Single Dad's Bride

by Melinda Minx

  I make it through the rest of the work day, mostly trying to talk down people who have already made the mistake of buying the At Ease plan.

  Right before I leave for the day, David, my boss, walks up to me.

  “Rita,” he says.

  “Yes?”

  “I talked to a customer this afternoon. He said he was very pleased with your service.”

  I smile. “Really? That’s great.”

  He sucks air in through his teeth. “He told me that he was dead set on the At Ease plan, but you talked him out of it.”

  “Uh—”

  “I know you personally may not like the plan,” he says, “but the low monthly premiums are a huge selling point, and if a customer has already decided—”

  “It’s a terrible plan,” I blurt out. “Everyone here knows it.”

  He scowls at me. “Your sales numbers are low across the board, and at this point, I just don’t see the need to keep you on board.”

  “What?” I ask, suddenly feeling ill.

  “We’re, uh, going to need to part ways with you, Rita.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “Letting you go.”

  This snake can’t even be honest about firing me.

  “I’ll sell the crappy plan, I’ll—”

  “Sorry, Rita. It’s done. The paperwork is signed, I’m just letting you know.”

  He turns and starts to walk away from me, but when I get up to follow him, two security guys materialize out of nowhere. They “help” me pack the stuff up from my cubicle, and before I know it, I’m in the parking lot with a box of junk and no job.

  As if being fired wasn’t bad enough, there’s an eviction notice taped on my front door when I get home.

  I tear it off, march down the hall, and knock furiously on my landlord’s door.

  “Rita,” he says. “You here to pay the rent?”

  “I thought I had another month!” I blurt out.

  “You do,” he says. “But I have to give you notice of eviction in advance.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “So you going to pay all the back rent you owe?”

  My next—and last—paycheck should give me enough money to pay one month’s rent. I owe for three. I was hoping to sell more insurance plans over the next few months to make up for it. So much for that.

  “Uh,” I say. “I can get you the first month’s rent in two weeks—”

  “Rita,” he says. “I don’t want to evict you, but I need the money. If you’re not going to be able to pay, you should start looking for a new place now. Would your parents—?”

  I laugh. “Forget it.”

  3

  Deacon

  Aidan motions for me to sit down.

  “Just tell me,” I say.

  “Look,” he says. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, so you have to keep this under wraps, alright?”

  “Alright.”

  “I’m friends with a court recorder,” he says. “And she happened to be in the room with your in-laws and Judge Lawson this morning.”

  “You fucking serious?” I shout. “This is gonna bury them, we can—”

  “Shh,” Aidan hisses. “I told you, man, you cannot tell anyone. It will be my ass if you do. In fact, what I just said is not true, I was pulling your leg.”

  He winks.

  I roll my eyes. “Right. So, based on your sudden moment of insight, what do you suggest I do regarding custody of my daughter?”

  “Well,” Aidan says. “I believe strongly that Judge Lawson would be completely convinced that Elsie should stay with you under one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “If you have a wife.”

  I scoff. “What? Are you kidding me? Stacy has only been gone for three years, I—”

  “Three years is a long time, Deacon. A wholesome wife, not one of your inked-up girls…you sure sleep around a lot for someone whose wife just died.”

  A wholesome wife? What the fuck? Do I even know a girl that’s not covered in tattoos? And who is he to judge me? Fucking a girl from the bar or the shop is totally different than marrying one. And marrying a wholesome one? What the fuck is that?

  “I’ll think about it,” I say. “I can start hanging out at fucking Starbucks, or—”

  “There’s no time to think, Deacon,” he says. “You have one month. My sudden burst of insight tells me that Elsie will be taken away from you in thirty days if you do not have a wife by then. If you do get married, the hearing can be delayed, and you’ll have more time to make a good impression on Lawson.”

  “You’re one hundred percent on this?”

  Aidan nods.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” I slam my fist into the table. “You got a wife for me, Aidan? You do a bunch of shady shit, you can probably find some—I dunno—like a Russian mail-order bride, or—”

  “No,” Aidan says. “It has to look legit. Mail-order bride or any fake shit like that, and Lawson will see right through it. It can be fake, but it needs to look real. You get it?”

  Fuck. I need a wife. And I need a wife now. I just hope Stacy can forgive me.

  4

  Rita

  “Anna!” I shout. “I need a place to stay, and I need a place to stay now! I hope you can forgive me for imposing like this, but seriously, I’ll be out on the street!”

  Anna sips at her wine, looking me over. “What about your parents?”

  “My parents.” I sigh. “Why does everyone suggest my parents? I’m twenty-six years old! How can I live with my parents at that age?”

  “I mean…” Anna says, “it’s not like you can afford to be choosy here.”

  “My parents are very practical. They flew off the handle when I decided to major in art history—”

  “Maybe you should have listened…”

  I shove her, just a little bit. “Come on, Anna, you’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Sorry,” she says, smiling. “I did buy you these drinks, friend.”

  I take a long swig of wine. “My parents are trying to set me up with this guy. He’s rich. They have no faith in me, Anna! They think my only hope at this point is to marry some rich asshole.”

  Anna laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Rich asshole,” she says. “I was going to suggest you could stay with me for a while...at least until you get another job.”

  “Don’t you live with Deacon?”

  Anna smiles. “Exactly, a rich asshole. The offer is open if you want to take it, but I know that you two can’t stand each other.”

  I shudder. How desperate am I, exactly? Maybe I can find another job in the next few days—one that doesn’t pay based on commission. Something stable and regular, then I could show my landlord that I was making money and would be able to pay the back rent, and he’d let me stay.

  “Well?” Anna asks.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She laughs. “Deacon annoys you that much?”

  I know that Deacon and Anna are close, so I don’t want to sound too rude. Deacon does annoy the shit out of me, but I’d prefer to not say that so explicitly.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, Elsie is there, and you’re there, and—”

  “It’s a big house,” Anna says. “He’s rich.”

  “A rich tattoo artist,” I say, scoffing.

  “He’s the best,” she says. “And seriously, he’s not that bad once you get to know him. You should know him well enough by now, you’ve kind of, sort of known him for years, Rita.”

  He always teased me while we were growing up. Whenever I was over to see Anna, Deacon would make some asshole remark about my clothes, or my hair, or anything else he could poke fun at. It didn’t help that he was so fucking hot. Not that I’d ever go for a guy like that. I was always into the more wholesome type of guy—the one with the letterman jacket and gelled hair. Not the leather jacket and stubble.

  But he was hot—is still hot—and every time I saw
him, I got nervous and thrown off guard. That made his teasing me so much worse, because it hurt my self-confidence, and it made me realize just how out of my league he really was.

  Once we were all grown up, I figured he’d chill out, but he still did pretty much the same kind of shit whenever he saw me. It became a bit more subtle, of course. For example, when I came over to see Anna wearing a new outfit, he’d just say something like, “You’re not supposed to wear a bra with that top, Rita.”

  Stacy and Anna would defend me, and then Deacon would get this obnoxious smirk on his face as I burned red.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Anna says.

  “I’m not begging. You offered.”

  “Right,” she says. “Elsie is really cute, too. And she likes you.”

  5

  Deacon

  Anna finally comes home around 11:30 at night. I’ve put Elsie to bed hours ago, and I’m just pacing back and forth when Anna walks in.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asks.

  “I met with Aidan.”

  “And?”

  “I need to find a wife.”

  Anna laughs. “A wife? Are you joking?”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and look at her, deathly serious. “I wish I was joking, Anna. I need to find a wife. Now. I’ve got a month.”

  She makes me tell her the whole story. I don’t tell her the part about the court recorder, just in case she accidentally spills the beans, but I make it clear that Aidan knows it’s a sure thing.

  “A wholesome wife?” Anna says, laughing. “Where the hell is Deacon Shepherd going to find a wholesome anything?”

  I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You just had a biker war outside your shop, and—”

  “A biker war?” I scoff. “Come on, Anna, it was a scuffle! Even the cop used that word.”

  “You better sign up on some dating sites—”

  “Like Tinder?” I ask.

  Anna rolls her eyes. “That’s a hook-up site, Deacon. Maybe you can find one of those Christian dating sites. There should be lots of wholesome women on there—”

  “Shit!” I hiss, not wanting to risk waking up Elsie. “Don’t you have a friend or something? Someone you can set me up with—tell her it’s not a real marriage, of course, but she’d have to sell it and make it look real. One of your nurse friends? I’ll pay someone to be my wife, but I’d have to launder the money if it’s a lot.”

  Anna is an ER nurse. It definitely sounds like a wholesome job, to me at least. Any of her co-workers would probably be fine.

  “Most of my co-workers are married,” Anna says. “And you know I don’t have many friends.”

  I sigh. “If you didn’t hang out with Rita all the time, you could actually meet some interesting people. Expand your horizons—”

  “Don’t put it on me! It’s not my fault you suddenly need a pretend wife, Deacon. And Rita is great, it’s not my fault you’re always acting like an ass toward her.”

  “Rita,” I say. “She’s so…”

  We both look at each other.

  “Wholesome,” I mumble. “She’s...boring...and uptight, and—perfect!”

  Anna laughs. “She can’t stand you, Deacon.”

  “She doesn’t have to marry me for real,” I say. “Tell her I’ll pay her.”

  “I actually just offered to let her stay here for free—”

  “You what?”

  “She got evicted,” Anna says. “It’s okay, right?”

  “Sure,” I say. “If she agrees to marry me. Go ask her for me.”

  “Go ask her yourself!” I snap. “You’re going to need to—like—interact with her, talk to her, and spend time with her if you’re married. You can’t send me to talk to her for you.”

  “Pretend to be married,” I say.

  “What about it is fake?” Anna asks. “You will actually have to get legally married to convince the judge, right?”

  “She doesn’t have to fuck me,” I say. “Or touch me at all, not that she’d even want to.” I laugh, thinking of Rita Riela so much as hugging me. It’s a funny—and impossible—mental image.

  “You sure you can’t ask her for me?” I say, trying one last time.

  “I’m sure!” Anna snaps.

  “All right,” I say. “I hope she’s still awake.”

  I grab my helmet and head for the door.

  “You’re going to see her now? It’s almost midnight.”

  “So?”

  “Jesus, Deacon,” she says. “Can you please promise me that you will be nice to her? If you want her to agree to this crazy plan, you need to at least be nice to her. Show her you’re not actually an asshole.”

  “Alright,” I say. “Nice. I can do nice.”

  I go into the garage and get on my bike.

  I know where Rita lives because Anna and Elsie go over there sometimes together to visit. I can’t believe she got evicted. That’s what she gets for majoring in art history.

  I remind myself not to mention her poor choice of a college major. I usually mention it when she’s complaining about her latest shitty job, but I’ll make a point not to mention it this time. I need her to actually like me now, for the first time in my life.

  I get to her place just before midnight. I knock on the door to her apartment and wait.

  6

  Rita

  There’s a loud pounding at the door. I suddenly feel scared. Who the hell would be knocking on my door so late? Anna just left, and she’d have called if she was coming back.

  I’m wearing a long t-shirt with no bra and pajama pants, and my hair is a tangled mess. I decide right away that I’m not going to open the door unless I know who it is, so I don’t even bother to put on some more clothes. I just go to check through the peephole.

  I see the last person I expected: Deacon Shepherd.

  Without even thinking, I tear the door open and look up at him in stunned amazement.

  He’s like six-foot five, so I have to look way up just to meet his eyes. He’s wearing a tight Henley under a leather jacket. The outlines of his muscles are evident on his wide chest, visible beneath the undone buttons, and the skin I can see is covered in ink. His arms are huge, even covered by the jacket, and he’s got that same insufferable half smirk he wears by default. His blue eyes look down at me, and he forces a smile.

  I take in his stupid chiseled cheekbones and dimples, his stupid manly stubble, and his perfect white teeth, and I cross my arms.

  I suddenly remember I’m not even wearing a bra. I look down to see my nipples poking out through the thin fabric of my shirt. I move my arms up to cover them.

  “I wasn’t looking at those,” he says.

  I scoff. “Are you serious? What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you wanted to crash at my place,” he says.

  “Anna’s place,” I correct.

  “No,” he says. “I’m pretty sure my name’s on the deed. It’s my place.”

  “Well,” I snap, “Anna invited me.”

  “You gonna invite me in?”

  “You’re coming here at midnight, asking to be invited in. You sure you’re not a vampire?”

  “Huh?” he says, arching an eyebrow.

  “You never watched Buffy?”

  “I’m coming in,” he says, and steps in, brushing my arm as he passes by me.

  I guess he’s not a vampire because I never actually invited him in.

  He takes off his jacket, and I find my eyes involuntarily locking in on his bulging biceps. Then he bends down to adjust his jacket on the chair, and I can’t help but check out his ass.

  Why? Why do I have to find this jerk so attractive? It’s such a curse.

  “So,” Deacon says, pacing back and forth, “I’ve got this crazy proposition for you, Rita, and I know you’re going to think I’m just messing with you—or playing a prank.”

  My arms are still crossed, keepi
ng my nipples covered. I need to go get a sweater. “I’ll be right back. The prank can wait a few minutes, right?”

  “It’s not a prank,” he says, as I walk off.

  I pull a big sweater on over my head, and then I quickly check myself in the bathroom mirror. There’s a mustard stain on the corner of my mouth. I sigh and wipe it off with some water.

  Then I run a comb through my hair a few times. It’s not fair that Deacon looks so good, forcing me to feel like a slob by comparison.

  I head back into the kitchen. “So what’s your crazy plan?”

  “Oh, uh,” he says, still pacing. “Sorry, by the way, about your eviction.”

  Sorry? When does Deacon Shepherd say sorry to me for anything?

  “Did Anna tell you to be nice to me?” I ask.

  He stops pacing and looks up at me, wide-eyed. So, yes, she did. But at least he’s doing it. He must really actually want something from me. He runs a hand nervously through his dark hair.

  “Rita,” he says. “I’m going to lose Elsie in a month. Stacy’s parents are going to take her from me, and there’s only one way I can keep her. Otherwise I’d never ask this of you—trust me, I really never would.”

  “Ask what?”

  “I need you to marry me—”

  I burst out laughing.

  My luck with men has been so piss poor. I don’t exactly agree to the idea of sleeping with a man on the third date, which by modern standards agree is considering being “cautious” or “slow.” No...I don’t even want to sleep with a guy unless I think there’s a good chance of him being serious, and in the past six years, there’s only been one guy like that. He turned out not to be serious, of course.

  I’d pretty much taken marriage off the table for myself. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing about some romantic proposal, of course. An airplane writing “Marry me, Rita,” in the sky, or a trail of rose petals leading into a bedroom illuminated by candles, or—