There’s a kind of symmetry in this,he murmured blandly. Three generations of women who didn’t find love the first time around.
I count only two.My response wasn’t as bland and came with a pointed look.As I’m not divorced, the symmetry lends itself only to two.
I assume both found happiness afterwards?
My grandmother did. My mom tried.
Presumably they weren’t made wealthy when their husbands removed themselves.
My grandmother was because he adored her. The only thing that could’ve torn him away was death. He left Gran well provided for. He left us of all well provided for.We fell quiet for a beat before I spoke again.Removed themselves is an odd choice of words.
Not really. If we do this, our divorce won’t be an emotionally fraught affair. We’ll both be going into this with our eyes open and a timeline. When it ends, there will be no recriminations. We’ll just remove each other from our lives. It’s not like we belong to the same circles. The loss of your inheritance needn’t be common knowledge. You would come out of this marriage in a matter of a few months in a position so much stronger.
I don’t remember telling you about my inheritance.
Frankly, you didn’t need to. The fact is, you need help, and I can give it to you. There’s no shame in acknowledging that.
You’re wrong,I’d replied.There’s no shame in failure. But in selling yourself out? Well, that’s another matter.
You’re being far too puritanical about this,he’d insisted.What would have happened if I’d stayed in the car? If I’d taken your hand and led you into the house? Into my bed?
I expect we’d have had sex, I answered simply. But I wouldn’t have committed myself to you for six months. For cash.
Not for cash, he replied hotly,for our mutual benefit.
Would one of those mutual benefits be sex?
But now? Now, I’m not so sure about anything.
From across the room, Beckett’s business card sings to me. A low static hum, a whisper of temptation that promises all could be well.
Six months to give my business the chance it deserves.
Six months to make a success of myself.
Six months of tying myself to the devil’s representative on earth.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I make my way over to my dresser, pick up the card, and throw my back against the mattress once more. I hold both phone and card above my head as I press in the digits.
Sure, it’d be better to send him a text, but that’s not how being a grown-up works. Besides, he’d just call back.Probably to gloat.
My heart beats like the hooves of a runaway stallion as I wait for the call to connect.
‘Beckett.’ One word bitten out as if he doesn’t have time to take my call.
‘It’s Olivia. Olivia Welland,’ I add, just in case he proposes marriage to virtual strangers on a daily basis.
‘I was beginning to think you wouldn’t call.’ His tone turns softer, almost kinder, but certainly curious.
‘Were you? Really?’ I think his tone is a ruse and that he’s played me like a fiddle. That maybe I’ve even allowed him to.More stupidity on my part.
‘I was wondering if I’d overestimated you.’
‘Your backhanded compliments are unnecessary. I find myself, as my grandmother would say, on the bones of my arse. And without recourse.’
The bark of his laughter is startling. ‘Your grandmother has inspired you to a decision?’
‘She’s pragmatic,’ I say with a sigh.
