“I hadn’t thought of any of that before I brought it up.”
“Seriously?”
He scowls. “The criteria of a marriage of convenience hasn’t been sitting around in my brain, just waiting to be pulled up for use.”
“No? Weird.”
He gives me a dirty look, but even his dirty look is more brooding and sexier than what is really necessary, and I’m entirely positive he doesn’t even know it. “We need to hammer out details, Wes. Otherwise, this won’t work.”
“I don’t know, Dakota.” The stress rolls off him. “I guess I didn’t really think it through. I thought marriage would solve my problem, and you had a problem I could help with, too—”
“I’m still not happy you violated my privacy.”
“And I’m still sorry I did it.” He holds up his hands in a request for forgiveness.
I blow out a breath. “Whatever. It’s over. Let’s move on to how the hell this is all supposed to work out.”
Wes rubs his eyes. “As for how long we’re supposed to be married, I guess I just assumed marriage is a forever kind of thing.”
I twirl the small pendant on my necklace as his words sink in. He would sign up for forever with me? “Marriage might be a ‘forever kind of thing’ for those who go the normal route. You know, falling in love, getting engaged, then taking a trip down the aisle. But what about us? You want to be married to someone you don’t love for the rest of your life?”
He gives me a side-eye. “Dakota, the relationship progression you’re describing isn’t in the cards for me.”
“What about being married to someone you don’t love? That doesn’t bother you?”
“Yes. No. Shit, maybe.” He sighs. “Look, Dakota, I don’t know. I can’t tell you what the future holds, but I know that I wouldn’t have asked you to do this with me if I thought you were a bad partner. We had something once, and if there’s anybody I’d marry, even if it’s in this crazy way, it’d be you.”
There was a time when I’d laugh at a conversation like this, but that was before I learned harsh truths. People take vows and mean them, and then cheat. People take vows and mean them, and then marriage itself is the cheater. My dad signed up for a lifetime with my mom. He got thirty-two years and even though he puts on a brave face, I see sadness in his eyes every single day. From what I can tell, you can go into marriage with all the good intentions in the world and still wind up screwed one way or the other.
I might be disenchanted with marriage, but I can’t give it away altogether. “One year, Wes. I’ll give you one year.”
A terse nod is his response. He looks like he can’t take any more of this. He offers his hand across the small table separating our chairs. His dark brown eyes locked on mine, he asks, “Do we have a deal?”
“A handshake?” I ask, looking disbelievingly at his outstretched palm. “Shouldn’t we have something a little more official, like a contract?”
“In my world, there isn’t anything more binding than a handshake. A man’s word is his honor.”
I look into his determined eyes and, for a second, I consider bounding away like a frightened deer. But then I think of the insufficient funds notices clogging up my email. My warm palm presses against his. The buzzing starts up, and I push it away. We’re officially business partners.
I drop his hand. “How is this all going to go?”
“Well.” Wes captures his lower lip between two fingers and pinches while he thinks. “We should let everyone think we’re dating for a short time. Make them think we’re hot and heavy, whirlwind courtship, soul mates, all that.”
“I feel like I should tell you that I’m not the greatest actress.”
“Me neither, but we’ll figure it out.” His lips quirk up. “In two weeks we’ll announce we’re getting married.”
Whoa. Apparently to Wes, a ‘short time’ is two weeks. “Don’t make it sound so romantic. I might swoon.” My voice is flat and dry. “You don’t think your family will have a problem with our ‘whirlwind courtship’?” I make air quotes.
“They’ll be shocked, but they’ll get over it.”
“Okay.” I cross my arms in front of myself in an attempt to dispel the discomfort I’m feeling at how apathetically we’re discussing something that is supposed to be special. I might be disenchanted with the institution, but a small part of me must still believe in it.
Wes stares at me, and I stare back.
I need to steer us into safer territory, pronto. “When does your dad get to come home?”
“Maybe a week? I’m not sure.” He yawns as he speaks.
