Do I actually want to do this?
Surprisingly… I think I do.
Then again, I’ve always had a rebellious streak. My family spent the first eighteen years of my life and then some trying to sand it down and here it is, alive and well.
“Last question,” I say. “How long do we have to stay married before we can end it without looking suspicious?”
“Your family will probably contest it if we split too fast. We should probably wait until I move to Denver. A little less than a year from now.”
A year of making his house into a home. A year of sitting across from this man at a kitchen table that doesn’t exist yet because I haven’t picked it out. A year of sharing his home, his dog, his life.
“So we’re basically just roommates,” I say. “Who happen to be married.”
“More than roommates. I’d like to think we’re friends now, right?”
“Friends,” I repeat.
The words doesn’t quite fit.
I try to make sense of what word would. But nothing about this moment makes sense. I look out at the valley as if it’s going to give me any clarity, but I only feel more jumbled up inside. The sun is starting to set behind the mountains, washing the sky in shades of lilac and peony pink. It’s a picture perfect moment, one that should be among the happiest of my life. An incredibly handsome, fundamentallygoodman is proposing to me after knowing me for three weeks.
It’s fake marriage with a divorce date built in, but hey. There are worse fates.
Still, it feels bittersweet.
“Can I tell you something strange?” I say.
“Of course.”
“I’m a designer, and yet I never spent much time designing what I’d want my own wedding to be. Never had a moodboard or a dream venue or any of that. I always figured I’d know what I wanted when the time came. The only thing I ever assumed, the one thing I thought was non-negotiable, was that whoever was standing across the aisle from me would be…”
“Would be what?” he asks when I trail off.
“In love with me,” I admit. “That was the only thing that mattered.” I laugh a little, because if I don’t this confession will be too unbearably raw. “And now here I am thinking aboutmarrying a man I’ve known for three weeks who is very kind and very decent and very much not in love with me, and I’m just…” I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just ironic.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I think he’s not going to say anything else.
“I’ve never been in love,” he says finally.“Don’t know if that’s a character flaw or just the way I’m built. But I’m not going to stand here and tell you it’s something I can offer, because that wouldn’t be fair to you.”
He turns to look at me directly.
“But what I can offer you is a faithful husband. A hard-working one. Someone who admires you and respects you and will spend the next year making sure you have everything you need. I’ll protect you. Provide for you. Do my best to make you happy.” His voice is low and certain. “That’s not the same thing as what you dreamed of. I know that. But it’s true. Every word of it.”
My own flesh-and-blood family never gave me their admiration or respect. They never cared about making me happy. And now this man I’ve know for a few weeks is willing to give all of that to me, not in exchange for anything, just because…
Because why?
“Why?” I ask, genuinely mystified. “Why would you do all that for me?”
“Because you deserve it,” he says simply.
Deserve.I don’t deserve that five million dollars, either. I did nothing to earn it, unless you count enduring my family.
All the Sherwoods made it very clear from an early age what they thought I was worth, and it wasn’t much. Wrong choices. Wrong career. Wrong personality and body and everything else. I stopped arguing with them at eighteen and I haven’t looked back. It took time and therapy but I’m in a goodplace now. I’m happy. I don’t need my family or their approval or especially their money.
But five million dollars doing some actual good in the world?
That would feel like the last word.
