by Lara Hunter
“Did I?” Michael scoffed. “I was just a dumb kid back then. Dumber than I can really believe now. I hardly knew a thing about coding, and yet, I knew I wanted to be a computer programmer? I had to work my ass off, just because I’d been such an idiot. I wish I could take back everything I said back then. Maybe you’d have respected me if I’d had a bit more tact.”
Grace frowned, uncertain what he meant. She continued to walk alongside him, watching silently as the streets glittered with Christmas decorations. They were only a few blocks away from the Rockefeller Center, where the mighty Christmas tree twinkled with lights and thousands and thousands of baubles. One year, when she’d been 21, Grace’s mother had come down from Maine to stand with her and watch them light it for the first time. That had been the year after her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It had been a struggle for their family: one that had caused Grace to wrap her mother in a tighter hug every time she saw her. Christmas had been quieter that year.
But now, the very man she’d thought loved Christmas with a purity that couldn’t be displaced, was stomping out the spirit of the season with a sham wedding. Grace lifted her head, strengthened in her resolve to reveal the sweet guy he truly was, underneath it all.
They reached the end of the second block, then, and stood beneath a glittering tree, decorated with blinking white lights. Grace peered up at Michael. She felt her gut jolt with just a glance at his handsome, five o’clock shadow, the cut of his jaw, and his deep, penetrating eyes. His lips were mere inches from hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath. Was he going to kiss her, as he had all those years before? Would this be the moment they could halt the ruse of the “sham” wedding and admit that their feelings were still there, still lurking, from their teenage hearts?
But no. Michael brought his hand out and shook Grace’s with a professional air. “I suppose we’re life partners, now,” he said, his voice bright. “You’re really getting me out of a jam here. And, despite how cheesy it’ll be, I think we can have a good time on Christmas Eve. We met again for a reason. And that reason, my dear, is many millions of dollars.”
Grace’s hand felt cold, even after shaking his. She gave Michael a false grin and turned away, toward the Upper West Side. As his pea coat flew around the corner, toward another bar, where he was planning to meet a business client, Grace waved her arm through the air. She caught a cab and collapsed upon the worn seats in the back, exhaling her address to the ears of her driver.
Suddenly, she felt shattered. In the back of her mind, she hoped she might fall ill with whatever it was that Marie had had, just for the sake of a few days of breathing and time to herself. She needed to think.
TEN
Back at her apartment, Grace sat on the edge of her couch, gazing out the window, her phone feeling heavy in her hands. She dialed Marie’s number without thinking, before she could figure out precisely how she should tell the story. And she waited, like a nervous patient at the doctor’s office, the phone blaring on the other end.
Finally, the warm, familiar voice entered her ear. “Gracie. I just went through your email for tomorrow. Thanks so much. So thorough.”
“Yeah,” Grace said, trailing off. “I wanted to keep you up to date. Don’t get sick on me like that again. Everything’s been falling apart without you at the office. Christina scolded me today for wanting a sandwich.”
“She’s on that again? Please. You look great.”
“I guess so, but thanks” Grace said, smiling. “Anyway. I wanted to call and tell you we’ve lost a client. And gained one, really.” Grace knew they could still do the prenuptial agreement through Long and Sons. She was sure Michael would still be up for paying for it.
Marie paused. Grace pictured her, her jaw dropped, waiting for an explanation, probably in bed. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, that guy I told you I knew. Michael Johnston. His wedding to Helen Wood was called off.”
“Oh. Well, that’s too bad,” Marie said. “I don’t suppose it’s because he saw you again after all these years? The spark of teenage love destroyed him. Who could resist you, anyway?”
“You didn’t realize that an entire island of men have been resisting me for over a decade?” Grace laughed. “No. It’s nothing like that. I found out that his marriage to Helen was a sham. She told me.”
“What? Really?” Marie was clearly intrigued. “A money thing?”
“Kind of. His deceased father said he could only receive the money in his will if he married before the start of his 31st year. Which is this January, I suppose. So he corralled one of his employees to do it, for a payout.”
“Oof,” Marie whispered, breathless. “That’s cold. And you said you knew this guy?”
“I don’t think I really knew him at all,” Grace offered. “But I told Helen she should listen to her gut before going through with it. She called it off later that day.”
“Wow.”
Grace felt her stomach tug with displeasure and fear. Her tongue tapped at the top of her mouth, knowing she had just a bit more to explain. She cleared her throat. “But then, I agreed to do it.”
“Do what?” Marie asked, her voice ominous.
“Marry him. For that money.”
“You have got to be joking.”
“I’m not,” Grace whispered. “He really needs it, you know. And I can’t help but admit that we could use the money, as well. The rent for our office isn’t cheap. And if we get a lull in the next few years, we’re going to need the back up.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting married to this terrible man just to help the business,” Marie scoffed. “That’s insane. We either swim or we drown, but we don’t sell our principles just to stay afloat. You know that, Gracie. I feel like I’m saying the same words to you right now that you said to me when I was dating Jeffrey. He didn’t love me, and you saw that. The only thing he cared about was money.”
Grace leaned her heavy head against her couch. Her dark hair spread like a pillow behind her, glowing in the soft living room light. “I can’t help but think there’s something more to Michael. There’s got to be that sweet man, somewhere beneath it all. The man who told me he’d teach me why Christmas was beautiful. The guy who had dreams and a vision for his future. The guy who kissed me the way he did. It nearly destroyed me.”
“We all had to grow up, Grace,” Marie said, her voice faint, clearly still weak from her illness. “And it might be time for you to make the final leap to adulthood. Don’t do this to yourself. You can give yourself the time and the space to fall in love. You’re only thirty, for gosh sakes. In Manhattan, that’s like twenty-one. There’s no rush.”
Grace smiled sadly, feeling her heart grow heavier with each passing second. “I can’t help it. I have to see if the Michael I knew still exists somewhere inside of that muscular, hunk of a man. When I was eighteen, I was sure he was the one. I got butterflies thinking about him, even many years after I saw him.”
“But you moved on. Let him find someone else to fix his money problems. You’re too busy living your own life. Don’t do this, Gracie.”
Marie’s words rang through Grace’s mind as she hung up the phone several minutes later. Each word seemed to affirm, more and more, that Grace was digging a grave, of sorts. Michael was too entrenched in ideas of wealth and money to see her as a woman with needs and desires. He joked about the things he once loved, including Christmas. He was alone, and didn’t truly wish for that to change.
Grace felt as if she were strapping herself to an anchor, ready to dive into the depths of the ocean. She wasn’t sure if she would drown on the way.
She poured herself a glass of wine, listening to the liquid glug into the glass, hoping to rejuvenate herself. The moment she woke up the following day, she had to be strong, committed to planning a wedding and finding a gown to wear. She couldn’t linger on these fears. She’d made her decision. And, like a good lawyer, she would stick to it, without wavering.
But she couldn’t help but linger on the strange contrasts life offered. Ten years before, she’d been writing poetry, daydreaming about publishing a novel someday, and hoping to find a love that would last forever. Now, she was firmly rooted in the truth, in reality. And God, it was far more disheartening than she’d imagined.
ELEVEN
The next seven days were a complete blur. Grace found herself on a kind of hamster wheel, going through the motions at the office, catching lunches and dinners when she could, and occasionally browsing wedding websites, trying to get a sense for how she wanted the ceremony to look. Having never given this wedding daydream much thought, she felt she was starting from square one. She searched through countless Christmas decorations, crystal icicles to hang on trees, crisp white tablecloths, and glittering invitations. Even imagining their names together—Michael and Grace, Grace and Michael—made her blood run cold. She felt she was barreling through a dark tunnel, with no idea as to where she would surface.
On Saturday morning, Marie stopped her in the hallway between their offices, stroking Grace’s back. “You don’t look so good, honey,” she said, frowning. Marie’s auburn hair pooled on her collarbones, highlighting the fact that she’d lost perhaps three pounds since the previous week. Christina had mentioned the “new look” as a compliment, and Grace and Marie had exchanged knowing glances, aware that the weight loss was merely a side effect of her stomach flu.
“Well, you look great,” Grace teased her in response with a wink. “I bet Christina will even allow you a sandwich or two after the New Year if you keep it up.”
But Marie wasn’t joking. She pursed her lips together, her eyes wide, worried. Again, Grace found herself peering back at the same expression her mother had given her as a teenager. What in the world are you thinking? The look demanded.
Finally, Grace relented. “I’m just running out of time, is all. I have so many clients right now, and I don’t feel like I can keep up with the work and plan this wedding all at the same time. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Marie crossed her arms. Her elbows were sharp, pointing outward like daggers. “And where is Prince Charming now?” she asked. “Seems strange that I haven’t seen him around the office, since you’re betrothed and all.”
Grace rolled her eyes, already feeling that the weight of the day was upon her shoulders. “Why do you have to do this right now? I have a meeting in a half hour. I need to prep.”
“Why are we working on a Saturday, is the better question,” Marie sighed, easing off. “Fine. But you’ll listen to me about this sooner or later. I feel like you’re making a colossal mistake.”
Grace turned back toward the copier, slamming her papers into the machine and pressing the button, watching the glowing light rev from the mechanical guts. She tried to turn her thoughts from Marie’s comments, but it was difficult not to take her best friend’s words with terrible seriousness.
As she stood, zoning out, tilting her weight upon her right heel, she heard a sharp knock at the door. Assuming it was Christina or Marie, the only two other people in the office on a Saturday, Grace called out. “What is it?” She didn’t look away from her papers, and passed her fingers over the heat of them, enjoying the menial task for its distractive purposes.
She felt a hand upon her shoulder moments later, and nearly leaped into the air with panic.
She spun around, finding Michael standing before her in one of his stunning, perfectly tailored suits. His broad shoulders were strong, muscled, and his jaw was chiseled, highlighting strong cheekbones and white teeth. Grace’s heart bounced in her chest.
“Well, there you are,” Grace said, her voice soft.
“And here you are. Sorry I didn’t call. I wanted to surprise you, again,” Michael said.
“The world is apparently full of those,” Grace affirmed, running her fingers through her slightly mussed hair. She gathered her papers, piling them into a tidy stack, and held them across her chest. She felt oddly like a schoolgirl, poised in front of a high school jock, just dying for him to ask her to the Homecoming dance. Her stomach fluttered.
“I wanted to tell you something,” Michael said, following her into the lobby, and then into her private office. Christina eyed them both like a hawk, tossing a mint from one cheek to the other with the tip of her tongue.
As Grace moved to close the door, Marie began to mouth to her like a frantic mime, “DON’T DO IT.” Grace pulled the door closed quickly in response.
“All right. Shoot,” she said.
“I’ve scheduled a wedding dress fitting for you. For the week before the ceremony,” Michael said. “It’s with this exclusive Manhattan designer who splits her time between New York and Paris. She’ll be able to look at you and tell you the exact type of gown you should wear to highlight your…unique features.”
He looked Grace up and down, then, and Grace’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment. She crossed her arms, sanding her finger across the slight rash that always appeared when she was stressed.
“That’s wonderful,” she breathed. She sensed Michael felt he was doing her a favor, booking this. What was his angle? Did he even care what she wore? “A girl always dreams about her wedding dress, I suppose.”
“You’ll be a true Christmas princess,” Michael affirmed sarcastically.
Grace wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tell him that, in actuality, the only thing she’d ever dreamed of was the love that was the whole point of having a wedding in the first place. But it was all about the money to him. She righted herself, swallowing. She focused on inhaling, exhaling. She had to stay positive and focused.
“I have an idea,” Grace said then, snapping her fingers. Michael’s face remained unchanged, like a chess player or a poker champion. “You know the Nutcracker ballet is in town, right?”
Michael shrugged. “What about it?”
“Why don’t we try to get tickets for tonight?” she said, her mind running. If they could go on a proper date to see something as magical as the Nutcracker, perhaps she could draw out his true passion for Christmas. She imagined his eyes lighting up with the music. She imagined them holding hands throughout the show and then kissing in the snow afterwards, making the love she’d always dreamed of a perfect, fairy-tale reality.
But Michael scoffed. His voice came gruffly, without excitement. “Who in the world would go to that? Hopeless romantics. People who cry when they go caroling.” He laughed, tilting his head. “I thought you weren’t so into the holidays, anyway?”
“I’m not,” Grace said defensively. “I just thought it could be nice. To get to know each other a little bit better, and take in a show.”
“I guess I’ll have to pass on this one, Grace,” Michael said, standing from his chair. His knees creaked beneath him. “But maybe next week we can go to The Admiral again. Kenny really liked you. Said you were one of the good ones.”
Michael marched from the office, then, donning his coat and stabbing the button on the elevator. Grace watched him go through the doorway, and Marie scampered from her office and stared him down in the milliseconds before the elevator door closed behind him. He stuck his hand into the air and gave her a small, apathetic wave. And then, he was gone behind the cold metal.
“Who does that guy think he is, just coming in here like that?” Marie demanded, stomping toward Grace.
Grace hunched forward as she whispered the words her high school magazines had told her never to say. “He’s different. I promise.”
Behind her desk, Christina snorted. She continued to tap an email out on her keyboard as she spoke. “I think we all know Grace is being foolish. I’m quite surprised at your lack of clear thinking, dear.”
Marie’s eyebrows rose high. Her eyes spoke the words: “I told you so.”
Grace gestured angrily. “It’s not like you don’t make mistakes!”
“Not like this,” Marie retorted. “Yes, that dye job I got last year was a mistake. But you took me back to the stylis
t the very next day to get it redone. That’s definitely not on the same level as a divorce, Gracie.”
“Although… You remember the girl who came in here with Michael a few days ago,” Christina continued. “Looking absolutely miserable, because he didn’t love her.”
Grace swallowed. “Sure. I remember.”
“He looks at you differently.”
“What does that mean?” Grace asked, her throat catching.
“I don’t know what it is, exactly,” Christina continued, her eyes moving rapidly across the computer screen as she typed. “But he doesn’t look at you like a piece of meat. He respects you more than that, at least. It might not be love, but…”
“Great,” Marie said, smacking her hands upon her thighs. “So, what does that make Grace? Fish? Really good pasta?”