Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“What kind of business were you thinking of?”
His face lit up. “I’d sell custom birthday and wedding cakes. I love cake decorating so much. It’s a way to be creative, and to make people happy at the same time. There’s nothing better than that.”
“So, is the dream to own your own bakery?”
The light in his eyes dimmed a little. “I wish. But no, I can’t dream that big, especially in this city where rents are through the roof. The best I could hope for would be to rent time in one of those shared commercial kitchens and sell my cakes through word of mouth, or a website.”
That was depressing. Dreams were meant to be wild and over-blown. They should give us something to aspire to. It seemed like life had taught him to expect disappointment, so he couldn’t even entertain the notion of shooting for the stars.
Not that this was any of my business.
Since the mood was dipping, I changed the subject by asking, “Does your cut hurt?” He was holding up his hand with his finger pointing at the ceiling. Yolanda had folded a cotton pad around the tip before wrapping it in first aid tape, so it looked long and bulbous.
“It’s throbbing a little, but I’ve had worse. I look like ET, though.” He pointed at my forehead and said, in a high, raspy voice, “Ellioooot.”
I grinned at that. “Want some ibuprofen?”
“Nah, it’s not that bad. It sure bled a lot, though. I’m sad about my sweater.” He gingerly touched the stain on his chest.
“It’ll wash out, especially if you get to it right away. If you want to give it to me, I’ll take it to the laundry room and soak it.”
He looked shy all of a sudden as he climbed off the counter. “No, that’s okay. I don’t have a shirt on underneath.”
“I can give you something of mine to wear if you want.”
“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it when I get home. Right now though, I want to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
“No way,” he said. “That’s my responsibility.”
“Really, it’s no big deal.”
“Then just let me do it.”
We were still going back and forth when we reached the kitchen and found his friends had beat us to it. The floor was totally pristine, and Dylan was returning my broom and dustpan to the cupboard. “We had to throw out the stuff on the charcuterie board,” he said. “Some glass shards had managed to bounce up onto the island.”
“We were super careful about cleaning up the glass on the floor,” his boyfriend Lark added, “but maybe don’t walk barefoot in here for a while. You know, just in case we missed something.”
“Thanks for doing that,” I said. “And good news, we still have wine.”
Yolanda muttered, “Thank god,” as I handed her two bottles and the corkscrew.
I gathered some more glasses, and all of us moved into the lounge, which my dad used to call the family room. Vee had taken off his suit jacket and rolled back his sleeves, and as I poured the wine he said, “I guess I’m ready to sign off on you. I’m not gonna lie, I’m still skeptical about this whole fake marriage scheme. But I like the way you took care of our Em when he cut himself, and you didn’t yell at him for breaking your shit. Keep that up. And just know that if you’re ever mean to him, or if you hurt him in any way, you’ll have to answer to all of us.”
Yolanda raised her glass to toast Vee’s threat, and I muttered, “Heard.”
After that, his friends practically interviewed me while we finished off four bottles of wine. When I noticed Embry wasn’t drinking any, I retrieved an orange San Pellegrino soda from the refrigerator. He seemed happy when I handed it to him.
Finally, JoJo produced a yellow legal pad from her large handbag, and we wrote out the terms of our agreement. The gist of it was that we succeeded or failed as a team. If I didn’t get my inheritance because nobody believed we were a real couple, then Embry didn’t get his money either—aside from his monthly thousand-dollar stipend, which would remain in effect for twelve months or until we were found out, whichever came first.
We both signed the paper, followed by all of his friends, who listed themselves as witnesses. Embry seemed embarrassed, but I thought it was a good idea. I wanted us to go into this with clear expectations, especially where money was concerned.
Then I brought up what might be an uncomfortable subject. “Speaking of paperwork, I asked my lawyer to draw up a prenuptial agreement a few weeks ago, when I finally resigned myself to playing my grandfather’s game. I’ll have him add your name, and I’ll bring a copy for you to sign next time I see you. It’s nothing personal. I just—”