Emily laughed out loud, in genuine amusement, her eyes straying to the corner where Chris’s sister, Laura, was sitting at a table, sipping a mocha and texting on her phone.
Laura was gorgeous and built like a model, and she’d dated Paul for almost six months last year, the longest he’d ever dated anyone. For a while, it looked like he might have really fallen for her, but they’d finally broken up.
Laura was exactly Paul’s type.
Emily wasn’t.
“Well, we’ll be married, after all.”
Chris looked so upset by her tongue-in-cheek response that Emily hugged him again. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m the one that engineered this. Not him. He’s just being a good guy and helping me out.”
As if on cue, the bell on the shop door sounded, and she pulled back from Chris’s chest to see Paul entering.
As usual, everyone glanced over to acknowledge his entrance. He’d always been the center of any room he walked into.
Now, he frowned and started over to her. “What are you doing?” His eyes unerringly took in the rag in her hand and the apron she’d wrapped around her waist. “Are you working?”
“Jill had an emergency.”
“Why are you—”
Since he looked irrationally annoyed by her decision to fill in for her friend, Emily had no qualms about interrupting him. “You know Chris?”
“Sure. Laura’s brother.” Paul held his hand out and shook Chris’s hand distractedly. “There’s no reason you need to be working…”
Emily assumed he’d finished the thought, but she didn’t hear it because she walked away.
She’d never liked anyone to boss her. Not even her father.
She certainly wasn’t going to stand around and be bossed by Paul Marino.
She’d gone to the back to get some more coffee cups, dutifully ignoring Paul and his obnoxiousness. When she pushed through the door again, though, he was right there waiting.
For some reason, she felt an unexpected surge of attraction, which was ridiculous because he obviously wasn’t trying to be sexy at the moment. Mostly he looked grumpy and exasperated with his rumpled dark hair and tense jaw.
But she experienced an intense wave of attraction. Not in the old way—that distant idolization—but rather a visceral response to the masculinity he exuded.
It left her breathless. And incredibly annoyed with herself.
“You shouldn’t have to be working,” he said, as if there hadn’t been any interruption in their conversation. “Especially not now—”
“That I’m dying?” she finished tartly.
He took a breath, obviously planning to respond.
She didn’t let him. “I don’t care if you think work is somehow beneath me now I’m going to get married to you. I’ve worked all my life, and that’s not going to change now. I’m not a spoiled rich boy who lives on a trust fund and wastes his life partying, sleeping around, and jumping out of planes. This is me. This is what I do. Most people can’t lounge around all day doing nothing.”
Paul’s expression grew tighter and tighter as she spoke, and his eyes were cold and hard when she’d finished. “What have I done to deserve that?”
Emily drooped, letting out her pent breath in a rush. “Nothing. You haven’t done anything to me. I’m sorry if I was harsh.”
His mouth softened slightly. “I really wasn’t suggesting that you shouldn’t work because we’re going to get married.”
“Then why all the bossing?”
“I’m not convinced ‘bossing’ is the appropriate descriptor of my conduct just now.”
Despite herself, Emily snorted in amusement at his dry, lofty tone, even though she knew that was the response he’d been looking for.
Paul might be irresponsible and entitled, but he’d always been incredibly smart. He finished college when he was twenty and went on to get his MBA. How he managed to successfully earn his degree last month while still indulging his very wild lifestyle she couldn’t even imagine.
“Well,” Emily said, forcing down her defensiveness since it wasn’t really Paul’s fault, “It wouldn’t kill you to get a job.”
To her surprise, he didn’t laugh or shrug her comment off. “Believe it or not, I’ve been trying.”
Taken off guard, she blurted out the obvious question. “Where do you want a job?”
“Simone’s.”
Paul was neighborhood royalty not because of his father’s reputation. His mother’s family had been equally important in the community—her great-grandfather having made a fortune by starting Simone’s, a national department store chain, and her father having been savvy enough to transition to successful online retailing just in time to keep the company from going bust.
His mother had died last year, leaving all she had to her son, but he couldn’t claim most of it or his share in the company until he turned twenty-five.
Emily could hardly blame the woman for not risking everything her family had worked to achieve on a reckless bad-boy like Paul.
“What kind of job are you trying to get? Mail room clerk? Receptionist?”
The corner of his mouth turned up briefly. “I’m not expecting to be appointed CEO at twenty-three, but I’m perfectly well-qualified for some sort of position. The board just doesn’t trust me.”
“Can you blame them?”
The smile disappeared. “It’s my family’s company.”
“Yeah.” Emily thought about it for a minute, surprised and faintly pleased that Paul was actually serious about his desire to work in his mother’s company. In all the years she’d known him, he hadn’t appeared to take anything seriously. Not until recently. “Good thing the press hasn’t caught wind of that. Evil board members heartlessly shutting out grieving son from his birthright.”
Paul was leaning on the counter, but now he straightened up suddenly. His brows drew together.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. He might have said something, but Jill burst through the door just then, immediately breaking into effusive thanks for Emily.
Not wanting to leave Jill with a mess, Emily went to clear some of the plates and cups from a couple of tables. When she turned around, she realized that Laura had gone over to talk to Paul.
Actually, hang all over him would be a more accurate description. And Paul was smiling back at her.
Emily met Chris’s eyes across the room, and she knew what her friend was thinking.
Chris thought Paul was a player. Thought he’d never be faithful, never be a good husband, not even for a few months.
He didn’t realize that Emily wasn’t expecting Paul to be any such thing.
This wasn’t about fulfilling some girlish, fairytale daydream. It was simply about completing her list.
One thing Emily knew very well.
There were Lauras in the world, and there were Emilys.
The Lauras were adored by all who saw them, winning admirers and lovers by doing nothing more than flashing a smile. The Lauras married rich men and lived lives of ease and safety.
The Emilys of the world had to scrimp for every penny. Even though they were smart and nice and pretty enough, they still made it through high school without ever having a real boyfriend—since no one of interest ever asked them out. The Emilys of the world made stupid mistakes, like overhearing a mob boss’s conversation about drug trafficking and money laundering. And, being too stubborn to be intimidated into silence, the Emilys of the world ended up in ridiculously melodramatic scenarios like becoming witnesses in federal trials.
And then they contracted mysterious viruses that would kill them at eighteen.
Emily used to have daydreams like everyone else, but she’d long since given up hoping they would come true. It was fine. She’d always been self-sufficient, and she wasn’t going to start feeling sorry for herself now.
She had her list, and Paul had agreed to help her complete it. That was all the kindness she could expect from the univ
erse.
There were Lauras in the world, and there were Emilys.
The Emilys didn’t get the happy ending.
And they never got the prince.
Two
The polished middle-aged woman behind the desk glared at Paul like he was a degenerate.
It occurred to him that she might be right.
He didn’t have any difficulty reading her mind as she slanted him disapproving looks while she called back to the judge to verify Paul’s request and then searched through a stack of paperwork in her outbox.
He was an experienced twenty-three-year-old man who was taking ruthless advantage of the innocence and vulnerability of a seventeen-year-old girl without a family. The woman was likely aware of Paul’s unsavory reputation and had come to her own conclusions about his insistence on an expedited marriage license so he could marry a girl who hadn’t yet reached legal age.
While Paul was used to people questioning his moral credibility, the judgment in the woman’s eyes made him slightly uncomfortable.
He wasn’t sure he should be marrying Emily either.
Because of an overflow of pity he hadn’t been able to control, he’d agreed to her unconventional proposal. He couldn’t go back on his word now. It would crush her completely.
So he kept his expression impassive and pretended he didn’t notice the woman’s obvious censure.
He watched as she put the document she'd retrieved into a large envelope and tucked the flap under the edge instead of sealing it. “Here you are, Mr. Marino. You should have everything you need.”
He thanked her coolly and left the office, checking inside the envelope in the elevator to make sure everything was in order.
Going from proposal to marriage ceremony in three days created a lot of logistical hoops for one to jump through.
He got a phone call as he was leaving the building, and he stopped on the sidewalk to take it.
Emily was waiting in the back of the waiting car as he climbed in.
“Did you get it?” she asked, looking up from the smart phone she’d been tapping on.
He showed her the envelope. “We are now legally allowed to wed.”
“Don’t you feel special, pulling strings so you can hook up with a minor?” She grinned at him in that way she had—somehow both sunny and ironic at once.
She’d seemed depressed after her aunt died, compounded by the stress of the approaching trial. But, ever since she’d accepted she was going to die, the depression had faded. He didn’t think she was genuinely happy, but she acted almost normal—as if she was determined to live out her last days with as much good spirit as she could muster.
Paul couldn’t help but smile, the discomfort he’d been feeling earlier easing at the affirmation that this marriage was exactly what Emily wanted. After all, in a few months, she wouldn’t be alive to want anything at all.
“What was the call?” she asked, peering at his face as if she could read something in his expression.
“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.
“It seemed important, since you stood on the sidewalk for the whole phone call. And now you look like you have a happy secret.”
He gave a faint huff of amusement at her choice of words. “Actually, it was good news. They gave me a job at Simone’s, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Yeah. You gave me the idea. I threatened the board with going to the press, and they caved and gave me a position.”
“Really?” She looked almost happy for him. “What’s the position?”
“Assistant Vice President of Management.”
“What does the Assistant Vice President of Management do?”
“From what I was just told, he will evidently be the dumping ground for all tedious or impossible projects on other people’s desks.”
She seemed to hide a smile. “Oh. Well, at least it’s something.”
“Yeah. It’s definitely better than nothing.”
As his driver took them the few blocks to the law office that was handling their pre-nup, Paul checked his messages and Emily kept tapping on her phone.
She wore a skirt suit he’d seen her wear before—very likely the most professional outfit she owned—and her hair was pulled up in some sort of twist. She was very pretty, with sandy blond hair, unusually vivid blue eyes, a small, curvy figure, and an extraordinary smile.
He did think her top revealed more cleavage than was entirely necessary. Not that he was in the habit of complaining about women flashing some skin, but he’d rather not notice such things in his seventeen-year-old bride-to-be.
At least Emily looked older than her age, so most people seeing them together would probably not immediately peg him for a sleazebag.
When Emily smiled down at her phone and let out a breathy laugh, his curiosity was piqued. “Who are you texting?”
“Chris,” she told him, glancing up before she started to reply with another message.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine.” Her expression was fond as she worked on her smart phone.
Paul was silent for several minutes, since she didn’t seem to want to chat. He reflected with a good dose of irony that tomorrow he would marry a woman who would obviously rather talk to someone other than him.
How many men could say the same?
* * *
The meeting with the lawyers about the pre-nup took less than an hour. He’d asked them to draw up a simple contract in which the terms of their marriage were specified.
Paul would agree to pay for all of Emily’s living and medical expenses for the duration of her life or until the end of their marriage, as well as pay for her funeral and burial in the cemetery plot next to her father and aunt. Emily would agree to testify against Vincent Marino and would agree that her living relatives would receive no rights whatsoever to Paul’s estate after her death. There were some more standard clauses about infidelity and divorce scenarios which the lawyers insisted on including, although obviously they wouldn’t be relevant for this particular marriage.
Emily listened carefully as the entire agreement was explained to her. She asked a few intelligent questions, and she didn’t seem at all fazed by the blunt discussion of her impending death.
Since Paul already knew the details of the pre-nup, he didn’t have to pay much attention. Instead, he watched Emily, wondering what she was really thinking and how he would feel if he’d been told he had only three months to live.
Emily’s attention had been directed at the young, brunette lawyer who was explaining each item in the contract, but at one point she shifted her eyes over to Paul without warning, catching him staring at her. She cocked her head with a quizzical look as if she couldn’t figure him out.
“Remember,” she said, after a moment, “If you cheat on me you’ll have to pay up.”
The comment clearly startled the brunette lawyer, but Paul had to suppress a laugh.
He hoped her joke meant that she knew he wasn’t going to be unfaithful in their short-lived marriage. It would just feel cheap for him to cheat on a dying wife, whether or not the marriage was a sham.
Eventually, the pre-nup was signed by both parties, and Emily and Paul got up to leave, just a little behind their schedule. Paul still had to finish up several things here in the city before they boarded an international flight this evening, but things were moving as smoothly as could be expected.
Emily had to stop in the restroom before they left the offices, and Paul made a couple of calls as he waited for her near the elevators.
When he finished his second call and Emily still hadn’t emerged, he started to get a little worried. Over the last few weeks, he’d discovered that Emily didn’t take forever in the bathroom, primping and doing whatever other mysterious behavior took some women so long. So, after waiting a little while longer, he walked over to the receptionist’s desk.
The attractive woman behind the desk smiled at him warmly as he beg
an, “My fiancée has been in the restroom for a long time. Would you mind going to—”
“There she is,” the receptionist interrupted, looking over Paul’s shoulder with an expression that made it clear she’d concluded he was both cute and besotted. “Nothing to worry about.”
Paul was too relieved by Emily’s appearance to pay much attention to the receptionist’s reaction. He walked over to Emily, who had gone to stand near the elevators and was giving him a strange, narrow-eyed look.
“So I can’t even go to the bathroom without my devoted fiancé flirting with the secretaries?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t flirting. I was worried about you. Are you all right?”
“Of course. What are you talking about?”
For no reason that made any sense, Paul felt rattled and frustrated all of a sudden, and he was tempted to make a snide comment that he knew would rile her up. He bit it back, however, telling himself that no good would come from picking a fight with Emily when they were getting married the following day and she only had three months to live.
That thought made his earlier concern return, and he scanned her carefully as she reached to punch the elevator's down button.
She’d been a little pale all day, but he thought she looked even paler now. He noticed the delicate skin under her eyes was darker than it should be, and her face was dewy, as if she’d been perspiring. Since the temperature in this suite was set very low, he couldn’t believe she would have gotten too hot.
“What are you staring at?” she asked, giving him a decidedly grouchy look.
He ignored the question and reached his hand over to feel her forehead.
She jerked away from his touch before he could get a sense of how hot she was. “What the hell are you doing?”
Torn between worry and deep annoyance at her irrational behavior, Paul gritted out, “What do you think I'm doing? I’m checking on you. Do you have a fever?”
“No.” She stood a few feet away from him, breathing heavily and obviously trying to compose her expression. “I’m fine.”
Listed: Volume I Page 3