Legally in Love Boxed Set 1

by Jennifer Griffith

  Dinner. It could be a business dinner.

  Piper could ignore his smoldering stare and pick his brain on immigration law. It was perfect. Chad wouldn’t mind, as it would be a working dinner, and she’d get dinner, maybe a little stimulating conversation, possibly some free legal advice, let Zach know her heart was otherwise engaged, and boom.

  Done.

  However, just as she was about to slip her phone back into her purse and let this situation ride, her moral compass stopped spinning in wild circles and started working again after it had been attacked by the huge, twin magnets of fear of deportation to the land of fake plastic feet with hair and—she admitted it—blinding attraction to Zach Travis, champion of wait staff.

  Accepting a dinner invitation on the brain-picking premise amounted to nothing more than using him. Not nice. If it was on any other premise, it amounted to sneaking around behind Chad’s back. Not nicer.

  With a sigh of resignation, she lifted her finger again to hit send, but a new text came in just then—from Zach.

  Zach: No pressure. I swear. I just want to have dinner with you. There’s something I’d like to run past you, a possible business arrangement.

  Business! Well, now. If in his mind this dinner was about business, then booyah, problem solved. Relief danced in her stomach. This text was like a last-second pardon from a Governor before the executioner pulled the switch on Texas’ famous “Old Smokey” electric chair.

  In two seconds she’d typed a replacement text and fired it off.

  Piper: I’ll be waiting in front of Du Jour.

  ∞∞∞

  Zach gave a silent victory punch into the air above the glass case of the Zales diamond counter.

  “What’s the green gemstone called again?” he asked the salesman, who answered in a snooty tone fitting for a jewelry store in the lobby of five-star Hotel Contessa.

  “Demantoid. It’s a rare, Russian stone. Green garnet. Highly valued.”

  “Demantoid,” Zach repeated, nodding. Yeah. Perfect. Perfection.

  “Will this be cash or credit?”

  After one last glance at the gem that matched Piper’s eye color as closely as he could find, Zach snapped the lid shut on the velvet box. Either she was going to make his day or else he was blowing a lot of money on nothing. Places like this didn’t take returns.

  “Cash.”

  Chapter Six

  Piper kicked off her cute-but-impractical shoes before she even walked through her apartment door. Her feet blessed her, even if her conscience was screaming cheater.

  Worse, she glanced down at the mail pile that had collected at the base of the door. Dang it. Still no vinyl album in the mail. And Birdie’s birthday was today. Piper’s shoulders fell.

  First deportation, now no Neil Diamond. What was this world coming to?

  Someone behind her cleared a throat. “Hey, there.” The deep voice startled her, and she clutched her chest, swinging around.

  “Chad–you surprised me.” Chad stood on the threshold behind her. He must have come up the stairs right after she did. His shoes had those spring soles for gym nimbleness, not a spiked heel like hers, so she hadn’t heard him. “I didn’t expect you.” She let out her breath, her mind instantly shooting to the text she’d just sent to Zach Travis about meeting for dinner. Guilt sent a heat wave to her face.

  “I bring a peace offering.” He pressed a bouquet of daisies with the tips dyed blue into her grasp.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Chad.” She held them up to her nose, but they didn’t have a lot of scent. Chad smiled that cute sheepish grin of his, scratching the back of his neck, apologies all over his face.

  “Aw, you know I’ve been hyper-focused lately, what with the office and the tournament, and I owed you one. One dozen, I mean.”

  There looked to be more than a dozen daisies in the bunch, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you. They’re sweet.” Then his words sank in. “Tournament?”

  He followed her into the kitchen where she put the daisies into a yellow crockery-ware vase. Blue and yellow always looked good together.

  “It’s that trip to Costa Rica. I told you about it.” He’d mentioned Costa Rica a couple of times, but she’d assumed it was another sales trip for the accounting firm he worked for. Too much excitement sparked in his eyes for accounting, though. “It’s going to be amazing. Completely unbelievable. The best mixed martial arts fighters in the hemisphere. It’s going to blow the lid off the sport. I can’t believe I got invited.”

  “That’s amazing. That’s going to be incredible to watch.” Piper couldn’t help but be a little bit impressed. Even though he’d only been going to Maxx Impact for a few weeks, Chad had already wedged himself into the scene—enough so, apparently, that he’d been invited to go watch a big fight in Central America. Wow.

  “Right?” He went on about the tournament and the hotel he was going to be staying at and the side-trip helicopter tour of a volcano he’d booked. “I really wish you’d change your mind and come with me.”

  Change her mind? She hadn’t realized she’d said no.

  Piper opened her mouth to point out that she hadn’t been asked and therefore hadn’t needed to change her mind, since it wasn’t made up. Then she shut it when she recalled the sixty reasons why there was no way she could go, the biggest being Du Jour, open for lunch Monday through Friday. Sure, her weekends were always her own, but until they were doing well enough to hire an excellent sous chef, Piper’s weekdays in San Antonio were non-negotiable.

  But the even bigger reason loomed: she had no citizenship documentation. In fact, if she left, they might not let her back into the U.S., and then what would Mitzi do? Cry into her leftover borscht, spilling tears onto her bankruptcy paperwork? No one should have to declare bankruptcy at the tender age of twenty-six.

  “I can’t think of any way to make that work.” She gave a sad, apologetic grin. It seemed like lately all she and Chad were doing was apologizing. “Sorry. I’ll just have to cheer for the champs with you from afar.”

  Chad heaved a sigh and tugged a bottled water from the fridge.

  “Yeah.” He unscrewed the cap and drank three-fourths of the bottle in one long pull. Piper watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall with each chug. Her eyes strayed to his biceps, tight against his Nike spandex shirt. Chad had very good biceps, thank you very much.

  Who was she kidding? Nobody had better biceps than Chad. Not even Zach Travis—whose biceps she definitely shouldn’t have noticed, or recalled while she was talking to Chad. Her boyfriend.

  Besides, with luck, and perseverance, and faith-and-trust-and-pixie-dust, maybe before he left for Costa Rica she’d be calling those Chad-biceps her very own.

  “Chad?”

  “Yeah, babe?” He tossed the water bottle conscientiously into the recycling bin. “I know I blew you off when I was doing sets yesterday, and that wasn’t cool.” He took her over to her blue gingham-checked couch and sat, putting an arm around her. “I’m all ears now.”

  His bicep nestled against the nape of her neck, but it didn’t comfort her like it usually would. She bit her lip and tugged a throw pillow against her chest to hug.

  Now that he’d become all ears, she didn’t know how to frame her request. Did she really have to tell him the whole truth? That she’d been living a lie all these years, committing fraud to get jobs and apply for and graduate from college? Caution told her no, what Chad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Her criminal history overview could be dribbled out on a need-to-know basis.

  Ration the information. She’d begin with the most relevant details.

  “Remember how I told you that my parents had moved?”

  “Australia. Yeah. I’ve always wanted to try wallaby stew. Can you make that at your restaurant sometime?” New Zealand, Australia—he at least had the right hemisphere. No sense getting technical for now. Besides, telling him that wallabies weren’t any kind of delicacy would get her on a tangent.<
br />
  “It turns out, my mom and dad—”

  “Are dwarves. Yeah, I’m right there with you in deep concern.” He made a cracking sound and pointed at his rib cage over his heart, thumping it, as if to show solidarity in rescuing them. “What are you thinking? Intervention? Those would be pretty hard to stage over Skype. The person could just sign offline too easily.”

  An intervention wasn’t the worst idea, but he had to know this fun fact right now: “As of about four weeks from now, I wouldn’t need to stage it over Skype.”

  “You’re finally getting an iPhone? Babe! You can use FaceTime with me!” He threw both his arms around her and kissed her right on the mouth. The kiss moved to her neck, where he said, “We can get matching cell cases. It’ll be almost like we’re taking a major relationship step toward each other. It’ll be romantic.”

  This was, actually, a weirdly romantic idea. Romance in the Twenty-First Century was so broken.

  “I’m not getting an iPhone,” she finally said when he let her come up for air.

  He gave her a puppy-dog-eyed frown.

  “Aw, babe. So instead, can we take another relationship step forward? You’ve been hinting…” And then he hinted by sliding the palm of his hand over her navel and pressing it onto her stomach. “I’ve been waiting, like you asked.”

  She gave a little nervous laugh and edged away from the pressure of his hand. He’d tried insisting on moving the physical relationship faster when they first started dating last fall, but when she’d explained her wait-’til-marriage policy, he’d given her space. Not that he didn’t try to push the envelope from time to time, like now, but his respect for her standards made her respect him in return.

  His reticence and patience were probably why they were still together.

  “You know I’m not trying to tease or torture you.” She brushed her knuckles against the curve of his ear. “In fact, there’s a chance I’ll be ready—more than ready. Soon.”

  His face went Fourth of July. “Are you being serious right now? How soon?” He started tugging his t-shirt upward as if to remove it, flashing his chiseled abdominal muscles at her. They could have been a Michelangelo carving.

  “Whoa, there.” She tugged his shirt back down to put the brakes on that temptation. “I’m talking about something a lot bigger than that.”

  He sniffed. “Ha. Bigger.”

  “I mean…more permanent.”

  Now it was Chad’s turn to pull back. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Was she? Her mouth filled with crumbled dry leaves. But she nodded and at last said, “Let’s just say, I’ve never wanted to marry you more than I do today. If you’re game, I’m totally up for a shotgun wedding.”

  Chad pulled a wry smile. “Uh, I think you might have forgotten the meaning of that phrase. But, of course, if not, then…” He started tugging his shirt up again and went for her neck.

  “Chad!” Honestly, she had forgotten the connotation of that phrase—the father of the defiled daughter holding the shotgun to the back of the defiler-turned-reluctant-groom. “Okay, okay. No shotgun.”

  She wriggled away from his grasp, suddenly needing a drink of water from the sink. However, he chased her around the kitchen until he caught her and kissed her better than he’d kissed her since they first started dating.

  A few minutes later, she got out a carton of cherry chip ice cream and two spoons. Handing Chad one, she said, “After that little session, I’m thinking the sooner the better.”

  “So, like Christmas?”

  Huh? Christmas was still months away. She hadn’t told him about the deadline. Sure, he definitely deserved to know, and she’d meant to tell him, but they’d veered into conversational drivel instead.

  “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  A wicked gleam lit his eye.

  “Oh, so the make-out was that good, eh?” With a low chuckle, he darted forward and ate the bite of ice cream off her spoon, then kissed her some more. “I’m game.”

  After gently taking the carton of ice cream away he hoisted her into his arms, settling her on the kitchen counter.

  “I like pretend games. Here.” From the utensils stand on her counter he selected a whisk and brandished it. “This is the preacher.”

  He was pretty cute when he was teasing her. It was moments like this that sparked the little flame in her that reminded her why she had liked having Chad as a boyfriend.

  Chad affected a solemn voice, “Do you, Piper Quinn, take this man, Chad Floyd, to be your husband?” Whispering he said, “I left out lawfully wedded, since he’s just a whisk and not licensed to perform a marriage.” He winked, and suddenly Piper realized why he was going through these motions. His pretend game was intended to have a real culmination, or so he apparently expected.

  “Actually, Chad—”

  “Yes. Piper says yes. I do.” He went on. “Chad Floyd, do you take Piper…” He continued through the little play-act, and Piper let him finish while she formulated the proper words for expressing what she had in mind.

  “All righty then!” The naughty glint returned to his eye. “Now that the ceremony is official, kick your shoes off, babe. I’ll carry you over the threshold and—”

  “Chad.” He could stop right there! “I’m actually being serious.”

  “Oh, believe me. So am I.” He started pressing her hair back behind her ear. “And I see you’ve already kicked off your shoes, and since nobody really knows what a threshold is, I’m for dispensing with any other formalities and…”

  “Chad.” Piper was going to have to put the brakes on this, no matter how fun. Her future was on the line, as was Mitzi’s whole life savings. “I’m putting my shoes back on. The Bexar County Courthouse is a ten-minute walk from here. Let’s get the marriage license. There are three churches between here and the courthouse—St. Mary’s, San Fernando, and, uh, some other saint. Or maybe it’s a Baptist church.” She was on her feet and tugging him upward. “I know you said Christmas, but I’m ready now. Let’s make this happen.”

  “I love that you’re ready now.” Chad’s phone buzzed. “So much.”

  He pulled her close. His arms were strong. They’d protect her. She’d tell him everything on the way to the courthouse—when they were in public and he couldn’t keep trying to eat her alive.

  “Good. Then let’s get going.”

  His phone buzzed again, and then three more times in succession. Chad finally noticed it. “Whoa. What time is it?”

  Piper glanced out her window at the purpling horizon, and then at the kitchen clock. “Coming up on five.” At her words, bells from one of those aforementioned nearby churches began to chime.

  Five! Oh, blimey. It couldn’t be five already. Five meant the courthouse was closed. And with tomorrow being Saturday, they couldn’t get a marriage license until Monday morning. Chad’s impatience wouldn’t like that, but neither would Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Every day ticked down the clock to her deportation, her banishment.

  “Dude.” Chad finished reading his messages. “As much as I’d like to play out this whole game to see where it all leads—believe me, I’d love to—I’m out of time.”

  What could he possibly have that would be more important than getting married? Come on.

  “Is there an emergency?”

  “Uh, flight to Costa Rica? I’m heading out of San Antonio International at nine, and I haven’t packed yet. All my fight pants are in the laundry still. And that was Trager and Wolfgang from Maxx Impact, reminding me I have to sign all the waivers before I leave the U.S., so I’m seriously pushed for time.” Chad leaned down and kissed Piper’s forehead.

  “Wait. Fighting clothes? You’re in the tournament? You’re not just watching?”

  Chad’s arms dropped as if she’d wounded him to the very core.

  “Babe. It’s what I’ve been telling you. I was invited? I’ve been training late nights? Gotta sign waivers?”

  His disappointme
nt at her lack of listening skills showed as his posture slumped a small percentage. Piper felt terrible.

  How could she make up for it?

  “I’m sure you’ll absolutely slay them!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “And you’ll send me video, and we can text—even if we can’t TimeFace, or whatever it’s called.”

  “FaceTime.” He perked up a little. “Hey, this was fun today.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re fun. Be a good girl while I’m gone. Faithful, true, chaste, benevolent.”

  “What? Isn’t that the Boy Scout code?” Another question loomed much darker over her than the one she asked: “When are you coming back?”

  Piper caught her breath. Please say Monday. Please. This had to be a weekend trip. If it was much later than Monday, she had no backup plan. As far as she knew, ICE could come knocking on her door tonight, demanding documentation. Please say Monday.

  “Depends.”

  Ahh! The evasive answer hit her like a gut punch in the MMA ring. An elusive return date. Nothing she could count on. Sand shifted beneath her feet—quicksand.

  “Depends on…?” In her mind’s eye Piper saw one of those cartoon images where the calendar dates get torn off page by page with each passing day. It hit the thirty-day mark, and a cartoon explosion detonated the calendar, leaving her hand a black, charred mess.

  “On how well I do in the tournament. It’s a double elimination.”

  “Oh, so it’s not just a weekend thing.”

  “Weren’t you listening at all?”

  Now she felt horrible. Obviously not.

  When Chad took up this whole mixed martial arts phase two months ago, she’d been glad he was excited about a project, especially since it gave him an outlet after work while she still had a lot of restaurant prep to do. But she’d assumed it was just that—a phase.

  “Forgive me? Remember that until a second ago I was under the impression you were just going to watch Wolfgang and Trager. I had it all backwards. I was confused.”

  He softened again. “Let’s just say I’ll keep you posted every night. I don’t want to give you an end date, or I might jinx myself, you know?”