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I couldn’t agree more.
“In a week, if we’d failed to marry, Diomedica would have become an institutional trustee and the company would have then overseen the administration of the trust. In other words, the rules would have changed.”
“And our families would have lost all that money,” I reply, connecting the dots.
“Exactly. The shares would have been reabsorbed by Diomedica. Our grandfathers might have wanted to help set us up, but ultimately, their true loyalty was always to the company.”
“Right.”
He offers a curt nod before turning back toward the main set of doors.
I hurry to catch up to him.
“You never answered my question though. What’s in it for you? On a personal level, I mean.”
He smiles, but it’s not the least bit sincere. “There is no personal level, Elizabeth. This is all business. I happen to believe in the future of Diomedica too. I’m the CEO, and I’d like to remain in power to carry on our grandfathers’ legacies.”
Nothing personal. Right. There’s that pang of disappointment again. I know where it stems from: the utterly ridiculous part of my psyche shaped by my childhood. My Achilles heel. I suspect, deep down, it’s the true reason I’m here today.
He pushes the door open, and outside, the wind is a slap across my face, a wake-up call I appreciate.
Less than half an hour has passed since I was last out here, and yet now, I’m a newlywed. A laugh bursts out of me like champagne fizz. This is insane. Truly.
“So what now?” I ask in disbelief.
“Tell your parents they’ll receive a wire transfer by the end of the day. They should be able to pay off the bulk of their debts as we discussed.”
Jesus. Does he have to be so frank about all of this? It’s like the weirdness of marrying a stranger doesn’t even register with him.
He heads straight toward a black Escalade parked near the curb. Mason is standing beside the door. When he spots Walt, he quickly opens it for him and moves back to allow him to step inside. Before Walt does, he looks back at me.
“My assistant will be in contact with you soon.”
I want to demand details, but it occurs to me that I’ve been the one chasing after him for answers all morning and I’m tired of acting like a lost puppy. I’d rather be left in the dark than continue to look like a fool in front of him.
I nod. “Sounds good. Have a nice…” I falter on the unit of time to end the parting sentiment with. Day? Week? Month?
Walt recognizes my confusion and tips his head in response, answering for me with “Have a nice life” before stepping into the Escalade and shutting the door hard behind him.
I don’t realize I’m scowling until his SUV turns the corner and leaves me standing alone on the sidewalk.
Three
I walk back to my hotel from the courthouse expecting people to look at me weird for what I’ve just done. In my head, they all know. I bet that man in the bowler hat walking his dog is just being kind by averting his eyes. That woman in the bright red parka is dying to tell me what an idiot I am for going through with this marriage. But not a single pedestrian stops me on my walk. No fireworks explode in the sky. There’s not even wedding cake waiting for me back at my hotel room. Everything is normal, and somehow that’s worse.
I should call down to reception and ask if they can swap me over to a honeymoon suite just for the hell of it, but I don’t think this budget-friendly Radisson with its peeling maroon wallpaper caters to the newlywed crowd.
I plop down on the bed in a heap of useless muscles and bones. I stare up at the ceiling for .2 seconds before giving in to the urge to check my bank account balance on my phone. I already did it once this morning before leaving for the courthouse, but I do it again, just to confirm nothing has changed. I’m relieved to see there’s still enough money in there to keep me afloat for a month or two if I play my cards right. It’s a point of pride for me considering how much my mom loves to threaten to cut off my funds. She thinks that would be the end of the world, but little does she know that for the last few years, I’ve hoarded cash like the U.S. Treasury was going to stop printing it. My emergency fund isn’t much, which makes sense considering I’ve been finishing my degree at Rhode Island School of Design, but it’s probably more money than my parents currently have. I smile at the thought and then immediately feel bad for it.
I wish I could stop wavering back and forth, swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other. I envy the truly evil sociopaths of the world. The sort of coldhearted animals that would leave their family destitute without batting an eye. The villains in the movies that walk away from an explosion without looking back.
