the course of the next two hours, we research.
Theo on my laptop, and me on my phone. Theo doesn’t know anything about visas or immigration law, so he spends the first thirty minutes familiarizing himself with the logistics.
Well, as much as someone can familiarize themselves with a governmental institution over the course of an evening.
And as idea after idea gets shot down, the pit in my stomach grows wider.
I might really be going back to Canada. Back to Toronto.
Where would I even go? Mom never owned a house, so it’s not like I have property to return to.
And I haven’t spoken with Dad in years. He sent me a card for high school graduation nine years ago—that was the last form of communication I ever received from him.
And my friends from high school and college?
We’ve either lost touch or were never that close to begin with.
My palms are sweating, so I brush them along my jeans. It doesn’t help.
“This is bullshit,” Theo mutters, angrily scrolling through an article.
I stare numbly ahead. “Rules are rules,” I say, the words coming out almost as a whisper.
There’s a long pause, and then, “There’s one option left.”
It doesn’t spark hope in me like the last handful of ideas have. I think after getting my hopes shot down again and again, deep down, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going back to Canada. Or rather, being sent back to Canada.
“What’s that? Bribe a border agent?” I laugh, but it comes out strangled.
“Marry an American.”
I’m silent, waiting for the punchline, but when Theo turns to me without a hint of a smile on his lips, my resolve wavers. A short chuckle escapes me. “Funny,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change. “Wasn’t trying to be.”
My smile fades. “You’re not serious.”
“It’s the only thing left. Other than going back to Canada and trying for some other kind of visa. Which could take years.”
Everything he’s saying I already know. The likelihood of me getting approved for some other kind of visa is getting slimmer by the day, and the time it would take to pull it off? Well, my job at Thatcher Ranch would certainly be filled by then, and would doing this all over again even be worth it?
“Who would I marry?” I say, the idea seeming even more absurd when I say it out loud.
“Half the men on this ranch would marry you if given the chance,” Theo quips, and my gaze locks on his in surprise. His jaw clenches, and he looks away quickly. He clears his throat and reaches a hand up to the back of his neck, stretching uncomfortably.
I shake my head. “Okay, it might be the only option left, but it’s insane. I can’t find someone to marry me. Besides, don’t they interview you for that kind of stuff? It’s not like I can just pull a random stranger off the street—they’d know we’re faking it.”
Theo’s hand, resting on the counter beside the laptop, clenches ever so slightly. “Marry me.”
The words seem to echo in the small cabin, filling the room, pushing the walls apart they’re so big. Our gazes meet in the silence that follows, mine daring him to say he’s serious, and his daring me to accept.
“What?” I eventually say, my voice hoarse.
“Marry me,” Theo repeats, his tone clearer this time.
He shuts the laptop, swiveling on his stool to fully face me.
His knees brush against mine, and it sends something akin to electricity shooting through me.
I blame it on the heightened emotions of the evening, the stress, the crazy scheme he’s proposing.
“We’ve known each other for two years. We’re best friends.
We know everything important there is to know about each other.
No immigration officer is going to doubt the relationship. ”
My lips part, unsure of what he’s really asking me. Is this just a ploy to keep me here or … is he asking me something more?
“And after you get your green card, we can divorce,” he adds, the words feeling stilted and wooden.
I nod quickly. Of course. The green card. Just the green card. Good. I swallow thickly. “What’s in it for you?” I ask.
Something flickers across his face, but then it’s gone. “Why would there need to be anything in it for me?” he asks.
I give him a look. “Because marriage—even if it’s fake—is a big deal. It’s not like you’re just letting me crash at your place or something, this is—”
“You’re one of my best friends, Cora,” he interrupts. “That’s what’s in it for me.”
His words shock me into silence for a few heartbeats. “You’d really do that for me?” I ask quietly. Because as insane as it sounds, the idea of going back to Canada feels even crazier. I’d be starting over. No friends, no family, no job, nothing.
It’s … terrifying, actually.
Theo nods, his blue eyes boring into mine with a sincerity I rarely see.
The silence stretches for one, two, three heartbeats, and then he breaks it.
“So, what do you say, darling?” he says with a smile, and even though I know the use of the pet name is in jest, there’s something about hearing it from his lips that feels comforting. “Marry me?” It’s the third time he’s said it, but now it’s really a question.
And I know it’s not real—not really—but it has my heart stuttering all the same. Even so, it might just be the easiest answer of my life.
“Yes.”