by Bru Baker
Crawford made an offended noise. “I beg your pardon,” he huffed out.
“You had a hot chocolate with a shot of coffee in it,” Mateus said, his nose wrinkling when he thought about the mocha monstrosity Crawford had downed at the airport. The thing had smelled like a chocolate bar.
“I was having a stressful day,” Crawford said. “I usually drink plain coffee.”
Mateus found that hard to believe. He didn’t know Crawford well—hell, he didn’t know him at all—but he pegged him as the kind of guy who had a huge sweet tooth. The coffee was pretty good proof of that. Mateus wished he’d have the chance to see if that was actually a pattern or if Crawford was telling the truth about them being a rare treat because of the delayed flight and the meetings Crawford was so reluctant to get to in Vancouver.
Since they were pulling up to the little booth at the border, Mateus decided not to challenge him on it. He already had his passport out, along with his plane ticket to prove he had travel plans back into the United States, and he handed the tidy bundle to Crawford when the guard at the gatehouse asked for them.
“Where are you headed in Canada, Mr. Hargrave?”
“Vancouver. I’ll be staying at the Chatham-Thompson Lion’s Gate hotel.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” Crawford said, and Mateus had to fight the urge to put a hand out and squeeze his thigh. He had no idea what about the trip had Crawford so bitter and resentful, but it was clear he didn’t want whatever assignment he’d been given.
“I hope you’ll have time to enjoy some of the sights,” the man said. He handed Crawford’s passport back and opened Mateus’s.
“Mr. Fontes? You’re a Portuguese national, sir?”
“I am. I’m in the United States on a tourist visa,” he said, giving the man his best nonthreatening smile.
“Sir, are you aware your visa expires in two days?”
Mateus cleared his throat and tried to calm his racing pulse. “I am, but I’ll be back in the United States before that,” he said. “My return plane ticket is in my passport.”
The man examined it, his features tight and stern. “This ticket is for today.”
“Yes, I’m flying out tonight. It’s a quick trip.”
The guard typed something and frowned at the screen. “Is there a reason you canceled your flight into Vancouver today?”
“Uh, the airline canceled it. That’s why we’re driving.”
“I’m going to need you to pull into the station so you can speak with an immigration agent, Mr. Fontes.”
Mateus swallowed and nodded. “Sure.”
“Sir, if you’ll follow the white line and pull around, another officer will be with you in a moment and show you where you can park your car.”
Shit. What had he gotten them into? This was supposed to be easy. A rubber stamp. That’s what the Internet had said. Maybe it was different if you were driving across the border?
Crawford shot him a worried glance. “Are you sure this is okay? Do you need to go back?”
Mateus’s back prickled with cold sweat, but he smiled with as much confidence as he could muster. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. And if I end up missing my flight, I’ll just sleep at the airport and get one tomorrow morning.”
Crawford clucked his tongue. “No way. If you miss your flight I’ll get you a room at the hotel. It has a shuttle service to the airport, so you’d be able to get back easily. It would be silly for you to sleep at the airport when I have access to rooms at a four-star hotel.”
That would probably cost a pretty penny. “I’ll be fine at the airport,” Mateus said. “Besides, we’re fine on time. I have a few hours before my flight. I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”
Another grim-faced Canadian border officer was waving them forward, and Crawford pulled up to the empty spot he pointed at. “Please exit the car and leave the keys and any baggage in it. I will escort you to the office for questioning. Your car will be x-rayed and any and all baggage may be inspected. Is the registration on the car up-to-date?”
They were going to X-ray the car? How did they even do that?
“It’s a rental, so I’m assuming so. All of the paperwork is in a folder in the backseat,” Crawford said. He’d been unsure a moment ago, but he was back in full businessman mode now. Even in just his shirtsleeves, he looked like someone who was in charge. “What are we being questioned about?”
“You have been flagged for suspicious behavior.”
“Seriously? Because he’s Portuguese?”
The officer gave Crawford a flat look. “I don’t know, sir. The intake officer had reason to believe further questioning was necessary. We appreciate your cooperation.” He opened the door to a small building and led them to a desk that had two uncomfortable chairs in front of it. “We will let you know when your vehicle has been cleared and released.”
Crawford sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and Mateus wanted to wring his hands, but that would only make him look guiltier. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly when the two of them sat down. The chairs were small and close together. Their knees bumped, but Crawford didn’t move away.
“It’s not your fault. I guess I should have realized the canceled flight would be a red flag. I just figured since we weren’t the ones who canceled it, it would be okay.”
“I don’t know if it’s that or my visa. I didn’t mean to cause you any problem.”
Crawford pursed his lips. “It’s fine. I’m not in a hurry for myself, I’m just worried about you getting back home.”
Mateus obviously had no sense of self-preservation, because Crawford being stupidly noble was making his heart thump harder in his chest, not his fear over what was going to happen with the immigration agent. Mateus needed to get a grip.
He handed his passport over to another bored-looking border agent. Job satisfaction seemed to be low here, not that Mateus could blame them. He wouldn’t want to deal with angry people all day either.
He smiled reassuringly at the man, but it didn’t have any effect.
“What is your business in Vancouver?”
To reset his tourist visa, but Mateus got the feeling that was the wrong answer. “I’m just doing a little traveling. My brother lives in Washington, and I’ve been visiting him. I wanted to see the area.”
He had to bite his tongue to stop babbling. The agent scanned his passport and studied the screen, his face impassive.
“You can’t enter Canada with only two days left on this visa.”
Mateus swallowed. “I have a plane ticket back to the United States for tonight.”
The man’s jaw tightened as he handed Mateus’s passport back to him. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Mateus blew out a breath. “Okay. All right. Thank you.”
Crawford didn’t accept it so easily. “That’s ridiculous! He’s still on a valid visa.”
“For the United States, not for Canada,” the man said.
Mateus put a hand on Crawford’s arm to stop him from arguing more. He didn’t think it would do any good, and he didn’t want to get Crawford in any trouble.
“It’s fine. I can call my brother and have him come pick me up.”
Crawford’s brow crinkled. “I’m not stranding you at the border. I can take you back to Washington.”
“Just to a bus station.”
“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you like that,” Crawford protested. “I have plenty of time to get to Vancouver. Do they even have buses that could get you there?”
They probably didn’t. Mateus hadn’t seen a single bus in town. But Duarte could come get him. He’d be mad as hell, but he’d come.
Crawford turned toward the desk where the immigration officer was watching them with a solemn expression. “Are you finished with our rental car? I’ll take him back to Washington.”
“Actually, sir, he can’t enter the United States.”
What?
“He technically never left the United
States,” Crawford said, his voice rising. “And his visa is still valid. So I don’t understand.”
The officer’s face softened with sympathy, which only made Mateus realize how serious the situation was. The man had been nothing but stoic since they came in. If he was feeling sorry for him, it couldn’t be good.
“Mr. Fontes cannot enter the United States because his visa is about to expire and he doesn’t have travel booked. If he attempts to enter the United States, he’ll be detained and deported unless he files an appeal and it’s granted.”
Mateus was too shell-shocked to say anything, but luckily Crawford wasn’t similarly afflicted.
“Then let’s file an appeal so he can get back into the States.”
“He can’t file an appeal until he’s in custody, sir,” the officer said. He turned his gaze on Mateus, and Mateus flinched back. “You’re in limbo. You can’t enter Canada, and you can’t enter the United States.”
The gravity of the situation started to sink in, and Mateus’s stomach dropped. He swallowed back the panicked tears that were threatening, his throat thick with them. “How can I be expected to make arrangements to fly back to Portugal if I can’t enter either country?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice level.
“There’s really nothing anyone can do. You’ll be arrested either way. It’s a formality, but not one we can do anything about. Your lawyer will be able to file an appeal for you, and you’ll likely have to pay a fine before you’ll be allowed to board a plane back to Portugal.”
He didn’t have the money for a ticket to Portugal, let alone a fine. “How will I find a lawyer?”
The man looked uncomfortable. “If you don’t already have one or can’t make arrangements for one yourself, one will be assigned to you after you’ve been processed into the immigrant detention center.”
Crawford wrapped a protective arm around Mateus’s shoulders when he started to shake. The warmth was grounding, like Crawford might be able to physically keep him in place. “Detention center? Can’t we just wait here? I can have a lawyer on the phone in under a minute. You can’t arrest him just for being here.”
Could he really? Or was that just a bluff? Either way, it was comforting.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Fontes has no legal claim to stay in either country. He’s in violation of the terms of his visa, and he’ll be arrested for it. Immigration fraud is a serious crime.”
The man still seemed sympathetic, but there was a note of steel in his voice. Mateus hadn’t really thought of trying to re-up his visa as fraud, but apparently the government had a different view.
Crawford’s arm tightened around his shoulders, his fingers digging into Mateus’s arm.
“He does have a legal right to be in this country. He’s my fiancé, and I’m an American citizen.”
Mateus was grateful for Crawford’s tight grip, because he probably would have fallen over without it. What was Crawford doing? “I—”
Crawford squeezed him tighter, cutting him off. “Do I need to call our lawyer?” he asked the man with a pointed look.
“Sir, simply being engaged is not cause to keep Mr. Fontes in the country—”
“We were planning to get married in Vancouver. We wanted to do it in the States, but then I had to take a last-minute business trip, and we couldn’t get to the courthouse before I had to leave. So we decided Mateus would come with me and we’d get married in Canada.” Crawford paused and shot a quick look at Mateus before he raised his head and straightened his shoulders like he was steeling himself. “We didn’t mention it because we’ve had one too many people lecturing us about how our relationship is unnatural. It’s second nature for us to keep our relationship private.”
If Mateus had been able to draw more air into his lungs, he’d have choked at Crawford’s pronouncement. Thanks to Crawford’s tight grip, he could barely breathe, let alone protest. That couldn’t be accidental. Even in his shock over their sudden engagement, Mateus could appreciate the neat little corner Crawford had painted the guard into. There was no way he could question their story without looking homophobic. Hopefully that was something he’d want to avoid.
The officer’s demeanor changed immediately. The tension that had been building in his posture relaxed, and he actually smiled. “Where in Vancouver are you getting married?”
Mateus stopped breathing altogether at the question. They’d be found out for sure, and things would be so much worse—
“The Chatham-Thompson Lion’s Gate,” Crawford said easily. “Well, we’ll be getting married at the courthouse. But we’ll be having our reception there.”
The officer looked at Mateus. “Who picked out that hotel?”
Mateus opened his mouth, but Crawford beat him to it. “That’s a bit of a sore subject, actually. When we found out I’d be in Vancouver for work and we wouldn’t be able to get married in the States at Mateus’s brother’s orchard like we’d planned, Mateus started looking for chapels. He found one at this hotel, but it was already booked. I guess they fill up pretty fast during the wedding season.”
Mateus didn’t have to put on an act to look angry. What was Crawford doing?
“It’s a shame, because the chapel is really pretty. But there’s this gorgeous little courtyard, and we were able to book it for our reception. We don’t have a ton of guests, so it works. There’s ivy climbing up the stone walls, and there are a few little fountains and garden beds dotted around. We’re keeping things simple, since the courtyard is pretty enough on its own. Like a picture out of a storybook.” He squeezed Mateus again, and pressed a kiss against his temple. “But even so, I’m going to be making it up to him for a long time, I think. He really had his heart set on getting married in the orchard in Washington.”
“Well, there are always vow renewal ceremonies,” the officer said. He pulled a stamp out of a cubby in the desk and stamped something in Mateus’s passport, then typed furiously for a moment. “This will allow you entry into Canada, Mr. Fontes, but you will have to check in with the Immigration Services office with a copy of your marriage certificate within forty-eight hours of entering the country. You’ll need that to get back into the United States too.”
Mateus stared at the passport as it was handed back, dumbfounded. Crawford’s stupid ploy had actually worked.
“Please take a seat in the waiting room, and we’ll get you on your way as soon as I get word that your car has been cleared. It shouldn’t be too much longer,” the officer said. “And congratulations!”
Congratulations?
Oh, right.
They were getting married.
Shit.
Chapter Seven
CRAWFORD wasn’t spontaneous. He wasn’t the kind of guy who made huge decisions on a whim, and he never, ever acted without thinking.
Until he saw how panicked Mateus was at the border. Literally the only thing on Crawford’s mind in that tiny office was doing whatever he could to erase the terrible tension he could feel thrumming through the other man. So he said the only thing he could think of that would give them the slightest chance of getting Mateus past the border—and then back into the United States.
And now they were going to have to get married, which wasn’t a big deal. It was just a piece of paper, and since Crawford had no intention of ever marrying again, he might as well use his marital status to do a good deed and keep a nice guy in the country.
Except Mateus hadn’t said a word to him in the twenty minutes since they’d left the border behind them, and Crawford was starting to get worried. They were closing in on Vancouver, but Crawford didn’t want to wait until they were at the hotel to hash this out.
He glanced over at Mateus, who was still blindly staring out the windshield, a cup of Tim Hortons coffee held loosely in his hands. He’d taken a few sips of it, but it had to be cold by now. Crawford had stopped at the first one he’d seen after they’d gotten into Canada, both because he really needed some caffeine and because he’d been shaking ha
rd enough to make driving unsafe. Mateus had stayed in the car while he’d gone in to get their drinks.
Crawford couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled off at the next exit and parked in the first empty parking lot he saw. Mateus blinked and turned to face him, which was definitely progress.
“Are you all right? I know I overstepped, and I’m sorry. If you don’t—we can call my brother. He really is a lawyer. He doesn’t specialize in immigration law, but I’m sure he’d know who we could call. He could help us find a lawyer for you, and we could go back to the border if you want. Maybe have someone meet us there so you have representation before you get taken to the detention center. I just didn’t like the thought of them hauling you away like that with no one there to help you.”
Mateus’s lashes fluttered against his cheek, and he blew out a breath. “That would probably be best. Marriage.” He laughed humorlessly and opened his eyes. “I can’t allow you to make a sacrifice like that. You don’t even know me. I should have said something at the border, but I was too scared to think straight.”
It was a relief to hear Mateus’s voice again, even if what he was saying was ridiculous. “I have absolutely no objection to marrying you,” Crawford said. He held up a hand when Mateus started to protest. “I know that sounds totally stalkerish and crazy, but hear me out. Marrying you to help you get a green card would be less of a farce than my first marriage was, trust me. I’m not the marriage type, it turns out. So why not sign a piece of paper that says I am if it means helping you?”
“You can’t mean that,” Mateus said, his expression incredulous. “Marriage isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s a partnership, and it’s beautiful. I’m sorry if your experience with it wasn’t, but one bad marriage doesn’t mean you aren’t the marrying type. You’ll find someone who changes your mind, and then where are we?”
Crawford was so tired of people trying to sell him platitudes about love and marriage. It was all crap. Marriage was a business transaction, a bit of paperwork that tied two lives together for taxes and other practical reasons. Starting off a marriage with Mateus, knowing it was all a sham, would probably make theirs the most honest marriage on record. Everyone went into marriage with their own secret agendas, and this way those agendas were out in the open. It didn’t count as being used if you knew you were being used going in.