2. Felicity
TWO
FELICITY
Iplace my hands on my hips and try not to cry as I take in the giant patch of damp wall, peeling wallpaper, and raised floorboards. It’s even worse than I could have imagined.
A shaky breath falls from my lips as I stagger away from the damage. As much as I want to cry, the tears sit in the corners of my eyes, refusing to fall. The only emotion I dare to feel is regret, because if I let the devastation in, then I might not crawl out of that endless hole.
I can’t even begin to imagine how much this will cost to fix.
A lot more than I actually have saved. I try to stay impartial as I inspect the extent of the damage, from the stain to the mould, all the way down to the water seeping below the floor.
But the knowledge that I’ll likely have to replace the entire wall, pull up the floorboards, and scrub the room clean of mould makes the entire endeavour feel impossible.
I swallow the tears down and move further away. What would my grandparents do?
For starters, they would kindly ask everyone to leave the inn, and that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do. The thought of kicking out the only guests I have, who pay me so much to rent out the entire place, makes me physically ill. So sick, in fact, I almost throw up at the thought.
They plan to leave soon, anyway, so a little earlier shouldn’t be too much of an ask, especially with the potential harm to their health. Oh, god, but what if they get sick and they sue me?
They could take the inn from me in a heartbeat. The thought of spending thousands to fix the damage already makes me want to pass out, but the thought of legal fees?
My heart palpitates as I turn from the wall towards the doorway.
Where Damien Winthrop stands, brows raised, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. When he catches me staring, he whistles low under his breath. “That is…not what I expected to find when I came looking for you.”
When the tears reappear, I choke back a sob. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” I whisper, unable to stop that first tear from falling.
Something shifts in his expression as he stalks towards me. Part of me considers stepping away, but the other already drowning in all the anxious, twisted thoughts doesn’t want to move, even as he wraps his arms around me.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of my head. “It’s really not that bad.”
I snort, which somehow makes the tears worse. “It’s devastating.”
“But it can be fixed,” he replies smoothly. “A contractor and a plumber could be here by end of day. You just need to turn the water off to stop whatever is coming through.”
I swallow hard and pull back to look at him. “How would you know that?”
A smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I do have a decent sense of the things around me. Also, that feels like common sense. Cut the water to stop the leak from doing any more damage, correct?”
“Right,” I mutter, stepping out of his embrace entirely. “You might have to find rooms elsewhere. The water will have to stay off for a day or two until someone can check it out, and I don’t want you guys going without it. I know that will put you out?—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, the smirk turning soft. “I’m sure Tobias won’t mind. But that does make me worry about you.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Me?”
He nods once as he steps towards me. “You shouldn’t be alone dealing with this.”
I blink rapidly as I try to wrap my head around this man.
Since he started staying here, I’ve barely spoken more than twenty words to him.
Most of them, ‘good morning’ and ‘how was your day?’.
His friend, August, is the chatter box and he likes to ask all sorts of questions about the inn, my garden, and the town.
I always answered, because it was a little nice not being ignored, but I could tell the silver spoon wasn’t quite out of his grasp.
The other two are mysteries to me. I barely ever saw Tobias Madden, and Callahan Morgan avoided me like the plague. Only now do I see the latter of the two actually moving like a human and not a grumpy ghoul.
Damien though, has always been polite. Maybe a little flirty in some of his answers. But he never really made any effort to get to know me, so why is he trying to comfort me now?
“I’m-I’ll be fine,” I stutter, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m more than capable of handling this.”
“I’m sure you are,” he agrees. “It just doesn’t mean you have to.”
A shiver rolls through me, tingling and warming me in all the wrong places. I honestly have no idea how to react or how to approach the situation now that my body is reacting to him.
My stomach dips and tightens under his intense gaze. There’s just something about his stare that leaves me frustrated for the one thing I know I can’t have. It doesn’t help that he’s about as handsome as he is rich, and I’m…
Well, I’m a small-town innkeeper who is about to decide whether she can afford to tell the handsome billionaire he has to leave.
“I have a proposition, something that could help us both,” he starts, slow and soft, hands moving to his pockets once more. “It could mean you not having to lose this place, and fixing all of that without dipping into your savings.”
“What?” My heart races as I look behind me at the damage again. “Why?”
“Because I need something from you,” he states as I look back at him. “And what I’m going to ask might just get me slapped.” He smirks again, but this time, there’s a hint of worry—of desperation.
“What do you want?”
“Your hand in marriage,” he states easily, without emotion. “To secure my inheritance.”
The world around me dips and goes fuzzy as I stare at him. “What?”
“In order for me to access the rest of it, there is a stipulation that I need to be married. Unfortunately, I’m not in any relationship and haven’t been for months. Which is where you come in.”
Bile rises in my throat as nausea sweeps through me. “But—but you and I?—”
“We aren’t together and never have been, I know, but you and I have been around one another for some time.
It was the only plausible connection I could make.
I need the inheritance, and I need a wife.
I will give you access to my accounts once the ink is dry on our marriage license so this can be fixed to your standard.
If you say yes right now, I’ll call a plumber and contractor right now to sort it out.
Once I get access to the inheritance, I will pay you five-hundred thousand for every year you stay married to me, minimum three years. Do we have a deal?”
My heart skips before plummeting, reaching for the growing pit in my stomach. I don’t know whether to celebrate the offer or bury myself in the garden.
This could save my inn—my home. I could do anything with that sort of money. No, I could change everything with that sort of money.
I meet his stare, the word escaping me in a rush. “Deal.”