Don’t Mind If “I Do” by Everly Ashton
Ten
Nick
The look of relief on Mazzy’s face makes me curious what her plan is once she gets her hands on her grandfather’s money, but at the end of the day, I don’t really care. I want to get what I need out of this arrangement and move on.
“But first we need to figure some things out.”
She nods. “Sure, okay.”
“What do you need for this to work on your end?” I ask.
Her forehead wrinkles in confusion, which surprises me. I figured everyone in her circles would’ve been heavy on the Botox. “I told you, I need for us to be married for six months.”
“Right, but what does that mean to you? For instance, I need this marriage to look like the real deal. It’s not going to help me at all if people are questioning its authenticity.”
She nods in understanding. “Right, okay. So we need to be seen in public, go to events and that kind of thing.”
“As much as it pains me, yes.” The idea of returning to Boston society nauseates me, but it’s the fastest and easiest way to get out the word that Nick Ryan is a respectable one-woman man.
“That seems easy enough. Any conditions of your own?”
“No one in my life can know the real reason we’re doing this,” she says. “As far as everyone in my life is concerned, they need to think we’re in love.”
“And how exactly are we going to sell that since most of the people in your world know about our falling out?”
Shame crosses her features at the mention of the end of our… whatever it was. I’m surprised I don’t feel more elation at seeing her uncomfortable. Instead it makes me want to change the subject.
She seems to think for a moment. “We tell everyone we ran into one another unexpectedly somewhere and rekindled what we once shared, then we ran off to get married because we didn’t want to waste another moment when we’d already lost so much time together.”
“That’ll work.” I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at me. With regret. As if maybe she wishes what she’s saying were true.
Whatever.
“So when do you want to do it?”
When I hear the word “it,” my mind goes to sex and the consummation of our marriage, which just goes to prove that men can be led around by their dicks. I don’t even like this woman, but with the slightest suggestion, I’m thinking about what it would be like to sleep with her.
“If by ‘it’ you mean get married, the sooner the better. You need six months, right? That should be more than enough to turn my image around too. After that, we can get a quickie divorce, say the whole thing was a mistake and that we’re better off as friends than spouses, and never see each other again. Deal?”
She hesitates, but eventually nods. Still, I see something clawing at her from the inside. I may not have seen her for nearly a decade, but I knew her twice as long as that. As it turns out, I can still read her emotions.
“What is it?”
“It’s just… after this, I’ll be divorced twice.” The corners of her mouth tilt down.
“Well, maybe the third time will be the charm for you.” I wink and stand from the chair. “Glad we got this all sorted.”
“Wait.” She raises a hand, and with a beleaguered sigh, I sit back down. “We have more to figure out. Where are we going to live? When and where are we going to get married?”
How the hell hadn’t I considered the fact that we’d have to live together? Can I live with this woman without wanting to lash out at her every moment of every day? I’m not sure. But I do know one thing. “I’m sure as hell not living in Boston, so you’ll have to live here.”
She glances around the space as if assessing whether it will fulfill her needs.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re going to have to rough it.”
She stiffens. “Fine. I’ll have some of my things brought over before the wedding. Which will be…”
I shrug. “Sooner the better. I’ll let you figure out the details, though I think even with your money, you’ll be hard-pressed to pull together a lavish ceremony like your first wedding in such a short amount of time.”
The pictures from her first wedding—which were strewn all over the Boston Herald society section—float through my mind, making me tighten my fists on the sides of the chair.
“I don’t want a wedding like my first one.” Her voice is small and full of pain, but that’s not going to soften me.
“Good. Let’s just head down to city hall or something.”
She shakes her head. “Someone will call the press and they’ll be ready to pounce the minute we leave. I think we should control the narrative on this one. Put the announcement in and send in a picture.”
“Whatever. As long as it’s done and people know about it.”
She looks around my space. “What if we do it here? What’s your backyard like?”
“Depends on who you’re inviting.”
“No one.”
The idea of having lifelong memories of marrying Mazzy at my house doesn’t thrill me. Thinking about being here after this rouse is over and she’s gone back to her life in Boston isn’t ideal. Then again, she’s living here, so by the time this is over she’ll be imbedded into every inch of this house. And the last thing I want is a big wedding, so whatever, I need to suck it up. “It’ll do.”
“Great. We’ll need witnesses.”
“I can take care of that. Do you remember Ollie? He’s engaged. He and his fiancée can be our witnesses. Unless you want one of your friends to stand up for you?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want anyone from my world there.”
“Perfect, we’re actually on the same wavelength for that. All right, count them in then. Just let me know the details when you have them.”
“Wow. We’re really going to do this,” she whispers.
If you’d asked me a month ago whether I’d ever agree to this, I’d have said you were batshit crazy. But Dr. Schwartz called me yesterday to tell me the board is putting pressure on him to get rid of me, and I refuse to give up what I worked so hard for.
Marrying Mazzy isn’t ideal, but it works to reach my end goal.