Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy

by Everly Ashton

  My cheeks heat as I walk past a row of desks and everyone’s attention shifts to me. Maybe because they recognize me, but more likely because of my new walk. I lift my chin to project an air of indifference. Regardless, I keep up the charade until I’m in front of Harold’s office. The door is open, and my parents are already seated.

  To be honest, I’m surprised I’m even here at all. Everything of my grandfather’s will be passed to my parents. But maybe my grandfather left me one of his properties or something sentimental. That would be nice.

  I don’t need his money. I’m fortunate to live off of a family trust, so I’ve tried to dedicate my life to bringing awareness to different causes. The only good thing about still being given the moniker “socialite” is it highlights whatever charity I’m working with.

  I knock on the door and everyone’s head turns in my direction.

  “Sweetheart.” Dad stands from his chair and walks over to me, placing a kiss on my cheek and squeezing my upper arms.

  He looks formidable as always in his designer suit and slicked-back greying hair. He runs Pembrooke Financial Services, which provides accounting and auditing services to large corporations throughout North America. My grandfather started the company when he was in his twenties, and now it’s one of the largest privately held companies in North America.

  “It’s not like you to be late. I was starting to worry.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens.

  “Sorry, I ran into some trouble.” I gesture to my broken heel.

  My dad chuckles. “Seems you did.” He helps me to the empty chair beside my mother, who takes my hand and squeezes.

  She knows how hard this is for me. I’ve long been a daddy’s girl, but I was also a grandpa’s girl and the loss of my grandfather a few months ago hit hard. Especially on the tail of my divorce.

  “Hi, Mazzy,” Harold says. “Are we ready to get started?” His gaze sweeps across the three of us, and we nod.

  Let’s just get this over with so I can go home, put on some sweats, and stare at the TV for the remainder of the day.

  “All right. As you know, Phillip had a great deal of assets in his estate, not the least of which is ownership in Pembrooke Financial Services, real estate, and stocks. I won’t go through every detail now, but each beneficiary will receive a full dossier outlining their inheritance.” He glances at my dad, who sits up straighter. “Phillip was in here a few months ago and made some changes to his will.” This time Harold glances at me, and I shift nervously. “Lydia, you’re getting his property in France and Estelle’s collection of jewelry that remained in Phillip’s possession.”

  My mom dabs at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. “Such a sweet man. He knew how much I love that property.”

  There will be no sobbing here. My mom didn’t come from as wealthy a family as my dad did, but she was raised in high society and was trained well on how to react.

  My dad places a kiss on Mom’s temple. “He always thought of you as a daughter.”

  My mom presses her lips together and nods. I can tell that she’s touched my grandfather would think to leave her anything specifically.

  “Thomas, you’re to get the remainder of the personal real estate holdings, including the house here, the Maui property, the Colorado property, and the one in Italy.”

  I wait for Harold to continue on with the list of what my dad has been willed, but Harold turns his head in my direction. When I glance at my father, I’m fairly sure we share a look of confusion. His gaze ping-pongs between Harold and me.

  “Mazzy, everything else is being passed on to you.”

  My parents gasp and my stomach plummets.

  “Wh-what?”

  Harold continues, seemingly unaffected by his shocking announcement. “You grandfather is bequeathing you all his stocks, his ownership in Pembrooke Financial Services, and the rest of his investments.”

  “He can’t do that!” my father shouts.

  “But that’s… that’s…” I don’t know how much money it is exactly, but it’s A LOT. It’s the kind of money that could buy you anything in this world. I don’t understand why my grandfather would do this. He and my father always had a great relationship.

  “Harold, is this some kind of sick joke?” Dad flies out of his seat, pacing behind the chairs.

  “I’m afraid not, Thomas. Your father made it clear to me that he had his reasons for changing the will.”

  “Why? Why would he do that?” I ask.

  “There’s something else I haven’t gotten to yet. A catch, if you will.” Now Harold looks nervous, which makes me really nervous. Harold is good at his job and I’ve never seen his eye so much as twitch when he’s dealing with bullshit lawsuits and plaintiffs hurling insults his way.

  “What kind of catch?” my dad asks, stopping to hold the back of the chair he vacated.

  “Mazzy has to be married for six months before anything will be transferred into her name. Until then, it remains in a trust that I will handle.”

  “Married?” all three of us say at the same time.

  He nods. “Married. For six months.”

  “Tell me this isn’t legal,” my dad says. His knuckles are white from clutching the supple leather of the chair.

  “It’s legal. And if anyone challenges the will, they get nothing.” Harold drives the final nail into the conversation.

  “He must’ve been losing it.” My dad pushes his hand through his thinning hair. “Or watched too many old movies.”

  “But I just got divorced,” I state the obvious, given that Harold handled my divorce.

  Harold shrugs. “There’s no rush or time limit. You just won’t receive anything until you’re married for six months.”

  I look at the expensive brown carpet, shaking my head. I don’t understand. Not at all. Not why Grandfather would give almost his entire estate to me, nor why he would demand I was married in order to receive it.

  It’s a good thing I’m in no hurry to get my hands on that money because there is zero chance I’ll be a bride ever again. Been there, done that, burned the dress.

  Three

  Mazzy

  A few days have passed and I’m still not over the shock of my grandfather’s will reading. Though I had nothing to do with the decision, I still feel a profound sense of guilt over the fact that my father was snubbed. So I’ve been hiding from him. Until now—because I’ve been summoned to Pembrooke’s head office so Dad can speak to me.

  “Do not feel bad. None of this is your fault. If Gramps wanted your dad to have everything, he would’ve given it to him,” my best friend, Ava, says.

  I’m talking to my best friend on the phone while sitting in the back seat of the large black SUV. My driver is navigating downtown traffic toward headquarters.

  “I guess, but I can’t help it. You didn’t see my dad’s face. He was blindsided.”

  “Still not your fault.”

  I’ve always admired Ava’s no-bullshit attitude. I can always count on her to give it to me straight.

  “You’re right. I just hope my dad sees it the same way.” I pick some imaginary lint off my blush skirt.

  “You’re a daddy’s girl. You worry too much.”

  “You don’t worry enough.” I chuckle.

  “Maybe.” Though I can picture her shrugging and tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder like she always does. “Let me know how it goes. Are we still on for dinner on Saturday night?”

  “Let me check my social calendar. Oh look, it’s completely blank.”

  Her laugh rings in my ear. “We can discuss how to fix that problem over dinner.”

  “I told you I don’t want to fix that problem.”

  “I’m not saying we need to try to find you Mr. Right. We just need to find Mr. Right ‘There, oh yeah, right there, that’s perfect, I’m going to…’” She does her impression of Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.

  “I’ve been divorced less than a year. I’m not ready.”
<
br />   “I’m pretty sure your vagina is ready. Maybe you should let her lead the charge for once.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “You love me.”

  I laugh. “I do. Okay, I’ll call you demanding margaritas if this goes terribly. Otherwise I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Sounds good. I have to go source some fabric from Italy because Mrs. Tremblay’s little rat she calls a dog shit on her expensive throw pillows and she can’t possibly imagine the room feeling complete without throw pillows.”

  I laugh.

  Ava works at a high-end design firm. She comes from a wealthy family too, and after graduating, she was expected to marry up and pop out a bunch of kids, then move to a posh area in the suburbs. She stuck up her middle finger at that idea and is working her way up in the design world. I admire her for that.

  I still haven’t figured out what my thing is, besides using my smile and connections to generate donations for different charities. It’s not a terrible way to spend my time—I do find it somewhat fulfilling to know I’m helping to raise money that will help people. But I still can’t help but feel as if something is missing.

  As I hang up, the SUV pulls to a stop in front of Pembrooke headquarters. I look out the window up, up, up, unable to see the top of the building from this vantage point.

  “You want me to wait here?” my driver, Darius, asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m going to stop in and check how the charity gala is coming along, then go see my father. I’ll just call you before I’m ready to go.”

  “Sure thing. Might pop in and see my niece then. They live about twenty minutes from here, depending on traffic.”

  I smile at him. “How is Latisha doing?”

  He takes his phone from the console and pulls up a picture of a little girl with umber skin, big brown eyes, and a huge smile showing off three teeth. “She’s such a happy little thing.”

  “I see that. She’s adorable.”

  He looks at the screen and smiles with pride. It’s clear how much he loves her. I wonder if he wants any children of his own. He’s not dating anyone right now. We spend a lot of time together and I’m inquisitive, so I always ask. But I wonder if he’s like me and family isn’t in the cards for him. He’s a few years younger than my thirty-four, but being a man, he has the luxury of time. I don’t. I’m already in geriatric pregnancy territory. I guarantee some male doctor came up with that term. Why don’t they call erectile dysfunction geriatric dick?

  But I push all that from my mind. Dwelling on it will only make me feel less than, and I need to put on a strong front when I head into the Pembrooke building.

  “Apple of my eye.” Darius places the phone back in the console.

  “I’ll call when I’m ready. Have a good visit with your niece.” I push the door open, grab my purse, and step out onto the street. Darius knows by now not to come around and open the door for me. I’m perfectly capable of getting out myself, and there’s no reason for him to step into traffic just to open my door.

  With purposeful strides, I walk toward the entry of the building, doing my best to project confidence. As soon as Al sees me enter, the aging security guard gets up from his desk and walks over.

  “How are you, sweetheart?” He smiles big and pulls me into a hug.

  “I’m good. How is Lois these days?” His wife of thirty-plus years had a mild heart attack earlier this year.

  “Real good. She’s back to her old self. Except now she can’t eat chips or drink pop.” He sets his hands on his belt and grins.

  “I’ll bet that’s tough, but that trade-off’s worth it, right?”

  “You know it. She has every intention of seeing those grandkids of ours have kids of their own.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’s doing well. I’m headed up to see my father and see how things are going with the gala preparation. Will we see you two there this year?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. When else do I get to dance with a young thing like you?”

  “Oh, Al, compliments will get you everywhere.” I wink and walk toward the elevator, calling behind me, “See you soon.”

  “Have a good day,” he says and returns to his desk.

  Al has worked here for as long as I can remember. I’m not too sure what he could do physically if he ever had to confront someone while performing his job, but he’s a definite asset to the company.

  The elevator travels to the fiftieth floor, and I step off and make my way across the human resources department to Sally’s office. Sally’s been with the company a long time, and we co-chair the annual fundraiser gala. It’s not for another six months, but the amount of preparation that goes into something so large and involved takes that long to put together.

  On my way to her office, I stop to say hello and chat with some of the people I recognize. Many of them have seen me morph from a little girl who idolized her father and grandfather, to an awkward teenager, to a divorced socialite.

  Sally’s door is closed when I approach, so I knock lightly and hear her call, “Come in.”

  “Hey, I’m here visiting my dad, so I thought I’d pop in and see where we’re at with the contract with the hotel.”

  “Mazzy, hi. Come in. Have a seat.” She gestures to one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “I was going to call you today, so this is perfect.”

  “Good news, I hope?” I sit.

  “Afraid not. The hotel won’t budge on their pricing. This new manager is a real hard-ass.”

  I lean back and cross my legs, setting my bag on the chair beside me. “Forward the contact information to me and I’ll see if I can make any headway. They know it’s for charity, right? That every cent we spend is money we can’t use to put toward the programs?”

  She nods with her lips pressed together. “Doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

  “Okay, leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The Pembrooke Charitable Foundation is responsible for funding many of the smaller charities in the surrounding states. Rather than implementing the programs ourselves, we get donors and spread the funding out to local, grassroots-level programs that will make a bigger impact in citizens’ day-to-day lives.

  “Thanks, Mazzy. I’m sure you can charm him into submission.”

  I chuckle. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll do my best. Now, what else is new with you? Still seeing that same guy as the last time we spoke?”

  Sally got divorced a few years ago, so she always brings me up to speed on her dating adventures. Apparently, the guy I was referring to is long gone—he liked to eat in bed after they were intimate and that was a deal-breaker for her.

  Once I’m thoroughly caught up with her, I head back to the elevator and make my way to my father’s office on the top floor. The entire ride up, my hand is pressed against my belly in an effort to stop my rolling stomach. It’s been a few days since the will reading, and now that the news has settled in, I don’t know what my father will think of my grandfather’s decision.

  The elevator dings and the shiny doors open, revealing a spacious reception area and the same woman who’s been giving me Dum Dums and candy since I was toddler.

  “Hi, Mallory. Is my dad available? He’s expecting me.” I smile, exuding a confidence I don’t feel, as my heels click across the marble floor.

  “Sure is, kiddo. You can head right in.” The passage of time has been good to her. Either that or her Botox doctor is a pro because she barely has any wrinkles on her aging face.

  “Thanks!”

  Normally I would stop to have a quick chat with her, but I’m too nervous today. I head straight into my dad’s office and shut the door.

  He’s at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at the city below with his hands in his pockets and his jacket undone. He appears weary and distressed, a look I’m not used to seeing on him. My dad took over for my grandfather once he retired and he’s always had a lot of responsibility and pressure on his shoulders, but
he’s never seemed to let it get to him.

  He’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t seem to have even heard me come in.

  “Dad?”

  He blinks a few times and turns to look at me. A smile transforms his face. “Sweetheart.”

  He opens his arms as he walks over to me, and I fall into him to give him a hug. When he pulls away, he gives me the customary kiss on the cheek and looks me over.

  “How are you?” Dad asks.

  “Good, I’m good. But how are you? You looked like you were working out a math equation for NASA right now.”

  He chuckles and leads me to the Italian leather couch and chairs on the one side of his office. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

  I smile and sit on the couch beside him. At least he doesn’t seem angry with me. “That’s good. I’d worried that maybe you were mad at me.”

  He tilts his head and his forehead wrinkles. “Why would I be mad?”

  I shrug and stare at my hands clasped in my lap because I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Because of what happened at the reading of Grandfather’s will.”

  His finger pushes my chin up so that I’m forced to make eye contact with him. “I’ll admit I was surprised. Your grandfather never mentioned anything about changing his will. But I don’t blame you, sweetheart.”

  Relief pours through me as if someone sent adrenaline through my veins with an IV. “Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure how you were going to react. I was nervous to come here today.”

  He frowns and draws me into a hug. “You should know you don’t need to ever worry about me being angry with you. No matter what, you’re my daughter. I love you.”

  After my hasty marriage and even hastier divorce, I believe it. Unlike my mom, Dad has never once urged me to think about how my life might look from the outside in. His main concern is my happiness.

  I squeeze him tighter before drawing back. “I love you too.”

  There’s a funny expression on his face. I can’t quite read it, but I get the sense that there’s something more he wants to tell me.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively.