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I wipe my thumb under my lower lip. "You're single. And when I had you investigated, I realized who you were."
"So, all the pieces fell together," she says flatly.
"It seemed the logical next step. You’ll have to sign a contract, of course."
"I… I do?"
I nod. "Only you and I will know the real state of this marriage. To everyone else, we decided to get married because we’re in love."
"So we met, and you decided I was the one, and we got married within a week?" She scoffs.
"When you know, you know." The words come out with more certainty than I intended. And for some reason I believe it, too.
She must, too, for her eyes widen. "You sure you used to be a priest and not an actor?"
I tilt my head. "A priest has to be an actor to take the pulpit, and an actor might well be a priest when he’s on screen."
"How do you mean?"
"An actor is the mirror of the audience’s desires. He or she accepts it without judgement, and in turn, grants them absolution."
She searches my features and hers soften. "Also a poet."
I hold her gaze and ensure my own are steely. "You must be mistaken."
She looks at me a second longer, then nods. "I must be."
I reach for my phone and message a number, then slide it back into the pocket of my suit. "The contract is for everything I outlined, including a non-disclosure agreement. Everything I’ve told you today is confidential."
"So you don’t trust me?" She scoffs.
"I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?"
"Only because I happened to be convenient. Not to mention, you had leverage over me." She wraps her arms about her waist.
"The NDA is a deterrent. So, if you’re tempted to tell your friends, it will stop you."
She jerks her chin up, and I take in the guilt in her eyes.
"It’s normal for you to want to consult with someone else on this, but I’m afraid I can’t allow that."
"You can’t?"
I shake my head. "Time is of the essence. As is the timing. I understand it’s all sudden, but you need to trust me on this."
"How can I trust you when you used my father’s circumstances to coerce me into a wedding?"
"You can leave, of course."
"We both know that’s not an option." Her lips turn down. Her eyes grow haunted.
I want to go over and pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. But that would be lying. And I don’t say anything I don’t mean.Also, why am I so affected by her?All the more reason to get through this sham of a wedding, make sure my grandfather and half-siblings believe in the veracity of my marriage, and then I can get on with my life.
There’s a knock on the door, and a suited man walks in. He looks between us, then places an envelope in front of me. I nod, and he leaves.
She stares at the envelope with a look of apprehension. "What’s that?"
“The agreement outlining our marriage of convenience.” I pull a pen from the inside pocket of my jacket, then slip a sheaf of papers from the envelope and slide them over to her.
