“What about mail? Won’t they think it strange I don’t get any mail delivered there? That’ll probably be the first thing they check.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t get much mail. My bills come in through e-mail, and I pay them on line as well. Everything else I get is just junk.”
“Something else for you to think about. You said ‘temporary,’ but I need a better definition of just how long you’re expecting this little arrangement to last?”
She’d been dreading this question, fearing it would be a deal-breaker, but she had to give him the answer. “The INS has rules about this sort of thing. Three years is pretty much the minimum.”
“That sounds about right, from what I’ve studied about immigration law,” he said with a nod. “Three years. That’s a long time to not play house with somebody.”
His words were playful, but Genevieve knew the meaning was not. She wished he wasn’t so charming, so good-looking, so damn sexy. And she wished she’d never drunk those rum punches at the café that night. If she hadn’t dared him to kiss her like he meant it, she’d have no idea of just how sexy he was. Now that she knew, it would be a struggle to get it out of her mind.
She chose her words carefully. “I know that’s a long time to be tied to somebody on paper, but of course you’d be free to see anyone you wish until we can safely end it.” She felt proud of the professional tone she managed to use.
“Oh, yeah? What about you?”
She met his gaze head-on and spoke from her heart. “That’s the last thing on my mind. My life has been in a state of turmoil for the last three months, Dexter. You have no idea what I’ve been through, of the choices I’ve had to make.” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment. “I believe in marriage. Real marriage, not phony relationships staged for the benefit of the INS.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d find myself in the position of having to marry an American citizen if I wanted to keep living with the freedoms I’ve always enjoyed, and this is very difficult for me.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek.
Dexter wiped it away with his fingertip. “Gen—”
She held up a hand palm out. “No. Let me finish. Dexter, while we were walking down the street I thought about your financial troubles, and it suddenly occurred to me that you were a perfect candidate for me to approach about marrying me, because I can provide something you need as well. But it has to be completely impersonal, or else it won’t work. I know something personal did happen between us last month, but we have to forget about that.” Tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice. “Please try to understand. All I want to do is try to do handle something I find shameful with as much dignity as I can, and maybe when it’s over I’ll be able to...” she trailed off.
“I understand,” he said gently. He dried her tears with a fresh napkin. “Since we’re focusing on business, how will this work? When would I get the money for school?”
“Give me your invoice. I’ll have a cashier’s check made payable to the school, and I’ll give it to you the moment we’re pronounced man and wife. Uh, which law school is that, anyway?”
“NYU.”
Genevieve felt relieved. NYU was the big league, but at least it wasn’t the Ivy League. She hoped to keep her expenditure within twenty-five thousand dollars, and it looked like she’d be able to do that.
“Gen, are you sure you can pay the tab in full, up front? It’s over seventeen grand. That’s a lot of money.”
“Are you sure it’s only one semester you need?” she countered, not wanting to tell him she’d expected his tuition to be more.
“Absolutely. This has gone on long enough. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’ve been in school or training continuously since I was five.”
“Twenty-seven years,” she calculated. “Wow. That’s my whole life.”
They smiled at each other across the table, taking pleasure in the comfort of one another’s company the way they always had. The pleasant moment aside, Genevieve felt a queasy feeling in her stomach, as if the fish of the sandwich she’d just consumed had started swimming around in there. She’d made the offer, but he hadn’t said whether or not he’d agree to it.
“Uh, Dexter?” she prompted after another thirty seconds ticked by.
“I’m thinking.”
It was taking him an awfully long time to decide, Genevieve thought impatiently exactly two minutes later. Even as she despaired, she knew she wasn’t being fair. Dexter had a lot to consider, and she’d come out of the blue with her proposition. She just didn’t feel like being patient and considerate, not after the anxiety that had consumed her since the INS had shown up at her condo.
The waitress brought him the shrimp po’ boy sandwich he ordered, just as he was finishing his brownie. He hadn’t said a word since he declared he was considering her offer, and she’d watched every spoonful he’d taken of his dessert.
She spotted a newspaper rack near the door and quickly excused herself to go purchase one. Better to peruse the Daily News rather than sit there watching Dexter eat...especially if he planned on polishing off his sandwich before making up his mind.
Chapter 10
Dexter spooned up the last of his dessert, then pushed the plate away and reached for the shrimp po’ boy sandwich that awaited him. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to have his dessert first. Learning about Genevieve’s predicament, and her suggestion for a solution that would benefit them both, had left him stunned. For the decision he had to make he needed a clear head, not one riddled with sugar.
This was a heck of a revelation, but it made sense. From the beginning, there were things about Genevieve that didn’t add up. For someone renting a room, everything about her looked like money. Then there was the inordinate amount of time she spent in her room, like she didn’t want to leave it. And the way she’d covered up her clean, shiny hair with that baseball cap to walk to a restaurant in ninety-degree heat, which would no doubt leave it all sweaty and matted. And why, during their walk to the restaurant, she’d refused to remove her sunglasses, even though they interfered with her vision. Now he understood.
There were plenty of good things to be had from her offer. If he accepted, he’d be able to enroll in the fall semester and complete his credits before Christmas. He’d still have to wait until May to actually graduate, for NYU staged graduation ceremonies on an annual basis only, but that was less than a year away. He prayed that his grandparents, both octogenarians but in fairly good health, would be able to see him get his final diploma.
And of course, if he finished school in December he could probably begin his career in January. Dexter needed the money; he had a lot of hefty bills to pay. The repayment of his grandparents’ mortgage came first, and he had student loans tallying over six figures. Somewhere in between he had to repay Gen. She might think that the cost of his tuition was the price she had to pay to remain legally in the U.S., but as far as he was concerned, it was just a loan. He didn’t mind getting a helping hand, but in the end he paid his own way.
The fact that he’d be helping Gen made Dexter feel pretty good, too. He’d been captivated by her since their first meeting, and he’d never forget how badly he’d wanted to carry her to his room that night he kissed her after dinner at the café. She was living, breathing proof of all that he’d been missing, of what he’d had to give up while pursuing his education. Plus, there was something special about her.
He knew why she’d invited him to lunch today. It was the same reason Brenda, his landlady, had slipped him some of what she claimed were her children’s favorite dishes that she’d made especially for them, only to learn they’d made other plans. He’d appreciated Brenda’s efforts to see that he ate, but he’d been her tenant for years now. On the other hand, he’d known Gen for all of two months, hadn’t seen her in weeks, and she took one look at him and invited him to lunch.
Not only was she pretty, shapely, and friendly, but she’d demonstrated a generous nature as well. Heaven kne
w she had her own problems, and of course she’d alluded to that in her heartfelt speech. It had to be hell, wondering if an INS agent was around every corner. No wonder she spent so much time in her room. He suspected she’d become borderline agoraphobic, venturing outdoors only when it was absolutely necessary. That situation could easily get out of hand, but marriage to him would change all that.
He turned around and saw her standing at the front of the restaurant, chatting with the cashier as she paid for a newspaper, and then sitting on one of the stools at the counter as she flipped the pages. As he returned his attention to his sandwich, he entertained the thought of what marriage between them could be like. He’d start by throwing out that whole business arrangement aspect. Dexter believed in marriage as well, and he’d had his parents and grandparents as examples, but he knew that a person had to do what they had to do. Genevieve was in a horrible predicament, but the way he saw it, if the two of them had to spend three years of their lives married to each other, why not spend it together? So what if they weren’t in love. They liked each other, which in itself was more than many married folks could claim. And better yet, they had a chemistry that couldn’t be denied.
He shook his head at the irony of it all. I must be cursed. A woman like Gen, so lovely, so kind, so desirable, proposed to him, then hastened to add that it would be on a strictly platonic basis. What kind of crazy luck was that?
The outer corners of his lips curled upward. He had to consider that his appearance was hardly at its most appealing. He’d seen her expression change when he walked into the kitchen. He must look like a human scarecrow. Well, maybe he couldn’t spare any weight from his naturally thin frame, but he’d put it back on quickly enough if he accepted Gen’s offer. Between the money he’d saved so far toward his tuition and the money he earned, he could easily afford to eat three square meals every day. And he could quit that second job in the lab and instead spend that time studying, maybe go down to the courthouse and sit in on some malpractice trials.
In the meantime, he might be too thin, but he was still a man, something he became aware of every time Gen was near. He turned to look toward the front of the restaurant once more, just in time to see her dark eyes look up from her newspaper and focus on him, and the sensuous sight of her eyes being visible while the rest of her face remained hidden behind her newspaper made blood rush straight to his groin. As he turned away he instinctively knew he’d do anything in his power to help her, whether there was something in it for him or not.
And therein lay his dilemma. Marriage between U.S. citizens and illegal immigrants purely for profit and legal resident status were against the law. Obviously the INS had caught up with her at home, or else she wouldn’t have left her apartment to hide out in the Smith’s house. That meant they would likely be paying her a visit and would want to meet him. They’d have to prove they truly knew each other, or else he could kiss his career good-bye, and she would be deported.
Which meant they’d have to satisfy the agents that their marriage was genuine. Failure simply wasn’t an option. They each had too much to lose.
They sure had a lot of work to do before they were ready to be interviewed. He didn’t even know the basics about her, like her last name or her birthday.
Dexter could think about a lot less pleasant ways to spend his time than getting to know Genevieve better, even being married to her. What he didn’t like were the platonic terms she’d imposed, and that business about him not even knowing where she resided. He felt a dull ache in his heart at the memory of her saying he’d be free to see other women throughout the duration of their marriage. Did she believe he could possibly want another woman if she were his wife? Gen awakened in him all the thoughts he’d had to put aside to pursue the funds for his education. Those once-dormant thoughts had come to the surface. Desire surged through him like molten lava after a volcanic eruption every time he even looked at her. He wanted to caress her cheek, lose himself in the dark pools of her eyes, kiss her senseless and bury himself inside her, to hear her cry out in pleasure and moan his name as she wrapped those long legs of hers around his back.
But he’d let her believe that her plans for a chaste relationship didn’t bother him. At least for now. After all, he had three years to change her mind.
And he didn’t intend on it taking anywhere near that long.
Genevieve returned to the booth as he was going over everything in his head, trying to make sure he’d covered all bases. So deep was his concentration that he barely acknowledged her return, and she turned disappointed eyes back to her newspaper. Then he ceremoniously cleared his throat.
As he expected, she immediately looked up. The mixture of fear and anxiety in her eyes reminded him of a wrongly accused defendant waiting for a jury verdict, and he wanted to get up and sit on her side of the booth, take her in his arms and tell her it would be all right.
“All right, Gen,” he began. “My response to your proposition that you and I enter into a marriage, the terms of which you will provide my last semester’s tuition and I will provide you with security from deportation, will be...” he paused for effect, prolonging it unintentionally when he became mesmerized by the way her lips parted in anticipation—“to propose.”
Genevieve closed her eyes and bowed her head, temporarily overcome by relief. Dexter had said yes. This was the answer to all her problems. She would marry him and in effect buy herself some security, while freeing Barry from the pain of a one-sided marriage. It wouldn’t be an easy task by any means, but it was a win-win situation. She’d be protected from deportation, and Dexter could afford to eat properly while he completed his law degree. The INS might want to question them, but they’d work it out. They could spend some time together and study each other’s habits. She probably already knew more than she realized about his behavior. A person could learn a lot about another person when they shared a kitchen and a bathroom. She already knew Dexter’s favorite brand of soda, knew he loved those ice cream cone drumsticks—he always kept a box of them in the freezer—and knew about his maddening habit of leaving the toilet seat wet with the cleaner after he wiped it down with pine-scented cleaner. And she’d just learned that he liked to eat his dessert first, a quirky habit if she’d ever seen one.
Her future might not look rosy, but at least it looked a lot more promising. She hadn’t wanted to get Dexter involved in her problem, and she still didn’t like the idea of marrying for convenience, but she couldn’t deny that it was a perfect alternate solution, the one she’d been wracking her brain to find for weeks. She just hoped Barry would understand that she was only trying to spare him heartache.
Funny. With Barry she pretty much knew what to expect, as unappealing as she found it. With Dexter, she had no idea what she was getting into. Genevieve couldn’t help feeling like she’d made a deal with the devil.
All right, maybe not the devil, but she’d have to be completely dense not to recognize that he’d been flirting with her ever since they sat down, growing serious only when she asked him to marry her. He’d made no secret that he didn’t like the idea of them returning to different homes after becoming husband and wife, and that he was even less pleased about being kept in the dark about the location of her home.
She’d have to make sure he didn’t learn her address, because that was the only way she could make sure their face-to-face contact was limited. Genevieve knew she had to limit their personal interaction...because in spite of her vow to hold out for the true love she felt confident awaited her once she had the legal right to seek it, both as a resident and as a single woman, she found Dexter...her soon-to-be genuine fake husband...every bit as desirable as he found her.
Chapter 11
They spent the rest of their time at lunch hammering out details of the plan. Dexter told Genevieve the amount of his tuition—he’d memorized it—and to his amazement she didn’t even blink. She agreed to pay the full amount, and they agreed that the sooner they could have the ceremony perfor
med, the better. “Will we just go down to the courthouse?” he asked. She’d looked terrified, and he realized too late that a courthouse was the last place she, as an illegal immigrant, wanted to go. “Oops. Bad suggestion. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“I think it would probably look better if we went away,” Genevieve said after a moment’s thought. “We can say it was a honeymoon, and take a few pictures. We’ll book a suite so we’ll have separate sleeping areas,” she added quickly at the instant glimmer in his eyes. Normally men who seemed to be fixated on sex annoyed her, but in Dexter’s case she understood. His crammed schedule left no time for pursuit of women, and then she came along and proposed marriage and—or so he’d thought—the solution to his problem. Could she blame him for hoping? As he’d said, they’d already glimpsed the fireworks between them, fireworks they’d both been unable to forget. Under different circumstances, who knew what might have transpired between them?
But this wasn’t personal, it was a business arrangement. She would scratch his back, as the Americans said, and he in turn would scratch hers. Figuratively speaking, of course.
“Maybe we can even have the ceremony performed out of town,” she continued, surprising herself with her calm and analytical approach to the matter. “I’d prefer not to go to a courthouse here in New York, and I’ve heard of states where no blood test or waiting period is required. We can have the ceremony performed as soon as we arrive.”
He swallowed the last of his sandwich. “Well, if we’re going to plan a trip, I’m partial to Vegas.”
She shook her head. “As wonderful as that sounds, I can’t risk anything involving air travel and ID checks. It’s got to be someplace we can drive to.”
Save the Best for Last Page 9