And it sounds and looks an awful lot like Connor Wolfe. I want him in my life, even if it’s messy. Even with uncertainty. Even if I have to fake marry him, get my green card, and then convince him that I don’t notnotlove him.
I’min a fog the next morning. I shuffle through my parents’ kitchen, pour coffee, and eat half a croissant before I hear a third voice in conversation with my mother and father coming from the living room.
I peek through the gap in the door and see a man in a light gray suit sitting tall opposite Mère and Père.
My mother spots me and calls, “Good morning, Cateline. Mr. Marais is here from the immigration office. He wants to discuss your citizenship.”
I wince, wishing I’d stayed in bed. Remembering that Connor called me Miss Manners, I enter the room and greet the man like royalty.
We all chat for a few moments, and then Mr. Marais indicates he’ll need to interview me alone. There’s no doubt my parents will sit on the opposite side of the door and listen, so I tell myself to choose my words carefully.
“Please, Miss Berghier, tell me about your home life. Seems like a very nice place to grow up.
I agree and then add, “I love my parents, but they never saw my life as mine. They pushed me too hard from a young age—I forewent friends, school, and my own interests because they wanted me to dance. I pushed my body, ruined my feet, and rarely rested. They forced me into a partnership with Gaston Lazereaux. In front of them, he put on a good show. After all, he was a performer, but in private, he treated me like garbage, something to be tossed aside, sometimes literally. I’m not a heifer, a cow, a commodity for families to trade for status.”
“I am very sorry to hear that.”
“Then I met Connor Wolfe.”
His eyebrow jumps sharply.
“Everything about him is different.” I leave off the part about our rocky start, but tell stories about how Connor and I laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and most importantly, how he respects me. “Connor would do anything for me.”
“And would you do the same for him?”
A car crunches over the gravel outside. My pulse leaps. Could that be him? Or is it Gaston? Someone else?
I nod. “I would. When we came here, I was afraid that we’d built a wall between us—one I feared we wouldn’t be able to cross the way we did the raging rapids. I was afraid of letting him in because I’d risk losing the person I worked so hard to become—independent, focused on my future goals, and not getting caught up in a man as I had with Gaston. But?—”
“Do you still have feelings for Gaston?”
“Not in the slightest. But when I was young, I thought he was my ticket out from my mother’s pressure.”
“And do you feel that Connor is a ticket out of your predicament with your work visa expiring and your citizenship status in Concordia?”
I’m sipping my coffee and almost sputter it everywhere. “I never fell for someone as I have with Connor, but my heart is fragile.” I explain what happened when we were camping and how he saved my life.
“So perhaps you feel indebted to him. My research shows that he’s trying to clean up his image. Perhaps the two of you view this ‘marriage’ as a mutually advantageous arrangement. You marry him so you can obtain a green card and return to Concordia. He marries you to remain in good standing with his team.”
Wow, this guy is sharp, and so wrong, or maybe my mother planted the seed. His comment pokes me in the ribs as voices rise and fall from the other room.
I’m about to explain that I wouldn’t take advantage of the system and that I want to marry Connor because I believe we’re meant to be together, even if it takes work, even if he doesn’t see it yet.
“Cateline,” someone calls from the other room.
I spin around.
Connor fills the doorway to the kitchen. His copper eyes are dark and bleary.
With a jerk of my head, I try to indicate that I’m in a meeting with the official from the immigration office, but he and I haven’t quite perfected our couple’s telepathy abilities.
He closes the space between us and whispers into my hair, desperation lacing his voice.
“I understand why you’d want to end this, but?—”
I turn back to Mr. Marais, “If you’d excuse me for just a moment. Connor came to make sure I took my medicine today.”
Leading us both outside so neither the official nor my parents can hear, Mr. Marais calls, “Actually, this is perfect. Cateline’s statements are sufficient. Now I can interview you both.”
