Chapter 7 Rosie #2
“All right let’s move on. Both of you have been briefed on the marriage agreement you’re entering, but I want to reiterate one more time—this is on paper only.
You will not live together, you will not sleep together, and you will not, under any circumstances, kiss or engage in anything resembling a real relationship.
Hold hands in public if the cameras are rolling.
Smile for the photos and wave. But if I hear you say one more negative word about my daughter, Boone, you’ll be fired so fast that not a single PR firm, law firm, or agent on either coast will touch you. ”
“Yes, sir,” Boone responds, his voice quieter this time, though I’m pretty sure I catch a flicker of irritation cross his face.
I get the impression he doesn’t like being told what to do. He has no idea how much worse it’s going to get with my father as his counsel.
My dad reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a stack of papers, sliding them across the table to us. “Here’s the paperwork that our PR firm and legal team have finalized. It outlines the terms of your agreement for the next three months.”
I glance at the documents, flipping through the pages quickly. It’s standard legal jargon—nothing too surprising or horrifying—except for the part at the end that outlines how this whole charade will end.
In three months’ time, we’ll stage some sort of dramatic public dispute that our PR team will devise. The team will tip off photographers and videographers, and we’ll be “caught” in the fallout.
That same evening, one of us will file for divorce and Cain will have the whole thing annulled, all carefully orchestrated to maximize media coverage and public sympathy for him.
My dad is watching us closely, looking for any weakness or hesitation in me, but I've done this a thousand times before and I remain unaffected. Okay, I’ve never entered into a marriage with a guy I don’t know. But wild, questionable assignments from him are a norm.
“Understood,” I say simply.
Boone nods, his jaw tightening. “Got it.”
The tension in the room is still thick, but at least now it feels like we’re all on the same page or at least pretending to be. For the next three months, Boone Tremblay is my husband in name only. And if I’m going to make this work, I need to stay focused.
By the end of March, this will all be over, and I’ll be senior partner.
“Will there be a ceremony?” Boone asks, catching me off guard.
A wedding ceremony? Is he serious?
The idea of putting on a wedding dress and standing beside him for staged photos is so absurd I almost laugh. Boone Tremblay, hockey star, imagining some kind of fairy-tale wedding for this sham marriage? Yeah, no thanks.
“No,” Cain cuts in, his tone sharp. “We have a backstory for how you met and fell in love. It’s simple enough for both of you to remember.
You met on the dating scene in New York City through mutual friends.
It was love at first sight. You’ve been keeping things private, that’s why no one knew, and now you’re madly in love and decided to get married on a whim.
No ceremony, no city hall. You’ll sign the paperwork here, and I’ll file it with the courts tomorrow. ”
“Okay…” Boone replies hesitantly. I notice a flicker of unease in his expression.
He’s clearly not used to operating under a lie.
It’s almost endearing the way he shifts in his seat, like the idea of this whole charade is making him sweat.
If he was telling the truth earlier—that the night at the club was his first time being there—then Boone might actually be as wholesome as his down-home charm suggests.
But that also means I’ve got my work cut out for me. If we’re going to sell this, I’ll need to toughen him up, add a little New York grit to balance out his honesty.
“Okay” my dad says, clapping his hands together.
“All that’s left is for you two to sign the marriage license and make sure your stories align.
Rosie, take Boone to one of the conference rooms to talk things through.
She’s great at planning and optics. And while she won’t technically be your lawyer, since that would be a conflict of interest once you’re married, she’ll be coordinating behind the scenes with our PR teams.”
Boone nods, and I flash my brightest, most convincing smile around the room as I rise from my chair, exuding the confidence that I’m known for.
My dad’s fire, my brother’s ice, and I’m earth. Grounding everyone around me even when I feel like I’m floating in the clouds.
“Drop the marriage paperwork off in Room K. It’s already booked,” I instruct Cain.
“That’s my girl,” my dad says, pride dripping from his voice. And if I wasn't so professional, I think I'd burst into laughter and tears because my dad just married me off, legally, and is now congratulating me on taking it in stride with pride in his eyes.
“Come on, Boone. Let’s go chat,” I toss over my shoulder as I head toward the door.
Boone might not know it yet, but this isn’t just about him learning the backstory that we need to maintain to the media, this is about making sure he’s ready to sell it and not give away any details about the night we first met.
And I’m not about to let him screw up the most important move of my career.