Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex's Rival novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Ten-Minute Marriage

She registers with Weston Crane at the same desk and sets her terms; they walk out married as Preston's car mounts the curb.

Weston Crane held the door of the marriage office for her, and the clerk looked up from her desk.

She looked at Claire.

She looked at the tall man in the charcoal suit behind her.

Her mouth opened, and she took off her reading glasses, and let them fall on their chain.

"Honey," she said. "It's four fifty-one."

"I know," Claire said. "I'd like the appointment back. With a different groom."

The clerk looked at Weston again.

He gave her a polite nod, the kind men gave to people who held the keys.

"Ross filed the forms from the car," he said. "A judge who owes me a favor waived the waiting day. Everything you need should be in your inbox."

"It is," the clerk said slowly, reading her screen. "It's all here."

Then her eyes filled up.

She pressed her knuckle under one lens and laughed at herself.

"Sit, sit. I'm staying. I'll stay until midnight."

They sat in the two plastic chairs.

Claire's chair was still warm.

Weston did not sit at first.

He stood over the table and read the form the clerk had printed, and she watched him read it, because it was easier than watching the clock.

He was quicker than Preston.

He finished the page before she had stopped being nervous about it.

Then he sat down next to her, with his knee a hand's width from hers.

"Terms," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You called me from a sidewalk, Ms. Winslow. You haven't asked what you're signing. Either you trust me, or you're about to be very angry with yourself."

"I don't trust you."

"Good," he said. "Then you'll listen."

He did not lower his voice.

The clerk made a show of finding something to do at the far end of her desk.

"One year," Weston said. "I need a wife at my mother's table on Sundays, and wherever my father's side of the family puts a plate. That's all I need."

"Your father's side."

"We'll get to that."

"We won't," Claire said. "Not today. I'd like to hear the rest."

One corner of his mouth moved.

"You keep your name. You keep your job and your flat, and you go on living in it if you want. No one touches you unless someone is watching. And nobody falls in love."

"Is that a rule or a prediction?"

"It's a rule. I'm told they're easier to break than predictions."

She almost laughed, and it surprised her.

She had not laughed in front of a man for three months.

"My turn," she said.

"Go on."

"Six years ago I lent Preston ninety thousand dollars. It was my grandmother's. He calls it a gift. I want it back."

"All of it?"

"All of it. And I want to be standing in a room full of people when he hands it over."

"Why a room?"

"Because he does everything in a room," Claire said. "He only believes what other people have watched him do."

Weston looked at her for a long moment.

It was not the look Preston gave her when he was calculating how much to say.

It was plain interest, and it did not hurry.

"Done," he said. "I'll build you the room."

The clerk came back with two pens and a clipboard.

She had stopped trying to hide that she was crying.

She slid the form across, and Claire took up the pen.

Her hand shook once, a thin tremor she could not stop.

Weston's eyes went to her fingers.

He saw the raw red spot beside her nail, where she had picked it open waiting for Preston.

He did not say a word about it.

He put his hand over hers on the pen, big and dry and warm, and held it still until the shaking stopped.

"Sign it," he said quietly. "Then it's done."

She signed.

His signature under hers was one flat line, quick and black.

The clerk stamped the form, and the sound was louder than it had any right to be.

She read the words from the card in a voice that wobbled.

Claire said them, and Weston said them back in a flat, careful voice.

He pushed a ring onto her finger.

It was a gold band, plain and a little too big, and warm from his pocket.

"My grandmother's," he said under his breath. "My mother insisted I carry it. I never thought I'd use it."

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered. "That's too much."

"Keep it on."

The clerk wiped her face with a tissue.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Crane," she said. "You two are the last of the day. I'll remember it."

"So will I," said Weston.

They went out through the door together, and he held it open again.

Somewhere past the bureau's steps the afternoon was going dark.

Claire looked at the paper in her hand.

It was the third license she had paid for.

It was the first one with a groom who had shown up.

Then a car came around the corner too fast.

It was a silver coupe, and it jumped the curb at the bottom of the steps and stopped with one wheel on the sidewalk.

The driver's door flew open.

Preston got out.

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