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“First, a question. What does the will say about me staying married? I mean, for instance, suppose I married someone and he died? Wouldn’t I have fulfilled the terms of the will? Wouldn’t I be entitled to claim my inheritance?”
He looked at her in disbelief. “For God’s sake, Catarina, you can’t be serious! Do you really think I’d let you plan a murder?”
“Plan a…?” Cat laughed. “I’m not talking about killing anyone! I just wanted your opinion on what would happen if my marriage didn’t last. I didn’t want to use the D word until I knew what that opinion would be.”
Jake felt as if he were on the edge of a rabbit hole, with the Mad Hatter and the Queen waiting at the bottom.
“The D word?” he said cautiously.
“Divorce.”
She leaned close, close enough so her hair tickled his nose. Her curls were soft and smelled of vanilla. He could smell roses, too, maybe from her skin. It would be easy enough to find out. All he had to do was put his mouth against her throat and taste her.
“Don’t look so shocked, Jake. Surely the concept is known here?”
“Concept? What…? Oh.” He cleared his throat and moved back. “Yeah, sure. Divorce is the national pastime.”
“Ah,” she said, as happily as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery, and gave an excited bounce that made her breasts jiggle. Didn’t she have a bra on under that poor excuse for a sweatshirt? “That’s even better.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Absolutely. See, divorce is frowned on in Brazil. Oh, it’s legal, but it’s mostly husbands who initiate the action, not wives. Even then, if you’re in a certain social class, it’s just not done.”
Jake folded his arms. “Okay,” he said, “let’s have it. What kind of plot are you hatching?”
“It’s simple, really.”
Nothing about Catarina was simple. She’d made that abundantly clear.
“You find me a husband. A proper, eminently suitable Brazilian husband. You said you could do that, right?”
“Right,” he said, as if it would be a snap. Well, finding a man to marry her would be, considering everything. Her money. Her looks. Her innocence.
Hell, her innocence. That was the thing that was going to
make it tough. He couldn’t just marry her off to anyone. She’d need a special man, one who’d take time initiating her into—into—
“…hear me?”
Jake frowned. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I said I’ll marry the man of your choice. But before I do he’ll have to agree to two conditions.” She held up her hands. “One,” she said, tapping her left thumb with her right index finger, “he’ll have to sign a legal document giving up all rights to my inheritance.”
“You’re coming into a lot of money, Catarina. I don’t think—”
“If you find me an eminently suitable husband, he won’t need my money.”
“‘Eminently suitable’ meaning rich.”
“Disgustingly rich,” she said brightly. “Weren’t you going to do that anyway?”
“Well, I hadn’t thought—”
“A man who’s wealthy won’t only want me for my money. Surely you’d figured that—or were you going to hand me over to just anybody?”
She was right. Jake sighed and nodded his head. “Okay. We need a man with lots of money. What else?”
“He has to agree that we remain here, in the United States.”
