Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
We stare at each other.
“West? Hello, I still have no idea what the fuck is going on. How am I supposed to help you right now?”
“My family still thinks we’re married, but… there’s tension there with my father. He wants me to return to the family company.”
“Just tell him you’re very sorry, but you’re too busy being Indiana Jones now.”
“It isn’t that simple,” West says gently. “If my father suspects that our marriage is fraudulent, he will use my inheritance as leverage to get me to come back. I can avoid the conversation if I don’t see him, but seeing him is about to be unavoidable. Unless you help me, I’m concerned that he’ll begin to wonder whether I married you only to trigger my inheritance.”
“Because you did.”
“Not intentionally.”
“Dude, you have a job. Why not just let go of this inheritance and live your happy life without it?”
West nods, understanding. “I do have a job. And so far, the trust has paid out a million dollars over five years.” I whistle long and low. I mean, holy shit. Two hundred grand a year would change my life in ways I can’t even wrap my head around. “But,” he continues, “the remaining balance I stand to inherit is nearly one hundred million dollars. It’s hard to walk away from that.”
I choke on air. “Oh. I guess that does change things.”
“It does. And I’ve recently discovered a loophole I didn’t know about before. A very big loophole.”
I lift my chin, grinning smugly. “Well, look who else missed some fine print on a contract.”
West swallows audibly. “It’s complicated and boring, but the point is this: I don’t think anyone in my family knows about this loophole, and I really need it to stay that way. No one else can find out that you and I are married in name only.”
“So, do you need me to, like, write an email? Take a picture where we’re kissing?” I wince, at a loss. “Forge some love letters?”
He looks me over again, top to bottom, and the defeat in his eyes makes me realize the true extent of my unshowered, feral chaos. “Actually, Anna,” he says, “I need you to come with me to my sister’s wedding in Indonesia and convincingly play the part of my very loving wife.”
Four
LIAM
My invitation sends Anna’s expression into a frozen mask of consternation, and she blinks past me, eyes trained on the wall. I would have thought the real bombshell here would be the realization that we are not, in fact, divorced, but she appears to have weathered that one with relative calm. It seems to be the suggestion that I need her to act like my wife that’s sent her into a mental spiral.
Of course, that could be the gummy.
Regardless of what’s going on in that brain of hers, I don’t blame her for being upset. Yes, it was her responsibility to read through any legal documents before signing, and it would have been incredibly bad for both of us had she become seriously involved with someone, but we seem to have dodged that bullet. Now we just have the cannonball of Ray Weston to contend with, and I feel like a dick already knowing I won’t warn her about how bad it might be. I need her to say yes too desperately.
And so I wait, letting her think this through.
It’s surreal to be here with her after all this time. I was so close to being done with this, so near to the finish line, yet here I am, having to improvise an intricate plan B at the eleventh hour with a Muppet in human form as my co-conspirator. Don’t get me wrong, beneath the baked, unshowered disarray, Anna is still a beautiful woman, with enormous brown eyes, creamy skin, and long, willowy limbs. I’d always been fascinated with the perfect beauty mark just above her lip. Unfortunately, right now she looks like she’s fallen out of a tree and crawled through a field of tangly briers to get back to her apartment. This is probably the closest I’ve ever seen to her natural hair color because the pink has grown out a good inch, leaving a stripe of brown at her roots. Her makeup is, I presume, from yesterday; shadows of mascara carve dark circles beneath her eyes. Despite the old makeup and frazzled appearance, there’s still something striking about her. Her eyes are enormous and bright, framed with dark lashes, her steady gaze entirely without artifice.
Though I am nearly certain her mind has wandered to something other than the topic at hand, I let her stare at the wall a little longer so I can stare at her and reconcile this version of Anna with the one I lived with for two years.
Let’s start with the biggest surprise and, more importantly, a huge wrinkle in my already flimsy plan: Anna is not a medical student.