Nicolai and I produced ID. She glanced at mine and then read Nicolai’s translation document carefully, comparing it to his license, even checking on her phone what an official Swedish driver’s license looked like.
The pink hologram background probably should have convinced her it was genuine, but whatever.
The marriage license had already been signed by the priest and the witness before the ceremony because Nico had insisted on it, and a notary seal had imprinted the paper over those two signatures.
Nicolai carefully signed the document and passed the heavy paper to me.
Here it was.
I was signing a marriage license, a week later than I’d planned and to someone else entirely different than Jimmy Johnson, but okay.
I set the pen to the paper and tried not to shake as I signed the license, the ballpoint scratching on the thick paperas the black ink bled out, and I legally bound myself to Nicolai Petrovich Romanov, whom I’d met yesterday.
I must be out of my mind.
Being modest, helpful, and sweet had gotten me dumped at the altar, so what the heck, really? I might as well tryanything else.
Reckless and crazy, here I come.
Because, really, this was a pretend marriage to a guy who wasn’t even going to touch me. He sure as heck wasn’t after my money because I didn’t have any.
Seriously, if he wasn’t the tsar or whatever waffling he’d been doing about how he wasn’t, and if he was a con artist trying to conme,he was in for a real sad surprise.
When I said I had nothing to lose, I meant my car needed gas, and I didn’t have the money for half a tank.
Why wouldn’t I do it?
Nothing mattered.
The notary public crushed the paper with her round seal, congratulated us with wariness in her brown eyes, and left the room with the license to deposit it, closing the door behind herself.
“That’s it,” Nicolai said.
“That’s it,” I agreed, wondering if it was too late to call her back and rip up the paper or something.
“Seems anticlimactic,” he mused.
“Yeah, the wedding ceremony yesterday was better.”
He sighed, hanging his head. “I do wish I could remember it.”
I wished he could, too. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty.
Nico’s dark eyebrows dipped a little. “That’s over with. Come, let’s finish breakfast.” He herded me toward the table without even touching me. “For the settlement to stay with me for a year, how much do you think would be appropriate?”
“Um—”I squeaked.
Holy malony, I hadn’t even negotiated my own salary when I’d worked at Johnson Construction LLC. Jimmy’s dad had told me a number, and I’d signed the contract and gone to work. “Ten—thousand? Dollars?”
He crinkled his eyes again and looked like the strawberry he’d stabbed with his fork was rotten. “Ten thousand? Are you serious?”
Oh, Jesus. I was blowing it. “Five?”
Nico sipped his coffee and then rested his arms on the table, interlacing his fingers. His fingernails—a thing you don’t notice until they’re right there on a small table in front of you—were clean and trimmed, and his cuticles were in better shape than mine ever were. His round biceps contracted as he leaned on his elbows because he was still naked but for a towel. “Ask for more.”
“I don’t want to offend you.”
“Ask, for more.”
