by Penny Reid
Sure, we weren’t close, but we were friendly. At least, I thought we were. You don’t pay friends, it was the eleventh commandment, right after not coveting thy neighbor’s cow.
Thou shalt not covet cows. Oh yeah, and don’t offer to pay your friends either.
Dropping my chin, I tried not to glare at her. But I’m pretty sure I did.
“I don’t want your money. You need something, just ask.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. It’s the ABC’s of friendship, Kat.”
She looked a little startled. “We’re friends?”
Ugh. Fuck a duck.
Then she took a small step forward, and she looked hopeful.
Ugh. Fuck another duck.
“Yeah. ’Course we’re friends.” I wiped my hand across my mouth, then shoved it in my pocket.
What I didn’t say was . . . a lot.
She was twisting her fingers again, like she’d done today in the lobby. “What if I pay you—”
“How about this. Why don’t you tell me what you need first? Then we’ll discuss the money after. Okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded, her breath coming faster. “Okay, okay.” Again, I got the impression she was speaking to herself. “I can do this.”
Another spike of alarm had me wanting to touch her again, but I didn’t. From the look of it, whatever was bothering her, whatever brought her here, must’ve been a big deal.
I tried to keep the worry out of my voice, gently prodding, “Start from the beginning.”
“The story is too long. Can I just—” She paused to swallow, her eyes pleading. “Can I just tell you the end?”
“Fine, tell me the end.”
She was really freaking me out here.
“I need . . .”
“Yes?”
Her chin wobbled. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency.”
“Anything. It’s yours. Just ask. Please,” I begged.
I swear, this woman. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. She clearly had no idea the kind of power she had over me. Or maybe she did, and this torture was on purpose.
“Dan.”
“Kat.”
She reached into her pocket and took out a small velvet box. Her hands were shaking as she opened it, revealing two plain gold rings. One was thicker and bigger, obviously meant for a guy. The other was small, for a woman’s finger.
Does she want me to pawn them?
I glanced between her and the box, waiting.
“Dan. I want . . . will you marry me?”
Chapter Four
Legal Guardian: An individual who has the legal authority (and the corresponding duty) to care for the personal and property interests of another person, called a ward. Guardians are typically used in three situations: guardianship for an incapacitated senior (due to old age or infirmity), guardianship for a minor, and guardianship for developmentally disabled or mentally disabled adult.
—Wex Legal Dictionary
**Kat**
Dan was staring at me, but he wasn’t looking at me.
His eyes were unfocused and it was obvious he was looking inward. But it was in that way people do when they’re either trying to make sense of a nonsensical situation, or they’re trying to figure out how best to extract themselves from dealing with a crazy person. Or both.
My heart plummeted even though it didn’t have a long way to go. I hadn’t allowed myself to hope. Even when I’d left briefly to buy the rings, I’d done so assuming I’d be marrying Steven. Not Dan.
This had been a kamikaze mission, with the same chances of success as racking up an enormous credit card bill and expecting to pay for it by winning the lottery.
Never a solid plan.
But I’d promised Steven. What was a little humiliation in exchange for a fake marriage? I would owe Steven. I would owe him big time, a debt I’d never be able to repay. Pride would matter very little if my cousin became my guardian.
Looking at Dan’s handsome face as he stared through me, I almost laughed. The idea of him agreeing to marry me for any reason was the ultimate delusion of grandeur. Right up there with discovering I was adopted (never going to happen, I’d had two DNA tests already . . . just to be sure); or winning a Nobel Peace Prize for knitting; or learning Doctor Who was real and I would be the next plucky companion; or finding out cheese had no calories.
Ridiculous.
I did laugh. At myself. A small, breathy little laugh. Not a hysterical laugh. I didn’t laugh hysterically. I was always very careful to never do anything in a hysterical way.
At my laugh, his stare refocused on me, but his expression was unreadable. “When would this need to happen?”
I gave him a tight smile. “Forget I—”
“I’m guessing as soon as possible?”
“A month ago wouldn’t be too soon.” Whoa. Was that my voice?
I sounded impressively calm, even for me. But then, I was calm. Why wouldn’t I be? The hard part was over.
Thank him for his time, and then leave.
“Okay, well—”
“Shh.”
I reared back an inch. “Shh?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but thought better of it, and instead turned to grab my coat.
“What are you doing?” He glanced between my jacket and me, his expression shaded with irritation. “I’m trying to think here. Hold still.”
Again, I opened my mouth to respond. Before I could, he invaded my space, gripped my shoulders, and walked me three steps to his couch.
Dan guided me to a sitting position. “Stay there.”
“Dan—”
“I know a guy.” He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze, his eyes wide and serious.
But his mouth was not serious. It hooked subtly to one side and—entranced—I stared at his lips.
Stop staring at his lips and listen to his words.
What was he suggesting?
Was he suggesting . . .
Did he know someone who he thought would want to marry me? Perhaps some gentleman who was a professional marry-er? Whose job it was to marry desperate heiresses, perchance?
“You know a guy?” My voice cracked.
Dan didn’t answer, but his subtle smile turned into a real one as he straightened and then pulled his phone from his pocket.
I thought I heard him mutter, “He’ll do it.”
Twisting the hem of my coat, I struggled to speak through my panic.
And, being honest here, it wasn’t just panic I was feeling—about Eugene’s phone call, about having to ask Dan to marry me, about everything—it was also a little hurt. I knew Dan had moved on from any romantic feelings he may have had for me years ago. He’d moved on in a big way.
But his enthusiastic willingness to have me marry this guy he knew hurt my nutty, neurotic little heart. It didn’t make sense; it was especially wackadoodle that I had any anxiety to spare over hurt feelings considering my present dire circumstances. But there it was.
“Dan, I appreciate—”
Dan held up a finger. “Luis. This is a secure line? Good. I’m calling in the favor.”
Calling in the favor? What had Dan done for this guy? Donated sperm? A kidney? Bone marrow?
Unable to sit still, I stood and placed a staying hand on Dan’s elbow. His gaze flickered to mine and he slid his arm back, entwining our fingers. He brought the back of my hand to his chest, just over his heart.
My stomach did a somersault. I tried to ignore it and mostly succeeded.
“Listen, I need a marriage certificate backdated to a month ago. Don’t worry about—what was that?”
I stood close enough to hear the man on the other side of the call ask, “Is the couple married yet?”
“No.”
“Will they get married?”
“Yes. But it needs to look like it already happened.”
“No problem, man. I’ll n
eed social security numbers, passport if you have it, birth certificate, current address, and a few other things. I’ll send you a list.”
Dan released a breath, giving me a quick smile. “Great. Give me the list and I’ll pull it together.”
I couldn’t keep up. I also couldn’t form thoughts and words now that he was holding my hand and pressing it to his chest. We were standing so close, he smelled so good, and apparently I was married a month ago.
“So how real does this need to look?” the man named Luis asked.
“Airtight.” Dan gave me a meaningful nod, his eyes sober. “As real as you can make it.”
“We have cameras at the courthouse. Your couple needs to come tomorrow and get the certificate. Then come back later, maybe next week, and see the officiant. Make sure you’re wearing different clothes. We can splice the tape to a month ago and change the time stamp.”
“We’ll do that.”
“Mr. Lee will officiate. He always wears the same damn suit every day.” Luis chuckled. So did Dan.
I did not chuckle. I didn’t understand what was happening.
“We’ll make it look like they came in to get the certificate and then waited until the next day to get married. Video evidence should take care of any doubt about the legitimacy of the date.”
“Great. I owe you one.”
“No, man. I still owe you ten. I’ll text the list. Have them come see me tomorrow, we’ll get it sorted.”
After short salutations, Dan ended the call and gathered a deep breath. He stared at his phone’s screen for a long moment, like he was deep in thought.
I stopped breathing. I was having one of those out-of-body experiences people spoke of. Nothing made sense.
What just happened?
“Dan,” I ventured, my voice sounding very far away to my own ears.
His name on my lips drew his eyes to mine. I glanced at my hand where he held it pressed to his chest. He followed my eyes, then released me, giving me the impression he hadn’t realized he’d taken my hand to begin with.
Stepping away, he pulled his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I’ll let Quinn know I need to skip the New York trip tomorrow morning, but Betty can reschedule that. Then we’ll need to find a day next week. I go to London tomorrow afternoon. We can change that flight to leave from Chicago, but I won’t be back until next Thursday. I guess Friday could work . . . ”
“Dan.” I wasn't going to let my brain draw any conclusions that weren’t independently and explicitly verified by the man standing in front of me. I would not allow myself to go there. I would not. I will not.
“And I just had that suit made,” he continued thoughtfully. “What size is your finger?”
“Dan.” My voice was even further away now, and I could barely hear it over the beating of my heart.
“Yeah?” He glanced at me, biting his bottom lip, his hands on his hips.
“I’m sorry, but who am I marrying?”
His eyebrows jumped and his eyes widened to their maximum diameter. “Me, of course.”
A short breath of wonder escaped my lungs, my knees not quite steady, as tears of ALL THE FEELINGS stung my eyes. I covered my mouth with a shaking hand and stared at him.
And then I lost control.
Rather, for the first time in a very long time, I ceded control to emotion and instinct. Launching myself at him, I encircled his neck with my arms and held tight. He felt like a life raft. Like a strong, steady, safe harbor in the tempest of the last twelve hours. Or maybe in the chaos of my entire life.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Hey.” His arms came around my middle and he returned my embrace. “No big deal, okay?”
“No big deal? I cannot thank you enough. I owe you ten. I owe you a hundred. I owe you infinity.”
With each of my words I felt Dan stiffen a little more, until he disentangled himself from my grip and pushed me slightly away. “Kat, you owe me nothing.”
“I do. I owe you so much. Like I said, I will pay you. I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Helping you is reward enough, okay? I don’t want your money. Or anything else.”
I got the vague sense he was frowning at me now, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t see him, not really, not through the enormity of what I was feeling. It was like being pardoned.
He’d given me my life back—or he was about to—my safety and my freedom.
How could he not see?
I owed him everything.
Dan was too tired to discuss any details—he looked exhausted—so I insisted we save the long conversation for another time.
Dan, in turn, insisted on driving me home. He used one of Cypher Systems’s company cars and brought Wally along for the short ride. During the drive, we decided to meet at the County Clerk's office tomorrow, where Luis worked, after Dan’s morning meeting across town. The plan was to obtain the marriage license. Then, we’d go back next Friday late in the afternoon—once he returned from his business trip—for the ceremony, mostly just to get it on video with the Cook County judge at the Marriage and Civil Union Court.
In the meantime, Dan’s friend would make it look like we’d already done the deed a month ago.
Wally seemed content to sit in the back of the SUV at first, but as soon as Dan turned left on North Michigan Avenue, the sneak made his move. I didn’t suppress my delighted laugh at Dan’s attempt to return the dog to the back seat. My lack of inhibition was likely a by-product of enduring shock; I still couldn’t believe Dan had agreed to marry me. I just . . . I just could not believe it.
As much as possible, I encouraged Wally to lay on my lap. He was much too big to be a lapdog, so he ended up with half his body on my legs and the other half on the floor next to my feet. Dan gave us both a disapproving side-eye, but—again—I was too preoccupied to care.
I was distracted during the car ride. I was distracted as I waved goodbye, while I climbed four flights of stairs, and when I entered my studio apartment. My brain didn’t focus until I plugged my phone in to charge and checked my messages. Eugene had called and left two voicemails.
The first was to check on my progress finding a spouse.
The second was a warning.
“Kat, this is Eugene again. Caleb sent over the preliminary list of witnesses he plans to use in his petition for guardianship. I’m going to email it to you. A large percentage of the individuals are men he claims you were intimate with. A few he has noted as suppliers of illegal substances or witnesses to acts of petty crime and theft. Unsurprisingly, he also included the team of specialists who diagnosed you as bipolar when you were a teenager. One woman in particular is of concern. She alleges she sold you drugs—specifically, ecstasy and heroin—as recently as last month. More important, I need to talk to you about having your future spouse sign a prenup. I should have brought this up earlier today, I apologize for this oversight. I’ve taken the liberty of sending you an initial draft. Obviously minor changes can be made, but I advise against revising the section related to inheritance and community property. Please call me when you have a chance.”
I didn’t sleep well that night. At Dan’s apartment I’d been so focused on the miracle of him agreeing to my proposal—without explanations, without terms, without assurances—I’d been too overwhelmed and grateful to recall the reasons why I hadn’t wanted him to be the one to marry me.
I’d never touched heroin. I might have been reckless, but even at fifteen I’d been afraid of addiction. Caleb was a terrible human. If my cousin felt justified finding some woman to lie about me buying drugs last month, to ruin my life, then what would he feel justified doing to Dan?
What about Dan’s family and friends?
Could I ask Dan to do this? Should I? But if not him, then who? Could I put Steven through this torture? Ugh. I was thinking in circles. Lest I forget, very soon Dan would know almost everything about my history.
As I
tossed and turned, I reminded myself that he already knew about the drinking and some of my other choices. I’d confessed that much in Vegas, right before he walked out the door.
Soon he’ll know it all. Then he’ll change his mind.
I glanced at the clock next to my bed. It was just past two in the morning. The omnipresent weight over my heart had grown heavier. I rubbed my chest.
By the time my alarm sounded at 4:30 AM, I’d decided a few things:
1. I would not marry Dan until I felt confident I’d provided enough information for him to make a fully informed decision. He needed to understand what kind of person he was helping. He needed to know about my family. He needed to know what he could expect from Caleb. After going to the Clerk’s office this morning, I would suggest lunch so we could talk. During lunch, I would spell it all out. That would give him enough time to halt the backdating of the marriage certificate if he changed his mind.
2. Also during lunch, I would insist that I pay him for his time and trouble. But I was not going to bring up the prenup. How could I? He was putting himself on the line for me. Having him sign a prenup would be like taking out an advertisement in the Chicago Tribune and announcing that I didn’t trust him.
3. I needed to call my therapist. Whenever I began thinking in circles, I knew it was time for a check-in.
Therefore, I called my therapist first thing and left a message. Next, I messaged Eugene and informed him I would need access to a large quantity of liquid assets as soon as possible. On autopilot, I showered, applied makeup, and did my hair. And then I texted Steven and told him the news.
He responded almost immediately.
Steven: OOOHHHHHHHHHHHH MMMMMYYYYYYYYYYY GGGGOOOOOOOOODDDDDDD!!!!
I laughed at his antics, but he wasn’t finished.
Steven: I want all the details. Call me. And pics or it didn’t happen.
While sitting on the L, I composed a list on my phone of my most egregious sins, along with important events, dates, and people from my past. Typing the list required the entire thirty-minute train ride. When I arrived at my building, I re-read the items on the elevator, surprised when I found I’d also typed, I eat too much cheese without realizing it.