Jilted Girlfriend, I'm the Tycoon's Wife novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Thirty-One Words

A judge marries Lena and Harrison at nine, a diner contract sets the terms, and Dylan texts that her $41,000 was a gift; Cynthia invites them to Sunday dinner.

The clip had four million views by the time the judge called us in.

I had watched it in the hallway outside her chambers, standing next to a potted fern.

It started with Dylan saying "I'm not in love with you," and it ended on my face when I said "your brother."

The comments were already in the thousands, and the top one said: "SHE DID NOT JUST DO THAT."

"She did," Megan said behind me. "Mare, you married a man you've said thirty words to."

"Thirty-one," I said.

My sister had come straight from a night shift in the ER, in blue scrubs and a puffer coat, with a granola bar in one hand.

She looked Harrison up and down slowly.

"He has a very serious face for a groom," she told me.

"I can hear you," Harrison said.

"Good. Then hear this. If you hurt her, I know where every artery is."

"I'll remember," he said, and the corner of his mouth moved.

I had slept four hours in his guest room.

It was the size of my whole apartment, with a view over Elliott Bay and a bathrobe waiting on the bed.

I had not asked how a marriage license happens overnight.

Harrison Trelawny, it turned out, could make things happen overnight.

The judge was a gray-haired woman who looked at the three of us over her glasses.

"Ms. Hassett, is there any reason you aren't here of your own free will?"

"Yes," I said. "A video."

"I saw it," she said. "My clerk sent it to me twice."

She waited, and I understood she was giving me a door.

I thought of Dylan's hand held out to Camille, and the ring on her finger.

"No," I said. "I'm here because I want to be."

That was a lie, and a short one, and it was the only kind I could still afford.

Harrison put a thin gold band on my finger.

It was loose, and he turned it once, so the wide part sat on top.

"It's from the shop next to the courthouse," he said quietly. "Sixty dollars. We can pick another."

"This one's fine."

He did not slide his own ring on. He held out his hand, and I did it for him.

His fingers were warm, and they did not shake. Mine did.

"By the power vested in me," the judge said, and then she said we were married.

Megan clapped twice, alone, in the empty room.

"Congratulations," she said. "I'm calling it a funeral and a wedding. I have no better word."

We ate at a diner on Second Avenue, because Megan said nobody signs a contract on an empty stomach.

Harrison ordered black coffee and dry toast.

He slid a single sheet of paper across the table, and I read it twice.

"One year," he said. "Separate bedrooms. In public we lie as much as we need to. In private, no lies between us."

"What's your side?" I asked.

"My stepmother wants Dylan in my chair. A wife at my table tells her I'm staying."

"That's a lot of money to spend on a seat."

"It's a good seat," he said.

"And mine?"

"You get a name that makes your ex wish he'd stayed quiet. You get a lawyer if you want one."

"I don't want a lawyer. I want my forty-one thousand dollars."

Megan's fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

"What forty-one thousand dollars?" she said.

I had not told her. I had not told anyone.

"The house account," I said. "Three years of my paychecks. It's in his name."

Megan put her fork down very carefully, and I watched my sister decide not to break the table.

"I can have it back to you by lunch," Harrison said. "Wire it from my own account."

"No."

He waited.

"I want Dylan to hand it back himself. I want him to stand somewhere with people watching, and count it."

Harrison studied me for a moment.

"Then I'll make sure he's standing somewhere," he said.

He added one more line to the page, in pen: "No touching unless she starts it. She can leave any day, and I keep my word on the money."

I read that line twice, too.

"Why would I be the one who starts it?" I asked.

"You wouldn't," he said. "That's why I put it there."

I signed under his name. Megan signed as the witness and drew a small heart.

My phone buzzed on the table.

It was Camille, for the eleventh time since midnight.

I turned it over.

A text from Dylan came in right behind it.

"Cute stunt. The house account is spent, babe. It was a gift, and gifts aren't refundable."

I held the phone so Harrison could read it.

He read it once and set his coffee down.

"Spent on what?" he asked.

"On the ring, I think," I said. "The one on her hand is my grandmother's."

Harrison said nothing, and a muscle moved in his jaw.

Then a voicemail from an unknown number came in, and I played it on speaker, because I had no more secrets left to protect.

"Lena, dear, it's Cynthia," said a warm voice. "I'm not angry. Come to Sunday dinner. Bring your husband."

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