Chapter 13
brIGGS
“No,” I said flatly. “Absolutely not. We aren’t actually married.”
“I think we are.”
“Have you seen the marriage license?”
That made her stop. “No.”
“Until I see it, I’m operating under the assumption we are not legally married.”
“Ah, denial.” She nodded. “That’s always an effective strategy to solve problems.”
“Due diligence,” I retorted. “I’m an attorney. I operate on evidence.”
She looked around the room and then stomped to where her purse was. She opened it, pulled out a paper, and unfolded it.
“Uh-oh, counselor, I think this might be Exhibit A,” she said. She thrust the paper in my face. “And my ring is Exhibit B and Exhibit C is stuck on your finger. The photos clogging my social media feed would be D through Z.”
I stared at the paper, and unfortunately, I recognized my signature. Sloppy but undeniably mine.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
“Briggs, if we play this right, it’ll work out just fine for us both,” she said. “If we save my reputation, your company will make a lot of money partnering with me. But if people no longer trust me, kiss those profits goodbye.”
She sounded so reasonable as she discussed our marriage. A marriage neither of us remembered entering into or actually wanted.
“Absolutely not. We’re getting this annulled. Today. Tomorrow.”
She crossed her arms. “I just explained why that won’t work for me.”
“And I just told you I don’t care.” I stood up, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit there while she suggested the most insane thing I’d ever heard. “We made a mistake. We fix it. That’s how this works.”
“That’s how it works for you,” she countered.
“You’re a man. You’re a lawyer. You can spin this as a funny story you tell at parties.
‘Remember that time I got drunk in Vegas?’ Everyone will laugh and move on.
But I’m a woman in an industry that’s already hard enough to be taken seriously in. I can’t afford to look messy.”
I turned to face her. “So your solution is to stay married? To lie about it? That’s somehow better?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “We stay married for a few months. We make it look real. Then we quietly divorce, citing irreconcilable differences or whatever lawyers say. By then, it won’t be news anymore. It’ll just be a relationship that didn’t work out.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s fraud.”
“It’s survival.” She took a step toward me. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal for you either. But think about it from a business perspective.”
I stared at her, trying to find a hole in her logic. The problem was, there wasn’t one. At least not one I could articulate through the fog of my hangover and the absolute chaos of this situation.
“This is blackmail,” I said.
“It’s not,” she corrected. “I’m not threatening you. I’m offering you a good deal. We can turn this mistake into an opportunity.”
“How would it even work?” I asked, hating that I was considering this.
“I don’t know yet.” She sank back down into her chair, suddenly looking as exhausted as I felt. “Look, I need like fifteen hours more sleep before I can even think through this all the way. And you’re the lawyer. You figure it out.”
“Mandy, this is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard. “
“Trust me, I’ve heard worse. This is best for both of us. I do not want to beat the record for the shortest marriage ever. That’s not a title I want.”
“But you’re fine with a drunken marriage?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.”
“Don’t consider it. Do it. Accept this is the best path forward.”
I frowned. I felt like I was being steamrolled. I never got steamrolled. The feeling was foreign and I really didn’t like it.
“Now be a good husband and leave your wife alone.” She waved me toward the door. “Go. Think. We’ll talk tomorrow when we’re both functioning like actual human beings.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she had already closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair. The conversation was over.
I walked out, feeling like I’d just been hit by a truck.
In the hallway, I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. I was a lawyer. I negotiated deals for a living. I was good at getting what I wanted. I was known for being unshakeable, for always having the upper hand.
But when it came to this woman, I couldn’t seem to win. Every conversation left me feeling off balance, like I was constantly playing catch-up while she was three steps ahead. It was infuriating.
And now I was married to her. For the foreseeable future, it seemed.
I made my way back to my hotel, where Sebastian and Dash were still camped out. I walked in and saw they had made themselves at home. They were watching what appeared to be a compilation video of our wedding night on my laptop.
“Turn that off,” I said.
Sebastian looked up. “How’d it go?”
“She won’t annul it.”
Both of them sat up straighter.
“What?” Dash said.
“She wants to stay married. Fake it for a few months, then quietly divorce.” I dropped onto the couch.
“She says an annulment makes her look bad. Like she doesn’t take marriage seriously.
And her reputation would get ruined if people think she’ll do something similar at their weddings.
Brides don’t want anyone else’s drama on their big day. ”
Sebastian was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “She’s not wrong.”
“Don’t tell me you think this is a good idea.”
“I think she’s protecting her brand and her business. Can’t fault her for that.” He closed the laptop. “Adrian did something similar with Elizabeth, remember? The fake engagement that turned into a real relationship?”
“That was different,” I said immediately.
“How?”
“Because Adrian actually liked Elizabeth. He wanted to be with her.”
“And you don’t want to be with Mandy?” Dash asked, grinning. “Because I have it on video that you can’t help falling in love with her.”
I narrowed my eyes at him for quoting my karaoke song. “I don’t even know her.”
“Well, you’re about to get to know her real well,” Sebastian said. “If you’re going to fake a marriage, you’re going to have to make it look convincing. That means spending time together. Being seen together. Acting like a couple.”
I groaned and covered my face with my hands.
“Look on the bright side,” Dash said. “Could be worse.”
“How could this possibly be worse?”
“You could have married someone ugly.”
I glared at him through my fingers. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m just saying,” Dash continued. “If you’re going to be stuck in a fake marriage, at least you got lucky in the looks department. And she’s smart. Successful. So yeah, it could be a lot worse.”
“I hate that you’re making sense right now.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “Here’s what I think. You should work with her on this. Draw up a contract. Make it official. Terms, conditions, duration. That way you both know what you’re agreeing to and there are no surprises.”
“A prenup after the wedding,” I muttered. “That’s backwards.”
“Everything about this is backwards,” Dash pointed out. “Might as well embrace it.”
I sat there for a long moment, thinking. They were right. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it properly. Legally. With clear boundaries and expectations.
“You think I need to add something about my money?” I asked.
“You think she wants your money?” Dash asked.
“She’s not exactly broke,” Sebastian said. “She’s only going to get wealthier.”
“She doesn’t want your money, dude,” Dash said. “I don’t even think she wants you.”
“Don’t remind me.” I rubbed my hands over my face. I still had that murky, groggy feeling and I wasn’t thinking straight.
“Mom is going to shit her pants,” Dash said with a laugh. “I think Adrian was going to tell her. Warn her.”
“What a fucking mess.”
Dash grinned. He was loving this.
“Fine,” I said finally. “I’ll draft something.”
“There you go,” Sebastian said, standing up. “Now we should probably get packed. Flight leaves in a few hours.”
“I’m not going back yet,” I said.
They both looked at me.
“I need to stay here and work this out with Mandy. Figure out the details.” I pulled out my phone. “You two go ahead. Tell Adrian I’ll be back in a couple days.”
“He’s not going to like that,” Sebastian warned.
“He’ll deal with it.” I was already composing a text to Jasmine, telling her to book me another few nights at the hotel.
They got to their feet. Dash shook my hand and slapped my back hard enough to stir up any leftover whiskey still in my bloodstream.
“Congratulations,” Sebastian said. “And Bernadette is still mad at you. I’ll tell her it’s not real and you didn’t really steal her thunder.”
“Thanks.”
After my brothers left, I ordered room service—more coffee, more food, more water—and sat down at the desk with my laptop.
If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
I was not going to get myself into a situation that had me spending a few million to get out of a marriage I never wanted.
I spent the next several hours drafting a contract. Terms of the arrangement. We’d stay married for four months, then file for divorce. I assumed that was long enough. I hoped it was. I didn’t want the damn situation to go on any longer than necessary.
Living arrangements—we’d maintain separate residences but would need to be seen together regularly. I added in language about appearances to keep up the ruse. And most importantly, an ironclad NDA. What happened between us stayed between us.
By the time I finished, it was dark outside. My headache had finally subsided to a dull throb. I read through the contract one more time, making small adjustments. It was solid. Professional. It covered everything we’d need to make this work.
I pulled out my phone and opened a new text to Mandy. Cleo had given me my wife’s phone number earlier.
Me: Dinner tomorrow night. 7pm. We need to discuss the terms of our arrangement. I’ll send you the restaurant details in the morning.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself. We needed to work out these details as soon as possible.
Her response came almost immediately.
Mandy: So bossy. But fine. This better be a good restaurant. Your wife has expensive taste.
I stared at the text. Even through the screen, I could hear the teasing tone in her voice. She was enjoying this. Enjoying having the upper hand.
I typed back: I’m aware. I’ve seen your hotel room candles.
Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.
Those candles are an investment in my mental health. See you tomorrow, husband.
I set my phone down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the contract on my laptop screen.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
More importantly, how was I going to survive being married to a woman who made me feel like I was constantly one step behind and challenged me at every turn?
Four months, I reminded myself. I just had to make it four months.
Then I could go back to my normal, orderly life where I was in control and nothing ever caught me off guard.