Chapter 5: Terms on a Napkin

The test kitchen on the ground floor smelled like garlic and bleach.

Victor stood at a steel counter in a white apron, stirring a forty-quart pot of marinara.

Two cooks looked up when I came in.

"We'll take our break," one of them said.

"You don't have a break," Victor said.

"We do now," said the other, and they went out.

He turned the burner down and wiped his hands on the apron.

"You brought a pen," he said.

"I brought a pad."

I put the legal pad on the counter between a bowl of basil and a tray of raw meatballs.

He picked it up and read it standing, with his head tilted toward the light.

"You went through the paper," he said.

"Option C is not recommended."

"I can read it through the hole." He held the page up. "Stay. You wrote stay."

"I crossed it out."

"Aggressively."

"Victor."

"I'm just saying that for a woman who crossed out one word, you used a great deal of pen."

I took the pad back.

"Here's what I know," I said. "The county says we're married."

"It does."

"The chaplain said it was a rehearsal, and a rehearsal doesn't come with a stamp."

"No."

"So I'd like to hear you tell me this is a clerical error."

"I'd love to tell you that."

He took the email out of his apron pocket and unfolded it.

"But the license said D.V. and I signed V.D.," he said. "Nobody caught it. That's me on the record."

"You signed your own initials."

"I sign everything with my own initials. It's a character flaw."

"It's the reason I'm married."

"It might be the reason we both are," he said.

I put my forehead on the cold steel for a moment.

"Okay," I said. "We undo it. I'll call a lawyer. Annulment, today."

"There's a problem."

"What?"

"Dad is a day out of heart surgery. The doctor said no shocks for three weeks."

He rubbed his jaw.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Her Fiancé Sent His Twin, She Chose the Brother She Loved from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.