The Imperfect Marriage novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Fourteen Days

In his truck, Ross lays out the terms and pays her father's clinic on the spot; she says yes, and a folded page of his grandmother's will disappears back into a folder.

"You're joking," I said.

"I'm not a funny man. Ask anyone at the yard."

He walked me to a dark pickup at the curb and opened the passenger door.

I got in because my teeth were chattering and the heater was already running.

He climbed in beside me and set a thin leather folder on the dash.

"My grandmother died in July," Ross said. "She raised me, and she left me the shipyard in her will."

"I know. Lowell said you were being cagey about it."

"Lowell would. Here is the part he knows too."

He tapped the folder.

"The estate closes fourteen days after my wedding day. If I am married when the executor signs, the yard is mine. If I'm not, it's sold."

"To who?"

"Haas Marine. Lowell's father already has the offer drafted, and he's had it since July."

I stared at him.

"So Lowell works for you and his father wants to eat you."

"Lowell works for me because I was too busy to see it."

He said it flatly.

"Why me?" I said. "You've met me twice."

"Three times. You were the only person at your engagement party who asked the caterer if he'd eaten."

I didn't have an answer for that.

"And you just burned a bridge in front of sixty people for your father," Ross said. "I need someone who can walk into a room with me and not blink. Also, Lowell will hate it."

"That last one's tempting."

"It's not the reason. It's just a bonus."

I laughed, which surprised both of us.

Then it left me, and I looked out the windshield at the black lake.

"My father's pump costs three hundred eighty thousand dollars," I said. "If I marry you for fourteen days, I do not want to be a woman who sold herself for it."

"You're not selling anything."

"Then what is it?"

"A job. Fourteen days of public appearances. Separate rooms. On day fifteen, the paper goes through and we get an annulment."

"And the money?"

"Is yours before you say yes."

He took out his phone and dialed a number from memory.

A woman answered on the third ring, and he put it on speaker.

"This is Ross Stenbeck. I'm calling about the Arne Lund account. The advance is three hundred eighty thousand. I'll wire it tonight and I want your finance director to confirm to his daughter by phone."

The woman said that would be irregular.

"It's a Friday night," Ross said. "Be irregular."

I heard keys clicking.

Then she said the clinic would hold a surgery date eight days from tomorrow.

I was crying and had not noticed.

Ross handed me a handkerchief, an actual cloth one, and looked politely at the dashboard.

"The money is a gift," he said. "It is yours whether you say yes or not."

"Then why would I say yes?"

"Because you said you'd never owe a man, and I'm counting on that."

I wiped my face.

"One more thing," I said. "This is not that kind of deal. You don't get anything from me but a ring and a performance."

"I would never put that in a deal."

He said it so quickly, and so plainly angry on my behalf, that I believed him.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay what?"

"Okay. Fourteen days."

He nodded once.

He picked up the folder to put it in the door pocket, and a page slid out of it into my lap.

It was the second page of a long document, covered in small print.

I caught the word "trust" at the top before he took it back.

"Boring," Ross said. "Tax language."

He squared it with the others and tucked the folder under his seat.

I didn't think about it again, because someone rapped on the window with a knuckle.

A woman with a messy blonde braid and a green sweatshirt stood outside, holding my peacoat in one arm and my phone in the other.

She held up a small ring box.

I rolled the window down.

"I'm Pru," she said. "I'm his sister. I watched the whole toast and the truck talk through the windshield, and it's the best thing that has ever happened to this family."

"Pru," said Ross.

"Grandma's ring. Try it on. We have a judge at nine."

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