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“Then I walked,” she says, wringing her hands.
My jaw clenches. “How far did you walk?”
“I don’t know. Thirty or forty minutes.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I could have sent a car or picked her up myself. “I’m so sorry,” I say, my throat like sandpaper.
“It’s fine.” She brushes it off. “I’m used to walking a lot. Plus, it’s good cardio.”
“I have a gym you can use, but please, no more walking.”
She chuckles. “Like I said, I don’t—”
“You need a car,” I maintain, my tone calm but firm. Why does this woman insist on fighting me on every single thing? We have a contract that says I’m obligated to take care of her financially as long as she lives in my house. Having a car is just part of the deal. “Like I said, there’s no sidewalk. You’re going to get killed.”
She sighs. “Fine.”
“Good,” I say, relaxing into my seat. “Besides, you’ll need a vehicle to take care of all the wedding preparation.”
“Wait,” she says, turning to me. “There’s going to be an actual wedding? With the dress, the flowers, and everything?” When I cast her a side glance, I see pure shock on her face. “I don’t do weddings,” she adds.
Funny. That’s almost word-for-word what I said to Max when he told me the plan, but I’m not letting it show. “Well, you signed a contract.”
“I signed a contract that said I’ll marry you, not that I’ll hold a wedding ceremony with you.”
“Do you want to take it to court?” I ask.
Crossing her arms, she lets out a huff and sinks back into her seat.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh. “I admit, I was taken aback by the news myself. But it makes sense. People need to know about our marriage, see us together. Otherwise, this whole thing is pointless. Don’t worry, though. You can choose everything. I’ve never had big dreams about my wedding.” I wink at her, trying to ease the tension.
She raises her eyebrows. “As if I have? Please. I don’t exactly have a binder full of cut-outs from bridal magazines.” Her voice falters. “This was never in the cards.”
I clear my throat. “We’ll hire a wedding planner, and Agnes will help you out. We’ll do something as low-key as possible, with a small guest list.”
Not that I have many people to invite in the first place. There are only two people I consider real friends. Wade, who’s a footballer in London, and his brother Andrew, a soldier. Andrew has a wife and two kids, and Wade recently got engaged to Roxy. So, that brings the total to six people. Of course, Max and his girlfriend will be there, alongside Agnes. Definitely not a big crowd, though I’m sure Max will find enough people to invite so our wedding doesn’t look like the left-out kid’s birthday party. Like all my birthday parties growing up. Luckily, I do have enough acquaintances in the business world to populate my wedding, and I know a few people on my street too.
“Okay,” she says, pulling me out of my calculations. “As long as I can choose the flavor of the wedding cake, I’m good.” A smile curls at her lips, and damn, it’s beautiful. “Wait, there will be a wedding cake, right?”
I fight the urge to grin. “It wouldn’t be a wedding without one.”
She nods in satisfaction. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“And yes, you can choose the flavor,” I add.
“Then it’s a deal,” she says, turning to me and flashing a radiant smile.
Instead of replying, I focus on the road. One more look at that smile, and I might send us barreling into a ditch.
I drive on in silence until I reach her street, trying to refrain from wincing when I stop in front of her shabby apartment. It’s painted a dull charcoal and looks like it could collapse at any moment. Leaning on the wall at the street corner are two guys wearing dark hoodies, looking exactly like they belong here. It’s definitely not worth the astounding amount of rent she’s paying for this place.
“Thanks,” Jane peeps, opening her door. “We—”
She cuts herself off, clearly not expecting me to have gotten out with her. I know we’re not actually dating, but saying this looks unsafe would be an understatement. I need to make sure she gets in okay. This girl is crucial for my career, after all.
“Well.” She wipes her hands on her thighs, and I force myself to keep my eyes on her face. “Thank you. I had a good time. Text me about our next outing, and—”
“Can you move in tomorrow?” I blurt without thinking.
