Chapter Sixteen
Marcus
M y body freezes when she says those words. It takes me a few seconds to fully process what she said. She has to be joking.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Gigi?”
She shifts in her chair. “I know it sounds crazy. But what if I’m your scapegoat.”
“You’re suggesting I marry you? And lie to my father?”
“Hear me out.” I can see the wheels turning at a fast pace behind her eyes. “He’s already met me. We say after I was finally single, you could make your move. We put on a ruse, ‘dating’ for a while, then get married. We stay married long enough for the business to become yours, then poof!” She flings her hands in the air. “We start having issues and we get a divorce.”
“That is the most asinine idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Why?”
I turn to look straight in her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re talking about marriage, Gigi. That’s a huge deal. You just got out of a hot mess of a relationship. What if my father finds out it’s not real?”
“I know it’s a huge deal. Yes, I just got out of a less than ideal partnership. But it would be perfect timing for something like this, not like I want to go looking for a new relationship right now, so I have some time to kill. And your father never has to find out. I can be a very good actress.”
The bartender places our food in front of us. I don’t even know if I can eat right now.
“You’re not joking, are you?”
“Totally serious. Think about it. Do you really want to date? Do you really want to marry someone under the pressure of an obligation and not true love? Is that really fair to you or to that woman?”
Fuck, I never thought about it like that.
“While you make a valid point, I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Do you see the difference?” Little shit, throwing my words from last night back at me. I watch her lift her glass to her lips. She takes a long draw from the glass, setting it down softly on the coaster.
“You would have to live with me.”
“Already am.”
“You would have to deal with my father.”
“He doesn’t scare me.”
“You would be a divorcee after this.”
“I don’t care about labels.”
“There would be no sex, me or anyone else.”
She scrunches her nose. “One, Ew. Two, I have toys.”
“You’d have to change your last name.”
“Lucky for you, prince, Gigi Holt sounds alright.”
I run a hand through my hair. I can’t break her determination.
“While I trust you, there would be a prenup. I would want to protect your assets, too.”
“Just some paperwork. You know I don’t want your money, prince.”
She doesn’t look at me, just eats her salad as if this conversation is completely normal. I look down at my plate, shifting my food around with my fork. I turn my head back to look at her, trying to imagine attaching the word ‘wife’ to the woman beside me. I imagine her in a wedding dress, walking toward me. I look down at her hand and imagine a ring there. Shit, I look at my own hand and try to picture a band on my ring finger. I put my fork down and bring my elbows to the bar, dragging my hands down my face, so many thoughts going through my head.
How could I ask this of her? What would our friends think? How can I go without sex for such a long time?
“It’s too much to ask of you, Gigi. Why would you do it? What’s in it for you?”
She stills at the question. She looks across the bar with dim, unfocused eyes. “I won’t be alone.”
“You’re never alone.”
She looks at me, like she shook off the moment, eyes bright again. The change is abrupt and odd. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant to say.” She touches my arm. “You deserve to marry for love one day, Marcus. Don’t tie yourself into a situation where she might not be the one. If we do this, at the end, you can easily move on and find someone you really want to be with, without the guilt or feeling the need to make it work.”
“I don’t want to lose you as a friend. What if this fucks shit up between us?”
“I would never risk our friendship, prince. You’re too important to me.”
I focus on her hand on my arm. She taps my skin and goes back to eating. I take a bite of my food and stay in my thoughts for a few minutes. I make it halfway through my lunch, pick up my beer, finishing it off. I wave down the bartender because we’re going to need more drinks for what I’m about to say.
“You’re really serious about this?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Okay, then, let’s get married.”