Chapter 21
PIPER
Astrange feeling has been sitting in my chest all day.
Really, it started to weigh there last night, after Nash and I exchanged our good-night texts, which have become a nightly ritual. It was then that I reflected on how it’s been a week since we’ve seen each other, since we had our public dinner after the banquet.
I kind of miss seeing my husband.
I guess it’ll be a while until we see each other next, though.
We ticked off the box of being seen in public together.
At the restaurant last week, three fans approached Nash for autographs, and plenty more gawked at him.
I noticed several people sneaking pictures.
We’re hard launched now, having done the bare minimum to look like a real couple to the Austin public.
Maybe we’ll do one more dinner or public event in a month or something, or maybe Nash’s boss will invite us to another swanky event, but other than that, I guess there’s no need for us to meet.
That was the whole point of this, after all. A marriage that exists on paper, to accomplish selfish goals.
I wonder if Nash got that sponsorship he’s looking for yet. If I were the CEO of Wrangler Jeans, I’d ink a contract with him in a second and stick his denim-covered butt on every billboard I could buy.
Then at least I’d get to see my fake husband’s firm butt around town without googling pics of him like a perv.
I let out a sigh, just as Hallie walks into the living room and grouses, “What do you have to sigh about? You’re not the one heading to a shift with Asshole Andy.”
Hallie works at a restaurant in Austin, and a couple weeks ago they got a new manager who she can’t stand. Every day when she gets home, she has a new story to tell me about how he’s micromanaging her, or criticizing everything she does, or a rude comment he made.
“Have you tried poisoning him yet?” I ask.
Hallie holds a sliver of distance between her forefinger and thumb. “This close.”
“Just let me know beforehand so I can plan our getaway.”
“No jury would convict me, don’t worry.”
When Hallie leaves, I scroll through a streaming service trying to find something appealing to watch. I’m home early today because the bakery closes early on Tuesday.
I’ll have some money left over after I buy the business in six months, and I’m hoping to use part of it to hire some extra employees so we can expand our hours.
Right now, there’s no way we can stay open any longer than we do with just me and the two cashiers we have on staff.
The owner can’t handle working much herself anymore.
My phone rings. It’s the lawyer who’s dealing with my grandmother’s estate.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Yes, hello, Mrs. Miller,” the old attorney says, and there’s a hint of sarcasm in that greeting that doesn’t sit well with me.
“Actually, I kept my last name,” I tell him.
“Interesting,” he replies. That note of sarcasm is still there, and it still rubs me the wrong way. A feeling of tension prickles at the back of my neck. “Your marriage is, in fact, why I called.”
Now that prickle of tension has turned into a stab, and my stomach feels off kilter. “Why?”
“As the executor of your grandmother’s will, I take her wishes seriously. It’s my job to ensure that they are honored.”
“Right …” I reply, not sure what he’s getting at, but not liking the sound of whatever it is.
“As you’re aware, a stipulation of receiving your inheritance is that you be married.”
“Yes, of course.” Trust me, I’m aware.
“That marriage must be legitimate.”
Worry hardens in my stomach.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes to me. My tongue feels dry.
“If I do not believe that marriage is legitimate,” the lawyer continues, “I would not be acting in good faith to my client if I dispersed the funds.”
Is this even legal? If it isn’t, I’d need to hire my own lawyer to fight it, and without the inheritance money I’d be fighting over, I could never afford to do so.
“Why … why would you think the marriage isn’t legitimate?”
“I’ve heard things, Mrs. Dashwood,” the sarcasm in his voice is sharper, cutting through me, “that cause me to have my doubts.”
“Like what?” I feel totally blindsided.
“Since Mr. Miller is such a public figure, and information about his goings-on is so readily available, I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if I didn’t keep tabs on him through simple internet searches from time to time.”
He continues, “Over the past week, there have been abundant comments on social media speculating that the two of you are not living together. That fact, combined with the fact that I recall you were recently engaged to someone else, combined also with the fact that there is no evidence or indication that you and Mr. Miller were involved in a romantic relationship before your marriage, casts, in my mind, doubts as to the legitimacy of said marriage. Grave doubts.”
I feel knotted up through my torso. After everything I’ve done and been through, I can’t let this inheritance slip through my fingers. “What kind of comments?”
“Many comments from Austin residents noting that the woman Nash Miller married seems to live in a budget-priced downtown apartment building. Comments stating that Nash Miller is rarely seen in her company. Comments from customers of the petting zoo located on property owned by Mr. Miller stating that he still appears to live alone.”
An uncomfortable feeling spreads over me. Are there that many eyes constantly on Nash and me, even when we don’t notice it? Are that many people paying such close attention to us?
“But—those …”
“Allow me to be direct, Mrs. Dashwood. Are you cohabitating with your husband?”
“Yes, of course I am.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
If I had time to think, maybe I could strategize. Find out what my legal rights are, figure out how to approach this sensibly.
But I don’t have time. I’m on the spot, my nerves are twisted into pretzels, and I can’t think straight. All that occurs to me to do is lie.
“Of course Nash and I are living together,” I double down.
“Indeed?” His skepticism is patronizing.
“Yes. I visit my sister often, so that’s why people see me at her building.
” I’m now realizing how often people have seemed to stare at me in the lobby or in the hallways.
I guess they recognized me from pictures that circulated on social media of Nash and me in the courthouse.
Or from our public date. I guess this is what it’s like being known as the wife of one of the NHL’s top players.
“I see,” the lawyer replies, the distrust thick in his words.
“I’ve been busy lately with my work. But if so many people really are paying attention, I’m sure they’ll start to notice my husband and me out spending time together more often.”
I’m just digging myself deeper.
“If that’s the case, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. If it’s not the case …”
“It is the case,” I cut him off, putting some iron in my voice. “In fact, Nash and I were just talking about how we wanted to go out together more often. This morning. When we woke up in bed together. In our house.”
I’m so screwed. Nash’s first preseason game is tomorrow.
He’s going to be busier than ever. He didn’t sign up to go on a bunch of dates with me.
He signed up for one fake wedding ceremony, one or two public events, and then for us to keep our distance and divorce once each of us gets what we wanted out of this arrangement.
I have no idea how I’m going to not be seen here at Hallie’s apartment, since I still have nowhere else to go.
Well, I have one idea. But it’s crazy …
Crazy, but maybe the only option.
“Perhaps the voluminous public comments have painted an inaccurate picture. I will certainly keep my eye on those comments and see if they begin to paint a different one.”
I really want to tell this guy off, but he holds my inheritance in his hands.
Maybe he’s overstepping what he’s allowed to do legally, but I have no way of determining that.
I don’t have the time, energy, or money to wage a legal battle.
I’d rather just fool him for six months and get my inheritance.
I take a deep breath after ending the call. Nash and I are going to have to start looking like a married couple, on a regular basis. We’re going to need to make it look like we’re living together.
I guess I should have anticipated that Nash would have a lot of eyes on him, a lot of people desperate to gossip about his personal life.
Someone snapped a picture of him while we were leaving a random hotel one morning.
Pictures of our wedding spread through social media like wildfire.
I can’t be surprised that people are taking note of the fact that we’re hardly seen together, and seem to be living separate lives, even though we should be newlyweds still in the honeymoon phase.
With so many prying eyes on us and so much gossip and speculation on social media, how can we hope to make people believe we’re living together without … actually living together?
I’m feeling desperate, and only one solution is presenting itself to my jumbled brain.
I call Nash. He answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
Might as well just come right out with it.
“Nash, I think we need to live together.”