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My eyes widened. I didn’t know if I should be flattered or offended. I panicked instead.
Cinderelly369:Oh, I don’t think I’m the person for this. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you or your family. I know nothing about your world. And I’m just a humble Hemingwayan. You probably don’t even remember me or realize that we’ve met before.
Igroaned and put my head down on the table.Good job, Ciara, I scolded myself.Reprimand the man for not remembering you from half a decade ago.
I couldn’t even believe thatIremembered meeting Nathan half a decade ago. Hemingway College had an alumni event I ended up working at. I had picked up some catering shifts because the cooks in the HC Cafe liked me and knew I needed extra money for books that year, and I ended up serving tuna tartare to Nathan and his siblings.
It was a quick introduction, not lasting more than a handful of seconds, but Nathan and I had locked eyes. Even then, he had adorable laugh lines around his eyes, and they crinkled when he smiled at me. He had plucked a tuna tartare from my tray, never breaking eye contact as he slid it into his mouth. I watched him crunch through the wheat cracker, tracked the crumb that clung to his lip as if my whole life depended on it. I wanted to brush it from his lips, maybe put down my tray and grab him by his lapels and pull him down to me for a searing first kiss—with tongue. People would gasp at my audacity, but I wouldn’t care. Even then, Nathan was one of Hemingway’s hottest, most eligible bachelors, and to be seen on his arm would have been an honor. Maybe we would have even been married by now.
I shook myself out of my daydream and looked at my phone. Nathan had written back.
Charming123: There’s no way we’ve met before. I would have remembered you. I remember everyone I meet in this town—there are only so many people ??
Charming123:Or maybe we have, and my old man brain won’t let me remember ??
Charming123:Let’s exchange numbers; talking on this platform feels weird.
Charming123:You there?
Ihastened to respond.
Cinderelly369:Yes, I’m here. And yes, let’s exchange numbers.
Charming123:Great. And hey, maybe I can talk you into marrying me for convenience, pretty girl ??
My heart fluttered at the nicknamepretty girl. He hadn’t even seen me, and he thought I was pretty. It was like a dream come true, a fairytale.
We exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes, and I flopped onto the couch with my phone pressed to my chest. There was no way I was going to marry Nathan Hemingway, for convenience or love, but it was nice to imagine it.
ChapterFour
NATHAN
After the repass, I reached out to Harold and the team so they could point me to the exact section that outlined the stipulation. I read through it multiple times, just to make sure I didn’t miss some loophole that would get me out of this thing, but unfortunately, Harold was right: I had three months from the date of Mom’s death to get married. Otherwise, Zeke would take ownership of the whole estate.
Even though I had mentioned the marriage clause to Ciara, I had no expectation of her actually entertaining it. As I told her, I had already tried my luck with several other women, all of whom basically laughed in my face. I expected Ciara to do the same.
I knew it was, at best, a difficult thing to ask someone to do. So when I presented the “I need a wife” part of this to Ciara, I knew she would run for the hills. I had done my research—or as much research as I could do on a woman who had no internet presence other than her dating profile—and Ciara didn’t seem like the adventurous type. Still, she agreed to meet me for coffee the next day, Tuesday, in the morning before work.
In addition to being nervous about asking a woman to marry me, I was thrown off by the fact that I didn’t remember her. I made it a point to remember everyone I met because I didn’t want to come off as unapproachable. I detested being in what my siblings and I called the Hemingway Bubble, so I did everything in my power to be friendly. The fact that I didn’t remember Ciara bothered me.
Still, on the Tuesday morning I was to meet her, I suppressed my disquiet and rushed to HC Cafe.
The Cafe was a Hemingway College staple for students, and I had spent many a day—and night—tucked into a corner booth, studying with friends and taking espresso shots to stay awake. I had stayed local for college, feeling the pressure from my family—Mom, specifically—to be close to home. Still, it was the first time in my life that I had a taste of freedom. I stayed out as long as I wanted without worrying about curfew. I could come and go without having to answer to anyone. For a time, it was nice.
I shook myself from my nostalgia, remembering that I was here for a specific purpose: to meet my potential new wife and thus save my family from ruin—and from my weasel of a cousin.
I was so thrown that Ciara had even agreed to meet with me and hear me out, I hadn’t thought to ask for a photo, and she didn’t provide one. I had no idea what she looked like, which I knew would be a problem as I looked around the cafe. I searched the crowd of people sitting at the tables and booths, hoping to see one who seemed to be looking for someone, but no one was.
I sighed, dreading what I had to do next: go table-to-table.
I started with the one closest to me. A young woman with box braids and a bright purple T-shirt was sitting by herself and looking out the window. I approached the table, smile in place.
“Hey,” I said. “Are you Ciara Payne?”
She turned and raised her eyebrow, smiling salaciously up at me. “No, but I can be,” she purred.
I grimaced. “No, that’s okay,” I assured her. “Thanks.”
