The Wolf’s Contract Marriage by Layla Silver
Chapter 1 – Caelum
My phone buzzed as I slotted my Kia Telluride into my designated parking spot and shut it off. Then, grabbing my phone, I opened the messaging app. As expected, it was from Sister Margaret letting me know that Octavia had made it to school safely and was checked in at homeroom. I fired off a quick thank you text and then sat for a moment, staring idly at the faded exterior of the trailer that housed the mobile construction office I'd been reporting to for work for the last several years.
If someone had told me ten years ago that I’d be driving a family-oriented SUV and keeping a keen eye out for texts from a nun every morning, I’d have suggested they get their head checked out. But I was an oblivious workaholic back then. I’d had no idea what was really going on in my life, much less any kind of inkling of the radical left turn it was about to take.
A tap on the window interrupted my musings. Glancing up, I saw Barry on the other side of the glass, peering in at me. He was smiling, but there was concern in his eyes.
Reaching for my satchel, I shook off my negative thoughts. This project might be winding down, but my workdays were still full. Every minute was scheduled to the hilt, and the sooner I got started, the larger my chances of actually finishing the day early enough to eat a decent dinner at a good time. Sitting around moping and worrying my pseudo-uncle and business partner wouldn't do me any good, either.
Opening the door, I plastered on a smile of my own. “Good morning.”
“Same to you.”
At sixty, Barry's face was wrinkled from a lifetime of work outdoors, and his dark hair had become shot-through with white. He was still built like a lumberjack, though, and had more energy than a lot of twenty-year-olds on the crew. I was endlessly thankful for that—he'd shouldered more than his share of our work when Camilla left me and kept doing so until I got back on my feet. I’d have lost even more than I did if it hadn’t been for him and Alice having my back.
“Ready for another day of inspections?” he asked cheerfully.
“Thrilled,” I replied dryly, shoving the door of my SUV shut and falling in beside him as we headed up the muddy plywood ramp to the office door. “You know I love counting rivets.”
It was an old joke, but he laughed anyway. Some men would have been stressed by the idea of their business partner sweeping through the work they'd spent months overseeing, examining every tiny detail for mistakes. Especially since this late in the game, errors or oversights could be costly to fix.
The fact that Barry wasn't in the slightest was part of why our partnership worked so well. He played the "good cop" day in and day out, riding herd on the construction crew, which suited his gregarious personality. I made that possible by filling the "bad cop" role—spending most of my days in the office dealing with paperwork and plans, and permits. When I did venture out into the rest of the site, though, everyone knew I'd be looking for errors, and no one would be happy with the results if I found any. It was a solid setup, even if we were just building one more addition onto a Vegas casino instead of something more rewarding.
Following Barry inside, I headed to my desk to drop off my satchel while Barry stole a kiss from his girlfriend Alice, who also happened to be our site office manager. In her mid-fifties, Alice was my favorite type of office manager. Petite and feisty, she had no patience for drama and an encyclopedic knowledge of building code and best practices. Alice never missed a deadline or misfiled a paper. And, on occasion, when her grandmotherly side made an appearance, she brought in homemade cookies and made every man on the site feel like a loved and spoiled little boy.
I pretended to busy myself with checking the mail stacked and waiting for me while one kiss became three, then offered Alice a smile and a hug of my own when she shoved Barry off with a laugh and insisted we get down to business. Together, the three of us spent a few minutes strategizing about the day, and then it was straight down to work.
***
By the time I finally broke for lunch around two, my mood was drastically improved, my stomach was growling, and I’d missed three calls from my attorney.
I stopped in the office trailer long enough to deposit my review forms and the high-end digital camera I used to document my inspection with Alice, then got in my vehicle and made the short drive to Lucky’s.
As usual, parking in the oddly-shaped backlot, I made my way down the alley and around to where the narrow storefront featured fancy columns painted matte black and an ancient set of art-deco double doors that were probably part of the original building. The bell on the door rang as I stepped inside onto the classic black-and-white checkerboard tile. Somewhere between upscale sub shop, bistro, and coffee house, Lucky's defied precise categorization. The owners prided themselves on being unique, and it showed.
The eatery was more eclectic than my orderly tastes usually allowed for, but I'd inexplicably loved it since the first time I set foot inside. So as I walked to the counter, I was once again grateful that I hadn't found it until after I'd split with Camilla, allowing it to be one of the few things in my life untainted by her touch.
I ordered a steak and eggplant panini, a Thai iced coffee, and, because I had to talk to my lawyer over this meal, indulged in one of their protein-powder-boosted peanut butter cookies for dessert. Then, carrying my food to one of the butcher-block-topped tables in the back corner, I settled in and dialed Alcott's office.
“Caelum,” he greeted when his assistant forwarded me to his private line. “You’re not usually this slow to call back. Busy day?”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing a bite of my sandwich and wishing I didn’t have to be on this call so that I could ground myself in its rich, indulgent taste and take an actual breather between life demands. “What did they try this time?”
“They want to send Tavi to boarding school.”
The lingering tang of my last bite turned to ash on my tongue. “Please tell me you aren’t serious.”
“I wish I wasn’t.” The grimace in his voice was almost painful. “They’ve picked all the pricey ones, of course—Idyllwild, Walnut Hill, Interlochen. Trixie’s offering to pay for the tuition. It looks like they’re trying to play it off as being a financial ‘sacrifice’ they’re willing to make in Tavi’s best interest.”
“And the judge didn’t immediately throw it out?” I demanded incredulously. “It’s the oldest fucking trick in the book—marry someone with a kid you don’t want and ship them off to boarding school!”
"I don't think she's going to go for it," Alcott hedged. "We're going to have to stay on our toes anyway. If this does go through, you'll be fucked, custody-wise." He paused. "We have to be exceptionally careful about what you say to Tavi on the subject. More than we have been already because Judge Lawson is known for being particularly vicious about anyone trying to influence kids when it comes to custody arrangements… at least in documentable ways.”
“I should have just fucking kidnapped her and gone on the run,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. My stomach rolled in disgust. “I’d be better off working at a goddamned McDonalds and knowing my daughter was safe than dealing with this every day.”
“As your attorney, I’m obligated to point out the inadvisability of that plan,” Alcott said, his voice full of sympathy. “As a father, yeah. If I were in your shoes, I’d be tempted to do that, too. This is the ugliest case I’ve handled in a long time—and you know I specialize in messy.”
I sighed. “Great. So what’s the plan?”
"Well," he answered matter-of-factly, "in my dream world, you find a great new woman to marry who loves art. That would shoot at least half of Camilla's primary arguments straight out the nearest window, leaving us with a solid shot at getting you the custody you deserve."
“We’ve discussed this,” I responded flatly. “I am never getting married and giving someone the chance to screw me over like this again. Next option.”
"We fight it," he said simply. "I'll pull some numbers. See if I can frame up an argument about how the schools they suggested won't substantially improve her chances of getting into the best university art programs down the line. I'll talk to my on-call experts, too. See if we can make the case that whatever advantages those schools offer will be more than offset by yet another massive disruption at her tender age."
“Okay, that’s what you’re doing. What do I do?”
“Stick to the current limits,” he advised grimly. “When you talk to Octavia, do a lot of listening and not a lot of talking. Make sure she knows that you love her, and try not to say a peep about Camilla, Trixie, or pretty much any of this.”
“Right,” I said caustically.
It wasn't his fault, and I knew that. But I loved my daughter. I'd been struck dumb by the first ultrasound picture of her and never looked back. I wanted to be her rock and her reassurance right now—to say whatever she needed me to say, whenever she needed to hear it. Not bite my tongue until it bled for the sake of a priss-face judge who'd made her reputation on supporting mothers' rights and didn't want to admit that my ex-wife wasn't a fit parent and didn't deserve all the benefits of the doubt she was being graced with.
"I'll call you if anything changes. My office will send over the next court date as soon as it's nailed down," Alcott promised. “In the meantime, try not to worry more than you have to. It won’t make anything any better.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
We hung up, and I mechanically ate the rest of my meal, unable to taste or appreciate it. By the time I got to my cookie, I could barely stomach it. I ended up crumbling half onto my napkin, then throwing everything out.
I won’t lose you, I promised my daughter silently. I will do whatever it takes to make sure that I don’t.
