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“Yeah. And to sweeten the deal, I’ll give you a honeymoon gift.”
Marci gives me a withering look.
“Now isnotthe time to talk dirty to me, Taylor.”
“Not what I meant, but I like where your mind’s at. If you marry me, like legitimately marry me, I’ll invest in your diner.”
She pushes back from the counter, and spins to face me on her stool.
“Taylor. No.”
“It won’t count as a handout then because I’ll be your fucking husband, and you will be sharing the money that I have.”
“Where are you going to get this alleged money from? I don’t want to be a burden to you or anyone else.”
“But you’re happy taking responsibility for everyone else’s problems?” I ask. “Like Billy. Your friends. Grant’s issue with the menu?”
“Hey, that’s not fair. Don’t use that against me.”
“I’m not using it against you, Angel. I’m telling you that I’m on your fucking side, and if we do this,” I say.
I circle toward her, placing my hands either side of her on the kitchen counter so that she’s caged in my arms.
“If we do this, I’m going to be team Marci and team Heartstopper until the day we decide to call it quits. We can keep the same rules for the fake marriage. We don’t have to change any of that, and we probably shouldn’t.”
“Because you don’t want it to ruin our friendships and family relationships.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“But I have nothing to offer you,” she replies. “I don’t have money to invest in your goals. It’s not an equivalent exchange.” She hesitates. “Jesse, I… I don’t want this to escalate. I’m scared.”
I hate that she thinks that’s what this has to be, but I don’t blame her for it. It’s a deal. She has no feelings for me other than annoyance and occasional arousal.
“You don’t have to be scared when I’m with you.”
“I’m scared of you.” Her eyelashes flutter. “I’m scared that we’ll break the rules.”
Fuckkkk me.
“Me too. But we’re adults. We can do this.”
Marci places a hand on my chest, and I catch it in mine.
“Will you marry me, Angel?”
“Yes.”
This feels more intense than the museum or anything else that’s happened between us so far. More intense than watching her come on the armchair in my bedroom.
“Then we’ll have to arrange it,” I say, and take a step back so I don’t kiss her and fuck this up. “You’ve been arranging that wedding party with Ganny for next weekend, right?”
“Right.”
“So, we’ll get the marriage license and do the damn thing then,” I say. “And we can claim that there was an error on our certificate and that we have to redo the whole thing. That we had an appointment with them.”
“That’s the official party line?”
“Correct,” I say. “Marci, are you sure?”
