Forty Day Fiancé

by Erin McCarthy

  Holy shit. My head was spinning. “That’s a lot of options.”

  He nodded. “Some riskier than others. My recommendation is to get married here in the US, prior to the visa expiration, then Felicia returns to the UK to wait out the approval process. Legally, that is the option that violates no rules or regulations.”

  I just sat there, taking that in.

  Felicia cleared her throat. “How long does a spousal visa take?”

  “It just depends. Usually with the UK they’re pretty quick. Three to six months.”

  Six months wasn’t the end of the world. “What if they don’t approve the visa at that point?”

  “You can apply again. Or move to the UK.”

  “I’m a surgeon,” I said. “I can’t exactly move my career to England.”

  “I understand. I’m just telling you the facts.”

  The facts kind of sucked.

  Felicia sighed. “Well. Thank you for all the information. We’ll let you know if we need the visa application changed to spousal or if we just want to cancel it.”

  I frowned at her. “We’re not canceling it. We just need to go over our options.” I stood up and held my hand out to the lawyer. “Thanks for all your help, we appreciate it.”

  Felicia stood up and did the same.

  We left and neither of us said a single word down the hallway, in the elevator, or as we walked across the lobby of the office building. I was kind of waiting for her to speak first, curious where her head was. Did her comment about canceling it mean she didn’t want to be with me? As in, I was in love with her and she was absolutely not in love with me?

  The minute we got out on the sidewalk, she rammed her purse strap further up on her shoulder, adjusted her hat and said, “This is just bullshit. Those are our options? We can either be dodgy as hell and hope for the best or I have to go back to England anyway? If that’s the case, what was the fucking point of any of this?”

  Her cheeks were red, her eyes blazing.

  I could see a lot of points to this but I wasn’t going to debate that with her. “You wouldn’t be going back permanently. Just until the visa is approved.”

  “So we rush a wedding, get married in a courthouse months before we reasonably should, and then I have to leave so we can’t even continue to develop our relationship? That is just insane.”

  She had a very valid point. “I agree it is not ideal. Do you want to go get some lunch while we discuss this? I’m starving.” Unlike her, I actually had an appetite.

  My attitude was we came out bold and brazen. Get married, stay in the US. Act like we’d been planning a wedding the whole damn time. Turn the engagement party into a surprise wedding. I thought she needed to be sitting down though before she heard my idea.

  Maybe I was just used to getting what I wanted, but I felt confident we would be victorious in the end of this whole process.

  Fifteen

  The man wanted lunch. My whole life was crumbling around me and he needed a bloody sandwich?

  “By all means, let’s get lunch,” I said and my voice sounded high-pitched and a bit insane. I felt insane.

  It was all my own fault. I’d brought all of this on myself. I’d been careless and stupid and should have somehow worked all this out years ago. I should have hired a man on the dark web to be my husband. I could have been married and divorced and happily a permanent resident by now.

  Michael suggested a restaurant across the street, and because I cared not one damn bit where he ate, I nodded. My stomach was in knots. I couldn’t eat if my life depended on it. I just wanted a glass of water. Fortunately, it was the kind of restaurant where there was enough of a hum no one else could overhear your conversation, but not so loud you had to shout.

  “I guess I’m going back to London,” I said, after we ordered drinks. “I can sleep on Mum’s couch for a while. We’ll just wait for the fiancée visa.”

  “That’s not our only option,” Michael said.

  “It’s technically the only legal one.”

  “The lawyer didn’t say it was illegal, did he? I don’t remember that specifically.” Michael scoured the menu. “The cowboy chili sounds good.”

  The thought of beans and their texture made me want to throw up in my mouth, so I just stayed silent on his lunch ponderings. “We can’t get married before the expiration date. That’s just irresponsible.”

  “And here I was thinking that we should go for it. We can tell all our friends and family the engagement party is actually a wedding. That’s a trend now, you know. Surprise weddings.”

  “How the fucking hell do you know what is trending with weddings?” I demanded. “That’s absurd.” God, my stomach hurt. I rubbed it as discreetly as possible. I didn’t mean to have such attitude but I was stressed to the max. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a bitch.”

  “Look what you could manage if you were trying,” he said with a grin.

  Despite my anxiety, that did actually make me smile. “You should live in fear of that. But seriously, Michael, we can’t do that. It’s just too much pressure. It’s like driving off a cliff. We’re already living together and applying for this fiancée visa. I don’t think we should impulsively get married on top of it all.”

  “Let’s just think about it before we make any final decisions.”

  “Our engagement party is tomorrow!” I felt my throat tighten. The room momentarily went black and I saw stars. “Oh, Jesus,” I whispered, afraid to move my head.

  “Are you okay?”

  The blackness receded. I took some frantic breaths. “I thought I was going to pass out for a second. Everything went black.”

  “Maybe we should skip seeing the apartments today. Maybe you should try to take a nap.”

  For some reason, that made me angry. “I don’t want to take a nap. I want to see the damn apartments.”

  His mouth opened. His mouth closed. Finally, he said, “Sure. Great.”

  It was an indication of his maturity that he just let me act like a psychopath and didn’t react in anger. I was instantly mollified. “I should order some soup. Maybe it will settle my stomach.”

  “Great idea. Maybe something clear, like a vegetable soup with a broth base.”

  For a minute, we just sat there, him looking like he was debating calling the bomb squad to defuse me, me trying to process how and why I was utterly losing my shit.

  Too much change in a short amount of time.

  During which I had fallen in love.

  I hadn’t been planning on falling in love.

  That was the exact opposite of the plan.

  But I was starting to think I’d already been halfway in love with him, then had fallen the rest of the way when I met him in person.

  Love at first sight. In a way.

  It certainly had shook my world upside down.

  I hadn’t even told Michael I was in love with him. I didn’t want it to influence his decisions about how to proceed from there, but it was hard to look at him and stuff down my emotions. Now I really felt like I had to keep quiet. He was suggesting we get married.

  The. Next. Day.

  My stomach lurched again.

  Did that mean he loved me? Or was he just assuming eventually he’d love me? Or that we’d have a baby and love would be a friendly thing, based on sexual chemistry and co-parenting.

  It felt like the words were stuck inside me, scratching at my throat and mouth, trying to burst forth with a scream.

  I love you.

  I wanted him to say it first. I needed him to say it first.

  Maybe that was why I felt so fucking nauseous. I was choking on my own emotions.

  When the server appeared to disrupt our loud and painful silence, I cleared my throat and managed to ask her for a cup of minestrone soup.

  Michael settled on a bacon burger. With fries. A side of the chili.

  Good God. I was grateful the table was wider than a standard two-top. I didn’t want to be close enough to sme
ll any of that.

  “We couldn’t even get a marriage license by tomorrow,” I said, as the thought popped into my head. Not that I was considering marrying him, but it truly wasn’t even possible.

  “We could go get one today if we really wanted to.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, even though I was basing that on nothing. “I think there’s a waiting period.”

  “I can look it up online and find out.” He pulled out his phone.

  I shook my mind. “Don’t do that. We can’t get married tomorrow. That’s just… overwhelming. Especially with fifty people in the room, watching us. I just couldn’t.”

  “We could get married at the courthouse, then have the engagement party be an actual wedding reception. We can surprise everyone.”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t. I didn’t know anything. I sipped my water and watched Michael swipe through his phone, clearly looking up marriage licenses.

  If he had said he wanted to marry me tomorrow because he loved me, with all his heart, and wanted to be together forever and build our relationship into something amazing, I might be stupid enough to agree to it. But he wasn’t saying he loved me. He was saying it was the practical thing to do and I didn’t think I could stand there and have it be fake when I wanted it to be real.

  Even if he said he thought he was falling in love with me, that it could be the foundation for something more, I might have been tempted.

  What he was suggesting wasn’t even close.

  “This is actually a pretty simple process. You go in person to the courthouse and fill out the application. It’s processed while you wait, then you have to wait twenty-four hours before you can get married. So we could go back tomorrow and get married or find someone to marry us at the party.”

  I didn’t even know what to say.

  “All I need is Becca’s death certificate. You’ve never been married, have you?” he asked.

  That right there made it ridiculous. How could we get married when he didn’t even know if I’d been married before?

  “I have not been married before, no.”

  Something about my tone must have alerted him that I was on the edge of hysteria. He finally glanced up from the screen. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. You’re discussing getting a marriage license like we’re picking up a pizza. Get it while you wait.”

  “I don’t want you to leave the country,” he said. “My concern is you won’t be allowed reentry.”

  Again, so romantic. I was happy to hear that he didn’t like the idea of me being gone permanently, but it still wasn’t exactly a love declaration. “I’m concerned about that too.”

  “I can’t live in England. It’s not even a maybe until I’m retirement age. Which contrary to what some people think is not anytime soon.”

  “I know that.” The waitress appeared with our lunches and I actually thought my soup looked appetizing. When she left, I took a small spoonful. It almost immediately settled my stomach, thank goodness. “Can we just maybe let it all sit for a minute and talk about this later today? It feels very manic to make an instant decision.”

  Michael had a mouthful of burger and couldn’t respond. He was the oddest eater, vacillating between barely eating at all and smashing on huge meals. I guess it wasn’t odd to him, but to me it felt unpredictable. I would have preferred he be in a healthy mood today but obviously not.

  I sipped my soup and waited.

  But he didn’t react to my statement at all. He just changed the subject. He asked me how the sale of Becca’s clothes was going.

  The abrupt shift surprised me but I was relieved. I didn’t want to argue about the visa.

  “Actually, it’s almost completely sold out. There are only a few stragglers still up for sale on the site. I’ll have a fair amount of money to transfer to you next week.”

  He nodded. “Great. I’ll donate it then.”

  “I think that’s very generous of you.” It was. I wanted to say more, ask more, but instead I just sipped my soup.

  He bit his burger and didn’t elaborate.

  Our vibe was off. The lunch felt weird, the day felt strained. What the hell was going on?

  He must have felt it too because this time when he changed the subject it had nothing to do with us personally. He asked me, “What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen on one of your murder shows?”

  I appreciated the effort to stay away from hot topics, so I just shrugged. “Oh, geez, there are so many things people have done that are bonkers. I think the ones that are literally so stupid in their planning aren’t as interesting as the devious ones. Who murders three family members with antifreeze over eighteen months and thinks no one will be on to you?”

  “Someone who really hates their family, I guess.”

  “People are nuts.” I gave him a smile. “Thank you for trying to distract me. I appreciate the effort.”

  “I’d really like to distract you by getting you naked and driving you crazy, but that’s against the rules, so I’m stuck with crime TV.”

  That made me laugh. He looked forlorn.

  “Maybe we can work something out. Bend the rules a little.” If I had to go back to the UK before my visa expired, I was not stepping foot on a plane without having sex with Michael first. That didn’t give us much time.

  “Don’t tease me. Is that an actual offer?”

  “Not today, because I feel like hell from not sleeping, so don’t try to run me home for a quickie before apartment hunting. But yes, it’s an actual offer.” He wasn’t the only one being tormented by nights lying in bed next to each other. Not only did I want him physically, I wanted the intimacy it brought.

  “That turned my day around completely,” he said. “I am really fucking happy now.”

  Sure, because he wasn’t the one who felt like they had a golf ball in their throat.

  I love you.

  I swallowed the words. Again.

  * * *

  I couldn’t read Felicia as we toured the second apartment. The first she hadn’t liked at all. It was too narrow, with very little natural light. I hadn’t bothered to point out that was the nature of a brownstone. With this one, she was very quiet. She wasn’t verbalizing any dislikes. But she wasn’t saying she liked it either.

  Her mood had been off all day and I hated to see her so stressed.

  To me the logical thing to do was to get married but I wasn’t going to push it. She’d made it pretty damn clear that was not something she wanted to do. Not today, anyway. Or even tomorrow.

  The real estate agent was pointing out how high tech the apartment was.

  Which was great, but not the most important thing. You could update or upgrade anything, but you couldn’t change location, which with this brownstone was amazing. You couldn’t change the overall footprint either and I had no complaints on the bones of this townhouse.

  To me, this place was a slam dunk. The outdoor space was beautiful and private, with very little upkeep required. Getting a garden in Manhattan was a major score. The doors to the backyard were accordion style, so when the weather was nice, you basically eliminated the wall to the outdoors. I could see entertaining in this place, with its huge kitchen and massive island. I could see having kids here, running up and down between the kitchen and family room level and the garden level.

  I saw all of those things with Felicia.

  But I couldn’t tell you what she saw, if anything. I felt like in a month I’d gotten to know Felicia as deeply as if we’d spent a year together. Then there were times she remained a mystery. She claimed it was because she was British and trained by her mother to keep her feelings private. I had no idea if that was true or not, but I did find it frustrating sometimes. Now was one of them.

  I felt like the real estate agent agreed with me. She was a woman named Krisha, in her fifties, very polished, looking for any sort of clue as to what Felicia was thinking.

  “Who is the cook in the relatio
nship?” she asked with a smile.

  “We don’t really have one,” I said. “Though I can make something work as needed.”

  “I can’t stand to cook,” Felicia said. “So much work.”

  The agent laughed. “No wonder you’re so thin, then.”

  “It is a gorgeous kitchen,” Felicia said, running her hand across the quartz countertop. “It’s really perfect for entertaining, isn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure who was more excited, me or the agent, to have her positive reaction.

  “Top-of-the-line appliances, which even if you don’t cook, are perfect for having a personal chef or caterers in. It’s so rare with a brownstone to have the width for such a deep island. This one is truly an anomaly.”

  “I really like the outdoor space,” I said. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

  She nodded and smiled. “It’s all very nice. Can we see the bedrooms?”

  “Absolutely.” The agent ushered us toward the stairs. “Is this your first home together?”

  I waited to see if Felicia would answer and she did. “We live together now but it’s a flat Michael shared with his first wife. I want something we picked out together.”

  Did Becca really bother her that much? I wasn’t even really sure.

  “So understandable,” the agent said. “Memories are like cobwebs. You think you’ve got them all cleared out and then you find some lingering.”

  “Exactly. Is there a powder room?” Felicia asked, suddenly sounding brisk. She set her purse down on the island. Or more accurately, threw it.

  “There is one right by the front entry, next to the study. So convenient to have a bathroom on every floor.”

  Except Felicia wasn’t asking as a buyer. She jogged across the house, a desperate look on her face. She didn’t even have a chance to close the door behind her before we heard her throwing up.

  “Oh, dear.” The agent looked sympathetic. “Morning sickness?”

  I shook my head. “No, she’s not pregnant.”