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I’ll be the one person in my family who hasn’t gone through with an arranged marriage, but at least I won’t be the only Greene not married by twenty-seven.
If I don’t fulfillthatpart of the tradition, I’ll never hear the end of it. And, worst of all, I wouldn’t receive my trust, and my chance at independence would be cut short.
The money would just be funneled back into the resorts.
“Ray.” Defeat is apparent on my mother’s face.
“Let her do this, Vivian. We took the course when we were engaged.” He clears his throat. “Don’t you remember? I believe we had quite a splendid time in those yoga bonding sessions at Lake Champlain.”
“That was ages ago.” My mother ruffles the hem of her black dress. She seems bothered by him bringing up the memory.Or is she flattered?
“How nice it would be if time could stand still,” my father sighs. “I say that she can marry Matthew if they approve her course. If not, Molly will continue with her marriage to Lance.” He turns to me. “Do you agree to those terms?”
I nod vigorously, unable to contain my excitement.
“This is a mistake,” my mother huffs. “There is no way you’re doing this.” She gathers her belongings and leaves.
“Thank you,” I whisper to my dad, who’s already returned to his phone.
The suffocating anxiety drains from my veins.
My mother thinks I’m bluffing, and I can’t wait to show her what I’m made of.
I can put on a convincing act. Never been an issue before. I played the perfect fiancée to Lance for a year. I can do it again. This time beside a man who’s selfless and kind.
Worry returns to my chest.
Matthew.
What if he’s decided to call the whole thing off?
* * *
The door swingsopen on the second knock. I blink, trying to register my shirtless coworker standing before me in a pair of gray sweatpants. A warmth melts through my body, starting at the pit of my stomach and blooming into my cheeks. I try to look anywhere but at his, um, bulge.
But I fail, oh so terribly.
My mouth waters. Yes, actually waters.
Has Matthew Hudson always had thatthingbeneath his usual pair of navy-blue trousers or khakis?
I force my eyes back up to his, but not before they glide over his very toned torso. His shoulders are burly. A chest that looks firm to the touch. Across the olive-toned skin is a smattering of hair. So manly.
My pupils probably resemble saucers. I’ve never seen a man like him up close. He’sgrown.
On Matthew’s handsome face, a round pair of glasses sits on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose.
I gulp.
Who is this man, and what has he done with the one I’ve come to know at the office?
“Hey, Mol,” Matthew sputters. “Ah, sorry about this.” He gesticulates at his hunky bare torso. The way I see it, there’s no need to apologize. I could practically lick the skin on his chest right now. “My nephew just spilled his entire soda on me. Please, come in.”
I’ve forgotten how to speak.
Sure, I’ve daydreamed about Matthew at the office on numerous occasions. I mean, how could I not? He’s literally a save-the-world hottie—a little shy with a healthy dose of nerdy.
My breath quickens. Oh my. What is happening?
