by Alane Hudson
Andrea nodded, understanding where the pressure to marry was coming from. It sounded too simple, but Sarah’s personal affairs were only Andrea’s business where their paths intersected. “Where do I fit into this?”
Charlotte walked in carrying a bottle of water and a steaming coffee mug. “Here you are. If you prefer it at room temperature, I could bring you one of those instead.”
“Cold is fine, thanks.” Andrea accepted the bottle, twisted off the cap with trembling fingers, and took a deep drink. She hadn’t realized how thirsty her nervousness had made her. Refreshed, she recapped the bottle and returned her gaze to Sarah.
“Have you told her yet?” Charlotte asked, taking her seat.
“I was just getting to that.”
Andrea thought she was going to burst into hives from anticipation. Her neck began to itch under her collar. She gripped the sweating plastic water bottle in both hands and waited.
“What I’m proposing,” Sarah said, “and you might find this utterly preposterous, is for me to grant you limited power of attorney so that you can act on my behalf to pledge me in marriage to Blake Thomas.”
Andrea’s mouth dropped open. She was too stunned to speak. Even her mind was too numb to think much beyond This woman is flipping insane. “You’re joking.”
“I’m completely serious. You’ll attend the wedding as the bride. My father will walk you down the aisle, completely oblivious to your true identity. Under the veil, the differences between us will be obscured, and with makeup on and your hair done up, maybe with some green contact lenses in, nobody would be the wiser.”
“Wait just a minute. You’re asking me to commit fraud?”
“Heavens, no!”
“It’s not fraud,” Charlotte said. “Sarah’s marriage to Blake will be completely legitimate.”
“But you’re asking me to marry your fiancé while pretending to be you.”
“No, I’m asking you to be my proxy—to attend the wedding on my behalf. I’ll be legally married to Blake, but it’ll be you under the veil. The power of attorney will give you the authority to promise that I will love and honor Blake as his wife and to accept his vow as my husband. You’ll sign my name on the marriage license, receive the wedding ring, kiss the groom, and walk with him back up the aisle. Then you’ll go on my honeymoon with him—”
Andrea shot to her feet. “What?”
Sarah rose too. “I know, it sounds nuttier than a squirrel’s Thanksgiving pie, but listen. I’m gay. I’m not bisexual. I’ve never been intimate with a man, and I don’t ever want to.”
This was insane. She was proposing to send Andrea to marry her to a man like she’d send a friend to the store for eggs. “This is your wedding, not just some ballot box to elect a new H.O.A. president.”
“I know. I’d hate to miss my own wedding. I’ve put a lot of effort into planning it, after all. It’s going to be so lovely, with a gorgeous purple and green iris theme. You’ll see. Anyway, the idea of consummating the marriage fills me with repugnance. Yes, I could squeeze my eyes shut and lie there while he does his thing, but that’s not fair to Blake. He’s a decent man, and he deserves to at least have a good time on his wedding night, and for the two-week honeymoon in Hawaii. You said he’s handsome, right? You find him attractive?”
“My God, Sarah,” Andrea whispered, sinking back into the chair. “You’re asking me to... to sleep with your husband. For money!” Any minute now, she’d wake up and laugh at this absurd dream.
“No. Andrea, no, I’m not hiring a prostitute. I’m hiring a woman to act on my behalf as power of attorney in all matters pertaining to my marriage to Blake Thomas. All matters, legal and domestic. That means standing in my place at the altar, making decisions about our joint living arrangements, financial affairs, and yes, sleeping with him if you choose to. What happens between you and Blake is entirely your affair.” She waved her hand. “I didn’t mean affair. It’s entirely your business. If you don’t want to sleep with him, you have every right to refuse.”
Andrea tried to wrap her head around this bizarre request. Only once in her life had she ever hooked up with a guy she barely knew, and it wasn’t something she’d do again. Yes, he’d been hot, but Andrea wanted more than just a bump and grind relationship. Hiring someone to fake-marry one’s fiancé and go on her honeymoon with him? It was ludicrous. Who did that?
A lesbian who had some compassion for a man who was entering what would ultimately be a sexless marriage.
“Does he know you’re a lesbian?” Andrea asked.
Sarah glanced sheepishly at Charlotte. “I’ve been meaning to tell him, but no. Not yet.”
“Sarah,” Charlotte said in an exasperated tone. “You said you were going to tell him.”
Andrea felt sick. That poor man. “He deserves to know before he marries you.”
“You’re right. I agree, but that won’t change anything. He’ll still go through with it, because his mama needs him to.”
Andrea shook her head in disbelief. This was like a soap opera. “She’s asking her son to marry a lesbian so she can make money on a business deal?”
“No, Gloria doesn’t know. She’s convinced that we’re in love, that ours is one of those once-in-a-lifetime, true-love, whirlwind romances that only happen in novels. She doesn’t realize my father is applying the pressure, and Blake made me swear never to tell her. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty over his choice in the matter. She would never ask him to marry a woman he doesn’t love, let alone a lesbian who could never develop any passion for him as a man. Our marriage is as much a business arrangement as Gloria’s deal with my father.”
“He’s a great guy,” Charlotte said. “Charming, respectful, gentlemanly, sexy... Gloria and her husband, Blake Sr., raised him right. I’d gladly take the job myself, but I can’t get the Southern drawl down right.”
Sarah laughed. Charlotte’s brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes were the most obvious differences between them, but Charlotte was also a good three inches taller than Sarah. “My father wouldn’t look twice at a bull with teats, but I think he might notice you under that veil.” Her smile fell away. “I know this is a lot to take in, Andrea, and I’d normally ask you to at least sleep on it a few days, but the clock is ticking, and I have to make a decision.”
“Whether to cancel the wedding?”
“No, I won’t cancel the wedding. Like I said, I’m stuck between a gator and a water moccasin. This wedding is happening whether I like it or not, and whether Blake likes it or not.”
“Couldn’t he just explain to his mother why he can’t marry you? If his mom backs out of the business deal, your dad can’t hold that against you. He wouldn’t pull funding for The Lighthouse then, would he?”
“Oh, sure. You’re absolutely right, only Blake won’t crush his mama’s dream. He came to me just last week and asked me to promise him I won’t back out. He’s not worried about the embarrassment of being left at the altar. He’s worried that my father will pull the plug.”
Andrea needed to sleep on this and mull it over for a few days before she decided anything. She loved a good adventure as much as the next girl, but this... This was the strangest offer she’d ever heard of. “Why can’t you go through with the wedding and just give Blake permission to take a mistress on his honeymoon? That would satisfy your father, wouldn’t it?”
Sarah glanced at Charlotte. “If only it were that easy. There’s an organization we work closely with called Rise Up in South America. I found out this morning they’ve tracked some girls in Colombia who’ve been lured away from their families with false promises of stardom, education, marriage to wealthy men... you name it, the bastards use it to steal these girls away from their families and then sell them into the sex trade. The girls are being housed in a warehouse awaiting passports and tourist visas to come to the U.S. If I can reach them and convince them they’re in danger, tell them what’s truly in store if they go through with their plans, I can save them before the
y become victims. I have to leave tonight if I stand any chance of getting to them in time, but the wedding is Saturday. If you decide not to do it—”
“Saturday? This Saturday?” Andrea asked, hearing a screech in her voice.
“I know. Not much notice. I just learned of this situation a few hours ago.”
Andrea stood and began to pace. It was Tuesday. That gave her only three and a half days to meet the groom and prepare herself mentally. If she decided to do it.
“If you decide not to do it,” Sarah said, “then I’ll cancel my trip to Colombia.”
Andrea’s mind raced, trying to come up with other solutions—anything that would let her off the hook. “Can’t you go down tonight and be back in time for your wedding?”
“I’ll need at least a couple of weeks down there to have any chance of getting to them.”
So if Andrea didn’t do this, those girls might end up working as prostitutes or slaves... or dead. Her stomach churned. “Can’t Charlotte go?”
“I’m not a psychologist,” Charlotte said. “I’m a lawyer and accountant. I don’t have the connections that Sarah has, and I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Why can’t you postpone the wedding? There has to be another way.”
“I could, if it came to that,” Sarah said, “but the partnership agreement is sort of on a deadline. Because both companies are publicly traded, the SEC commissioner has to approve it, and apparently those people are busy. Setting another appointment is going to put a lot of people out, not to mention tick my father off. It’s a lot of unfair pressure on you.” Sarah went to her desk. “Here. Let me buy you lunch while you think it over.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a black leather purse. “There’s a darling little restaurant about a mile west of here on Pendleton called The Kokopelli Cafe. The food is excellent, and it’s quiet enough to hear yourself think, even during the lunch rush.” She withdrew some bills and handed Andrea twenty-five dollars. “Please. It’s on me. Think it over, chew on it, digest it, and then come back this afternoon—whenever you’re ready—and let me know what you decide. I have a meeting from three o’clock until four, but I’ll be in the office until four-thirty. My flight leaves at six forty-five, so I need to be at the airport by five-thirty.”
“And if I decide not to do it?”
Sarah smiled, but her eyes were filled with worry. “Then we’ll talk about when you can start at The Lighthouse. I’ll set up an appointment for you with Maria, our HR lady, and Phil, our casework manager. Phil will give you a tour of the two shelters, introduce you around, and walk you through the processes we have in place. He’ll also assign your cases.”
Andrea tucked the cash into her purse and stood. “All right. Thanks for the lunch.”
“Thanks for considering my offer. Either way, welcome aboard.”
She shook hands with both women and headed back to the lobby, every step heavy with the burden resting on her shoulders. With a wave at Tracy, she exited the building and went to her car. This was a lot to take in.
And a million bucks was a lot of money.
Blake Thomas, standing in his navy Jockey low-rise briefs in front of the bathroom sink, slapped on a bit of Old Spice. The strong smell made him wince more than the sting of alcohol on his freshly shaved skin, but it would fade to a subtle musk and cedar wood scent by the time he finished dressing. He dressed in a pair of navy Dockers and a gray polo shirt, tucked the shirt in, buckled his belt, and put on a pair of black socks and sneakers. He pulled his cell phone off the charger and scrolled through the text messages and emails as he headed downstairs. The smell of bacon lured him into the kitchen, where he found Isabelle in front of the stovetop, scrambling eggs.
“Good morning, ma cherie,” Blake said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Bon matin, Benjie,” she sang in her French accent. She’d called him Benjie since he was a boy, short for Benjamin, his middle name. “Toast will be ready—” Two slices of rye toast popped out of the toaster. “Now.”
Blake laughed. “You have a way with that toaster, I swear.” He put the toast on a plate and spread strawberry jam on each slice.
Isabelle scooped the eggs onto a plate beside three slices of lean turkey bacon. He reached to take it from her, but she pulled it from his grasp. “Sit, sit.” The old woman had her quirks, and it was easier to accommodate her than argue. “You need to save your strength for your honeymoon.” She widened her eyes and tucked her lips between her teeth in an I-can’t-believe-I-said-that expression.
Blake winked at her. “Don’t worry, Isa. I’ll be fine.” Once he was seated at the table in the nook just off the kitchen, she served him his breakfast and poured coffee into the empty mug in front of him. “Everything looks terrific as always. You spoil me.”
“It’s my job to spoil you,” she said with a laugh. She kissed his forehead and shuffled back to the kitchen, where she began cleaning up.
The newspaper was folded on the table to his left, beside the fork and cloth napkin, but a text from his mom took priority.
Noon T time with Harold @ Lakeview. Nine holes. Hope you can join us.
The last thing he wanted was to spend two hours golfing with his future father-in-law, but whenever his mother invited Blake to join her in some meeting or event involving Harold Gentry, Blake did what he could to attend. Though his hackles went up whenever he glimpsed Harold looking at his mother’s butt, that wasn’t his biggest concern. He wasn’t confident Harold would honor his promise to keep certain information under his hat. Any man who blackmailed another into marrying his daughter had no honor. Luckily, that daughter had a moral compass that pointed north—the polar opposite of her father.
Will Sarah be there? he texted back. He set the phone down and started eating.
Ha ha, came the reply with its accompanying chime. She might come if you invite her.
He didn’t think Sarah would drop everything to spend time with her father. From what he observed, she preferred not to even acknowledge his existence. Blake didn’t know whether to be more worried about marrying a woman who might grow resentful toward him for entering into a marriage of convenience, or a woman whose father had behaved so poorly over the years that he’d alienated his only child. Either way, he’d sat at this table, and he would play the hand he was dealt.
After breakfast, he loaded his clubs into the Jag so he wouldn’t have to return for them later and drove to the main Spotters location. Though it wasn’t the first gym and personal training facility he’d opened, it was the largest of the three and had a conference room where he could gather all his trainers, sales staff, and gym managers in one location. With his two-week honeymoon coming up, he had a few things to go over to make sure they were ready for his absence.
As the trainers and sales team filed out after the meeting, they shook Blake’s hand and offered thanks and congratulations on his upcoming marriage. Again and again, they commented on Sarah’s beauty, which Blake accepted with a smile. Yes, Sarah was gorgeous, but she was much more than that. Not one person commented on the remarkable work she did with victims of the awful sex trafficking underworld. Maybe they didn’t know what she did for a living, or maybe it was easier to pretend such things didn’t happen in America.
With his business out of the way, Blake headed over to the Lakeview Country Club, the same place his wedding would be held in just four days. His life was about to take a huge turn. Part of him was more apprehensive than excited, though he knew Sarah well enough to know he was marrying a good person. The nonchalance with which she’d accepted his proposal and four-million-dollar engagement ring had been disappointing, as was her lack of physical affection. She let him hold her hand and tolerated a short kiss at the end of a date, but she never initiated anything. No flirtation, no encouragement, no reassuring pats on the arm. Hopefully, that would change on Saturday. Though he and Sarah both knew it was a marriage of convenience, he was determined to make it work. He didn’t have a choice.
While waiting at
a stoplight, he checked the calendar app on his phone to make sure he wasn’t forgetting some wedding-related event he was supposed to attend. No woman, no matter how distant she seemed, would forgive her groom a transgression like failing to show up. He’d rather step back and let Sarah make all the wedding-related decisions, but he didn’t want to come across as not caring. Whatever she decided would be fine with him. The wedding was all about the bride anyway. The groom’s reward is the wedding night, he thought with a grin.
He parked at the country club and got out, and a valet ran to meet him. “Good morning, Mr. Thomas. Mrs. Thomas and Mr. Gentry just started. I’ll run you out to their hole. He let the valet load his clubs into a nearby golf cart and accepted a ride out to the first hole, where his mother was measuring her shot.
She looked good in a khaki skirt and green blouse. Healthy. Green was a good color for her—it offset her prematurely white hair. In fact, she looked better than she had in the four years since his dad passed away—smiling, radiant, free of the grief that had left her broken-hearted. With a strong swing, she let the ball fly.
“Great shot, my dear,” said Harold Gentry. He was a stern-looking fellow in his late 50s with graying hair and a slight paunch. From a distance, he didn’t look any different from any other guy his age, but close up, there was something predatory in his eyes.
“I warned you, Harold. I’m going to hand you your— Blake! Darling, I’m so glad you made it.”
Blake walked up and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Mom. You look as beautiful as ever. Harold, good to see you.” He offered his hand, and Harold shook it.
“Hello, Blake. Gotta respect a man with a firm handshake.” Harold grasped Blake’s upper arm with his free hand and grinned fiercely. “Damn, those are nice guns. I knew a man like you could set that girl of mine straight. You about ready for Saturday? Not going to get cold feet on me, are you?”