I took a breath that barely reached my lungs. “Okay,” I said softly. “Please don’t interrupt until I get this out.”
He blinked, his mouth tightening. “That sounds … ominous.”
“I told you not to interrupt.”
He raised his hands again. “Fine.”
I gripped the edge of the table with both hands to keep myself steady.
“Ledger,” I said. “I think we could help each other.”
His brows shot up. “By doing what? Opening a joint bakery? You don’t even like carbs.”
“Ilovecarbs,” I hissed. “I just can’t eat them before big events. And no, it’s not a bakery.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then the words tumbled out in one uncontrolled exhale: “We could get married.”
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating, world-swallowing silence.
Ledger didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even twitch.
Then—
“What?” he croaked.
I winced. “I said?—”
“I heard what you said,” he snapped, voice cracking halfway through. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably,” I admitted. “But hear me out.”
“No,” he said flatly. “No. Absolutely not. That’s—Roxie, that’s insane.”
“Is it?” I demanded. “Because you need financial stability immediately, and I need to be married before I turn twenty-six to avoid losing my trust fund entirely.”
His jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”
“The inheritance clause.” I gestured to the papers. “If I’m not married by twenty-six, the trust dissolves. Every year they remind me. Every year I ignore it. But now …” I swallowed. “… now there’s someone who actually needs the financial access I’d get from it.”
I hesitated, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “My grandmother was the one who pushed for the clause. My parents agreed, because of course they did. They always imagined I’d marry some perfect country club clone who golfs on Saturdays and talks mergers over dinner. The clause was supposed to ‘encourage stability.’” I made air quotes with a bitterness I couldn’t hide. “Really, it was just their way of boxing me into the life they wanted for me.”
I forced a breath out. “And yeah, helping you would be huge. I know that. But it wouldn’t just be for you.” My voice dropped, soft but honest. “Access to the trust would give me a chance to actually figure out what I want. Start something of my own. A business. A project. A life that isn’t”—I waved vaguely at the ceiling,meaning the café, the neighborhood, my entire suffocating routine—“this. I hate my job, Ledger. I’ve been stuck for so long trying to make it on my own, and I don’t even know what direction to run in.”
I met his eyes, heart thundering. “This—marriage, the trust—could give me both: it could help you get out of a mess you don’t deserve and help me finally build something that’s mine.”
He rubbed both hands over his face, almost like he was trying to reset his brain. “Roxie, no. You can’t—this isn’t—” He looked at the papers again, then back at me. “You shouldn’t have to fix your family’s control tactics with marriage. Least of all to me.” His shoulders slumped. “And you can’t just throw your entire life plan off a cliff because of my mess.”
“I’m not trying to throw my life off a cliff.” My voice was sharper than I intended. “You’re drowning, and I’m not blind. I see it. I heard it.”
I dragged in a breath, forcing myself to slow down. “I’m not heartless. And I’m not doing this because I’m reckless. I’m doing it because I can help. And it …” My voice softened, the edges still there, the way they always were with him. “It gives me a way out too. So, if we?—”
“If wewhat?” he cut in, the bite unmistakable. “Get married so you can keep your trust fund and I can keep swimming? That doesn’t make sense.”
