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“Finn—”
“I’m sorry.” His voice chokes. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to face it. I just…I hoped. I’ve been visiting her every week, watching her just…just slip away. She hasn’t recognized me since October. Next, she’ll…she’ll forget how to eat…and…and then.” He grips his face and closes his eyes. “They told me December, Marcella. January. February if we were really lucky. I—” He swallows. “We…aren’t lucky.”
A hollow pit opens up inside me. “You…you wanted to find a wife by the end of November so your mother could meet her?”
His blue eyes snap open, oceans pooling in them. Dropping his arm to his side, he says, “I wanted to find a wife…so I wouldn’t be alone when my mother died.” Words fracturing, he whispers, “As long as I can remember, I have been so…so…very lonely.” He bites his lip—much too hard. “I can’t buy friends, Marcella. I’ve tried. That isn’t how it works.”
“So you tried to buy love?”
A crackling laugh leaves him, ending abruptly as he wraps himself in a hug. “No. I tried to be honest about the social class expectations of applying to be my wife and included the deadline I saw creeping up on me, then I tried to find someone who would answer two hundred questions thoughtfully.”
My fists clench at my sides. “For a billion dollars, what wouldn’t people do?”
Finn smiles as tears coat his cheeks. “Save my parents.” He shakes with every inhale. “I’m sorry, Marcella. You have every right to be upset. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how to face making this real. And then I didn’t know how to explain that the stress I’ve caused you with this time limit came down to a hope that my mother could make it to my wedding before she…” He can’t force out the word died. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I wanted a wife to fill the hole she has already left behind.” Tossing his head back, he stares at the sky and whispers a swear. “It sounds…so terrible. Like all I’ve wanted is to use you. I’m sorry I never found the right words to explain myself, and now I’ve run out of time to try.”
“Yeah.” I close the short distance between us. “Expecting me to take her emotional place does sound awful.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Using me is also really cruel.”
“I am so sorry.”
I cross my arms. “So here’s the part I can’t figure out, Finn. Where in these past few months have I given you the idea that I want you to be nice to me?”
He stares. “What?”
“How many times have I asked you to be mean to me?”
His gaze wanders a moment as he runs his fingers through his hair. “A…concerning number.”
“Exactly. You had this in your back pocket the entire time, and you never once thought to mention you were using me?”
His lips part. He blinks. His brow furrows. “Marcella, I’m confused. What are you trying to say?”
Stomping, I grab his hand, tight. “I’m trying to say you don’t ever need to worry about me, Finn. Especially not right now, while you’re hurting. I don’t need pretty explanations. I will never expect your energy to pander to me, just like you better never expect any pandering in return. You have let me exist and given me more than I will ever need to cover anything I want. From the start, you told me you were doing this because you were lonely. Then? Then you made me fall in love with you. So it’s okay. I don’t mind being useful. Knowing I can do something for you when you’ve done everything for me isn’t a bad thing.” Tears burn in my eyes as I cup his damp face. “It’s okay, Finn. I’m right here. And I’m going to stay right here. I don’t think anyone can ever really replace anyone else, but I can promise that, for the rest of your life, you’ll be subjected to my existence until you’re completely sick of me.”
“Never.” He clamps his hand to my cheek. “I’ll never grow sick of you. Not ever.”
“Can I get that in writing?” I fight to form a small smile. “Because it’s actually one of my biggest fears.”
“Yes, you may.” Dropping his forehead to mine, he whispers, “But only if I can get what you just said in writing, too. The part about how you’re…how you’re in love with me.”
I let my lip jut. “No.”
“Please?”
“Fine…” Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him as tight as I can. “I guess I can be convinced.”
He crushes me in his embrace. “How romantic.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really the romantic one between us.”
“Head kiss,” he murmurs before crushing his lips to my hair. “Tell that to the flowers you pressed into that book on your dresser.”
I scoff. “When did you go through my things?”
“While you were singing ‘I Won’t Say I’m in Love’ in the shower November 1st…” He nestles his chin against my head. “In my defense, it was left open.”
