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I let out a chuckle and stand up, walking over to the desk. Bringing up the other document, I carry it to her and offer it.She takes the certificate, reading the words out loud. “Marriage certificate?” Her gaze continues reading, and when she gets to the names on the document, her eyes widen and her jaw drops. Her attention snaps back up to me.
“You didn’t.”
I nod, feeling sheepish as I rub the back of my neck with a hand. “I called in a favor from a friend. It is one hundred percent binding, and I bet that you regret saying yes now.”
“This is when my comment about attraction bothered you so much,” she says, realization dawning in her features.
I nod my head. “We were already married, and it was too late to take it back. We were also already married before I got this letter.”
“The timing seems suspicious,” she says, and I agree.
Silence settles between us, and I clear my throat. “So, uh, we need to talk, wifey-poo.”
She glares at me. “Call me that again and you’ll be the wifey-poo in our relationship.”
We both burst out laughing, the weight of the moment lifting a little bit.
“I don’t think I can deal with this right now,” she says, putting the letter and certificate down on the coffee table and curling back onto the couch. “What are you going to do to make this right?” she asks in a teasing voice.
“Anything,” I say, my heart thumping double time at the soft purr in her voice.
She grabs my hand and pulls me down beside her. “Then prove it,” she says, leaning in.
I kiss her, feeling the weight of the world slip away and a new hope take hold. Maybe we can make it through this. Maybe it’ll all be okay.
But when we pull away, reality comes crashing back.
She leans in to pick up the letter again, and I watch as her fingers trace over the words on the paper, her lips parting in shock as if she thought she’d been dreaming.
The silence between us is deafening, broken only by the sound of her breathing.
“Well, this does make things a little awkward, doesn't it?” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. I sense she’s talking more to herself than me.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, afraid of her response.
She reads the letter again, and I squeeze my eyes closed, thinking about his words. My father's final act of cruelty, even beyond the grave.
“Does it change anything between us?” I ask, preparing for pain.
“Of course it does,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you, Fredrick.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “I don't want to lose you, Lila.”
A smile curves her lips. “Because you want me or because you want an evil man’s fortune?”
I nod my head. “The money, definitely.”
She laughs and I laugh with her.
“But I am serious. I don’t give a damn about the inheritance. I don’t want to lose you.” She’s what matters to me in all of this.
“Then don't,” she says.
“I have a feeling that won’t be easy.” I spread my hands. “I’m a master of screwing up.”
“You really are,” she says with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. “But what you’re good at, you’re really good at.”
“Are you talking about my skills in the bedroom?” I ask, suspicious.
