Chapter 10
SELENA
“So I’m going to be a kept woman?”
My voice pitches up, and I think I might pass out.
The next course arrives before Griffin can answer.
“This is a palate cleanser,” the waiter murmurs, setting down a small, artistic plate. “Sweet bread dappled with olive oil, honey, and smoked pistachios on a bed of ripe pomegranate pearls.” He presents the dish like he's offering a sacrifice to the gods. I have absolutely no stomach to eat it.
“Chef wants you to know that this dish is designed to buoy you over rocky times. The pomegranates are tangy and represent pebbles or stones that may present obstacles. The bread is your life raft, with honey and oil as your sustenance. The smoked pistachios represent resilience and rebirth.”
The waiter bows again and leaves us alone with our "apocalyptic" bread.
Griffin picks up the thread of his ridiculous proposal immediately.
“We’re going to be married, Selena. I’m not keeping you like a mistress; I’m providing a home for you as my wife.
I have cleaning staff and a chef, so you won’t be required to do housework.
But you need to keep up appearances. Dress well, attend volunteer events, and be seen with me in public.
We’ll do our fair share for the press. My best friend Beckett has a wife who reminds me of you.
She can help you navigate the social expectations. ”
“I want to be a lawyer,” I tell him firmly. “Being a trophy wife for three years would accomplish nothing and set me back. I don’t want to end up hidden in a lonely house, only allowed out for photo ops.”
“You can attend law school,” he counters effortlessly.
“Think of it this way: let’s say we don’t get married.
I hire you as a permanent assistant because you’ve done a marvelous job on the Wilson-Mathius case.
Do you have any idea how long it will take you to be considered for a real legal position?
Even as a paralegal? If you take my offer, you go to law school debt-free.
And when you graduate, I’ll ensure you get hired at a top firm.
This is a win for both of us. Plus, you’ll be financially set for life. ”
I have to admit, it is a tempting offer.
“When would I have to marry you?” I cannot believe I’m asking this.
“Saturday.”
“This Saturday?”
“This Saturday.”
“Why?” I feel faint. My hand reaches for my water glass to steady myself.
“I have my eyes on an acquisition, and I want to make a move. The senior partners have been pressuring me all week. You have a habit of running away, Selena, so I want this deal sealed immediately. Your temp job ends Friday. You’re subletting your apartment for only a month.
The timing is perfect. We get legally wed this weekend; the big ceremony will come later.
You move in. We plan the wedding. We win. ”
“So... when we return to the office tomorrow, you need me to look like I’m in love?”
“Exactly.”
“Be real, Griffin. No one is going to believe that you married me after knowing me for four days. That's insane. A lawyer is a respectable position. People aren’t going to think you're stable if you marry the temp you just met; they’re going to see you as impulsive and reckless.”
“I’m going to tell the office that I fell desperately, hopelessly in love,” he says with a straight face. “I’ll say I wanted us to live without shame. That I couldn't wait another day.”
“And if I say ‘no’?”
“Who turns down an offer like this? It’s a three-year commitment. Less time than law school. Besides, don’t you want to write home and tell your family you’ve found a rich, successful husband? It’s the ultimate ‘I told you so’ to your ex.”
Ah, he has a point. It would be weird, but also a little delightful to stick it to Landon.
“I’m probably going to regret this,” I say as the waiter returns with the next course.
“You might,” Griffin says, his voice dipping low, “but it will be worth it in the end.”
“Are you ready for your next course?” the waiter asks, oblivious to the negotiation happening.
“Chef presents leg of lamb with mint confit, currants, baby peas, and crème fra?che. This course signifies the sacrifice of love. Love is rich as cream, youthful and innocent as the lamb, and as weathered and tested as the currant. The mint symbolizes the freshness of each day anew.”
He leaves us to share the tiny leg of meat.
“Wow, are we bugged?” I whisper, leaning in. “Someone must be listening to our conversation.”
“Chef Ahmed is a genius; he reads the room. I’m nearly twice your age,” Griffin says with a seductive grin, “so the whole ‘freshness and weathered’ thing is pretty spot on.”
He laughs, and I want to laugh too, but I’m too freaked out to do anything other than stare at him.
“Is the age gap a problem?” he asks, noticing my hesitation. “I mean, this crazy thing is my idea.”
Would I be disappointed if he pulled the plug now?
“No. I’m fine with your age and mine.” His face softens. It looks almost... loving?
I take a moment to really look at him. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Salt and pepper hair, strong jaw, haunting eyes, dashing smile—when he chooses to use it.
“I’m fine as well. So what happens now?” I feel numb.
“This,” he says.
He stands up. My heart races.
Why? I know this is all a game, just a cover, but butterflies dance in my stomach anyway. I remember when Landon got down on one knee. We were in a cornfield. He said I was the only one who held his heart.
What a load of bullshit that was.
For a second, I want to back out. But fifteen million dollars...
Could I live a whole lifetime on it? Maybe. Is three years of pretending worth a lifetime of freedom?
Griffin fishes in his pocket and pulls out a blue box.
“You don’t have to get down on one knee,” I tell him quietly.
“I don’t plan to,” he says.
Instead of dipping to the ground, Griffin grabs the back of his chair, slips his shoes off, and steps onto it—right in the middle of the most exclusive restaurant in New York City.
“Selena, my dearest love...”
He doesn’t remember my last name, so of course, it’s "dearest love."
“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Every single person in the restaurant stops eating to stare at us. And Griffin doesn’t give a fuck.
I stand up because it feels rude to stay seated, but there’s no way I’m getting on a chair.
He reaches down for my hand. I lift it, and he kisses my knuckles.
“You lift me to heights I never thought I’d soar,” he declares.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He opens the Tiffany box to reveal the biggest diamond ring I've ever seen. A massive stone set with smaller diamonds around the band. It sparkles so hard it hurts my eyes. In my world, no one buys five-carat diamond rings. Griffin is part of a society that does, and I'm about to marry him.
“Will you marry me?”
What the hell am I getting myself into?
“I love you,” I say, playing up the drama for the audience. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
There is immediate clapping and cheering.
My head spins. I wish the wine didn’t make me feel nauseous because I’m about to be sick.
He hops down from the chair, scoops me into his arms, and twirls me around.
I really do think I'm about to toss my cookies before he sets me down and plants the softest, most delicious kiss on my lips.
“You have made me the happiest man in the world,” he announces.
Phones are out. People are recording.
Chef Ahmed comes out, beaming, to calm the crowd.
“In honor of our newly engaged couple, everyone gets the most romantic course on the menu!”
I realize this has been planned. There is no way the chef could prepare that many meals on the fly.
“Octopuses only mate once in their lifetime,” Ahmed explains with gravity.
“After they mate, the male dies first, and then the female dies after bearing his offspring. Though this is a tragic end, it is also an unparalleled devotion to their legacy. Tonight’s meal is a female octopus, humanely harvested to honor her sacrifice.
Enjoy grilled octopus with roasted red pepper coulis. ”
The chef bows. Suddenly, I’m sad.
“So by this symbolism, if I get pregnant, I’m going to be roasted?” I look at Griffin, hoping for a little compassion.
He grins and lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’re not going to get pregnant, no worries.” He kisses my cheek for the cameras. “The symbolism refers to octopuses having only one partner. It’s supposed to be romantic. ‘Til death do us part’ vibes.”
“You don’t want to be a dad?” I ask quietly.
“Absolutely not,” he says through a fake smile, drawing me into a hug. He whispers in my ear, “In fact, I won’t be a dad. I have already made an appointment for you to be fitted with an IUD. It is the safest, most reliable method.”
I stiffen in his arms.
“I don’t even want to discuss the fact that you think you can make that choice for me,” I whisper back furiously, maintaining the hug. “But I’ll have a baby with my next husband.”
“I don’t really like the sound of that, especially since I’ve just proposed.”
“Well, I’m not an octopus. I’m young. I can do this with you and move on. I will be a mother. You can’t take that from me.”
“Anything is possible, I guess,” he dismisses, pulling back to beam at me.
The octopus is delicious despite the sad story. The finishing course is a flight of pastries that look remarkably like real fruit. By the time we’re done eating, I’m full and still queasy.
“I wish you’d enjoyed the evening more,” Griffin says later, as his town car pulls up to my sublet.
“We’re pretending, Griffin. Remember that. But despite all of this being a charade to make you palatable to your partners, I did have a good time. Would it be better if we were really in love? Yes. Was the ring gorgeous? Also yes. Life is complicated.”
His shoulders relax. “Very pragmatic. You're going to be good for me.”
He leans forward and kisses me once more. I really do like his kisses. That's one thing we have—chemistry.
“So what's the game plan for tomorrow?” I ask. “I’m worried I’m not going to play my part well.”
“The most pressing thing is for you to pack. It's Tuesday. I want you ready to move in by Thursday. We apply for the license Friday, get married Saturday. We’ll have a small ceremony on my roof. Do you have anyone in New York you want to invite?”
I sigh. “I don’t know anyone here, Griffin. Nobody I know can drop everything and be here by the weekend. How do you want me to act at work?”
“Like a woman who just had a three-thousand-dollar meal. Like someone marrying a man who stood on a chair for her. Act happy.”
He seems the tiniest bit perturbed that I have to ask.
“I would be happy with a hot dog if it were real love,” I say softly.
“You’re going to be easy to keep.” He flashes me a bright smile.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I give him a smirk and open the car door. “I can pretend to be pretty expensive.”
I walk up the stairs to my building.
“You have a beautiful ass,” he calls out from the car window.
I go inside and slam the door, leaning against it to catch my breath.