Chapter Six #2
Christian nods. "Washington State law says that a fraudulent marriage can be annulled, and per the trust agreement we all signed when we took control of our inheritances, yes.
We agreed to those terms. But they'd need something to support the suspicion first. Separate residences.
No visible intimacy. A pattern that suggests the marriage exists only on paper. "
He looks at me.
"That's why you need to live here and let go of the lease on your apartment. Everett will pay whatever is left on it because you two need to be seen together. That's why public affection matters."
"Let go of my apartment? We don't have another option?" I ask.
"Not unless one of you can lie convincingly enough to beat a polygraph," Christian says dryly. "Which, statistically speaking, is unlikely."
I glance at Everett, and our eyes meet for half a second. We both know that I can barely lie in ordinary life. A polygraph would ruin me.
Christian turns the page again.
"Then there's the honeymoon clause."
Everett drops his head back slightly. "Why does this not surprise me. Is there a baby clause in there too? Does he expect me to knock her up next? Our father must be laughing from his grave."
"No baby clause that I'm aware of," Christian says.
"But the trust requires a honeymoon following the wedding.
It doesn't specify a location, but it does require travel together for a minimum duration.
The purpose is the same as the other clauses—to encourage bonding between the couple for future legacy building. "
"I told you, the psychopath only cares about offspring," Everett mutters.
Everly ignores him. "Oh a honeymoon! That's perfect," she says, her fingers already moving over her tablet.
"Built-in optics. A romantic newlywed narrative.
This will go a long way in supporting the legitimacy of the marriage and eliminate the appearance of a purely contractual union.
I think this is smart even if it wasn't a clause. "
"You're not serious…" Everett says to her. "A honeymoon? I have work to do."
"Oh please. You can work from anywhere," Everly says, rolling her eyes. "Take your gorgeous bride on a vacation. Double it as a birthday trip. I'll have my team set up photo ops. It will look less staged with you two 'loved up' on a beach overseas."
Christian nods. "From the board's perspective, the honeymoon matters. If you skip it, you give them another reason to scrutinize the marriage."
"Anywhere specific?" Everly asks, looking between us.
"Your birthday is coming up?" I ask softly. I mean I knew that was what this was all about. Getting married before his thirty-fifth birthday but I guess the milestone got lost in the rest of it all.
Everett's gaze flicks to mine. "Birthdays are just another day," he says flatly.
Everly moves on, ignoring Everett's dismissal of birthdays like they are a personal offense against him.
"If the trust is forcing the trip, we might as well choose somewhere worth going," Everly says.
"French Riviera," I blurt before I can stop myself.
The room goes quiet for half a beat.
If I have to marry Everett Kauffman and share a bed with him, I might as well get one dream out of it.
Everly grins. "Cannes it is. Gorgeous this time of year and I've heard that they are having warmer weather than usual. Levi’s division owns a resort over there. I’ll ask his assistant to book one of the villas for you two once we have a set wedding date."
Everett drags a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."
Then Christian slides the trust packet aside and brings out the private contract. The one that exists between Everett and me, outside the trust.
This is the part that makes my chest tighten.
Three hundred and sixty thousand dollars, paid in monthly installments over the course of the year. An NDA covering every aspect of the arrangement.
Exit terms.
Breach clauses.
What I can and cannot take from the marriage. What happens if one of us violates the agreement. The exact conditions under which everything terminates. This is the part that makes the whole thing feel less like a fairy tale gone wrong and more like what it actually is.
A contract.
The pen feels heavier than I was expecting as I sign where indicated. Then Everett takes the pen and signs just below my signatures.
I stare at the table because if I look at him right now, my face will give me away. Fear? Nerves? Maybe a little bit of excitement that I'm getting a honeymoon in Cannes?
Cammy would kill me if she could see my face right now. Penelope would only be upset that she didn't matchmake this one herself.
Everly, God bless her, breaks the silence.
"Okay," she says, physically shaking it off. "That's done. Now let's talk about the fun stuff."
She pulls out her own binder.
Of course she has a binder.
Everly in event-planning mode is something to behold.
She has already secured an exclusive wedding gown designer—Trinity, apparently a legend in bridal circles—who is dropping everything for a Kauffman wedding.
The venue options include the Kauffman estate and something involving a sky-riser she describes with the reverence most people reserve for religious experiences.
Vendors are falling over themselves. Florists, caterers, photographers—everyone wants the Kauffman wedding account.
A magazine exclusive has already been negotiated. Timeline: next week.
I open my mouth to say something—probably something along the lines of that's insane—but Everly is already three slides deep into a presentation on her iPad, talking about table arrangements and color palettes and media angles with the speed of a woman who was born for exactly this.
Beside her, Everett is visibly suffering.
He shifts, arms crossing over his chest. Checks his Rolex. His jaw works in that particular way it does when he's restraining himself from saying something he'll regret. He's fine with billion-dollar acquisitions, but wedding planning is making him want to crawl out of his skin.
I nearly feel sorry for him.
Almost.
Then Jeremy opens the penthouse door—still not looking up from his phone—and two armed guards walk in.
They're flanking a smaller man. Glasses. Impeccable suit. Briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.
Handcuffed.
To his wrist.
Everett straightens. "Thank you for coming on short notice."
The man waves him off with a practiced smile. "More than happy to provide the engagement ring for the new Mrs. Kauffman."
I turn to Everly. "What's happening?"
She grins. "Wellington is the family jeweler. Everett must have called him to pick out your ring. Good boy... finally he's getting with the program."
"And the guards?" I whisper.
"Security. He has at least a hundred million in diamonds in that briefcase. He'd be the perfect mark to mug outside of these walls."
I swallow hard to stop myself from choking on my own saliva.
The jeweler sets the briefcase on the dining table with care you'd give a newborn. He unlocks it—keeping the handcuff on.
A hundred million.
The case opens.
Rows of rings under black velvet. Light fractures across the ceiling like someone shattered a prism. I've never seen anything this beautiful and this terrifying at the same time.
Everett walks up to the case, glancing over everything. His expression shifts into something I recognize from six months of watching him in meeting, quietly assessing the items in front of him. It’s the look of a man about to make a decision he won't second-guess.
"That one," he says, pointing to the largest diamond in the grouping.
The jeweler leans forward and compliments his eye. "Impeccable taste, Mr. Kauffman. As expected."
Everett pulls the ring from the case and holds it up to the light, turning it once. The diamond catches and throws sparks across the room's ceiling.
"It has the highest cut, clarity, and color. It's also the largest diamond I brought today."
Everly leans closer to me. "And it's cushion cut. As your future sister-in-law, I approve." She winks at me, and then I feel my stomach drop. The idea of being responsible for something that costs that much is terrifying.
Then Everett glances up in my direction and our eyes meet.
"Aria. Come here, please. Try this on."
Do not stare at his hands. Do not.
My legs carry me forward before my brain gives permission.
He takes my hand. His fingers are steady and warm. The complete opposite of mine, which are shaking in a way I desperately hope he can't feel.
"Get down on one knee, you dope. You're going to regret not doing it the right way one day," Everly calls out, but Everett ignores her.
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits.
I look down at it, having a near out of body experience because this doesn’t feel like my life, and then back up at him.
Our eyes lock. One second. Two. Something passes between us and I hate that I can't read him right now. It's the auction kiss and the town car and the way he said "It's Everett now" all compressed into the weight of a diamond on my finger.
"Ten million," the jeweler says.
I cough. Actually, physically cough, like the number lodged in my windpipe.
"I'm sorry—ten— ?"
Everett doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. Ten million dollars and he reacts like someone told him it's Tuesday.
"Bill it to my accountant. He knows the invoice is coming," Everett tells the jeweler.
"It's too much," I say.
"You're about to be a Kauffman now." His voice is even. Matter-of-fact. "And more than that, you'll be my wife. People will expect it."
He pauses for a moment, searching my eyes as he waits for this all to sink in.
Then he asks, "Do you like it?"
I look down as the cushion cut diamond catches on every light source in the room like it was born to sparkle. "It's gorgeous, of course, but..."
"It suits you."
But when I look up, he looks away, and takes a step back, his hands reaching deep into his pockets. The moment closes like a door.