Page 13

I’m down, but I’m not out. I can still come back from this.

“I work at a law firm.” I shrug my shoulders. “It's not going to be hard for people to start figuring out that I'm legally married and, to be honest, it will look terrible on my end if people find out and I have to explain that I accidentally got married.” That is at least one truth I can admit to.

“So, you would lie to them? You want me to lie?”

“It’s notlying.Technically wearemarried. And will be for the next two months. It would just look better for me if the person I was married to actually looked as if she were my wife. And really, this is more for your benefit. Maybe I feel bad about what happened, and I’m looking for a way for you to benefit from this mistake. Some time to not worry about anything except finding a new job sounds pretty helpful to me.” I’ve already said more than I should. Every good lawyer knows to only give necessary details and move on quickly.

Camila puts her head down in her hands, knees on her elbows, and shakes her head. It’s the longest minute of my life, but I don't say anything else. I let her process, I’m confident that I’ve got her. Until she lifts her head and says, “I don’t even know you. I can’t move in with you and pretend to be married to you. This is absolutely insane.”

It’s hard to argue with logic. And this is exactly why some situations call for a trick here and there.

“Think of it as a mutually beneficial business arrangement. You don't want to tell your parents that you quit a job or admit defeat and move home, and I don't want any of my colleagues to find out I’m married and think it's fake.” Bringing up her parents was a low blow on my end, I’ll admit it. But I’m not looking at her like Camila, the girl I couldn't keep my eyes (and hands) off of for a night. I’m looking at her like Camila, the girl who holds the key to getting my name on the door.

“Don't you think this sounds kind of…complicated?”

The only thing that would complicate this situation is feelings and since I have no interest in those, I’m confident this arrangement can work out for the both of us.

“I don't think so. It will be strictly business. I have no interest in ever being in a relationship, so if that's something you're worried about, you can take it off the table. And look, I might skirt the truth about some things, so there's no point in lying about the fact that I obviously found you attractive the other night but as the marriage license shows, we both had too much to drink. I’m able to keep things completely professional between us from now on, and if it makes you feel better, I can have my assistant draw up some sort of contract for us. A business agreement if you will.”

Camila doesn't say anything for a long time.

Is this what my partners feel like in a courtroom when they lose? I've never experienced a loss like this before. I’m about to get up and leave. She clearly thinks I’m insane. And at this point, I’m right there with her. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Placing my hand on Camila’s knee and giving it a light squeeze, I throw out one last hail Mary. “Hey, you know what? Never mind, don’t worry about it. Do me a favor though, and get me your parents’ address in case I have to send the paperwork there.”

With that, I give her leg one last bump with my knuckles and stand to leave. I cannot believe I’m giving up on this. She's still sitting there staring at where my hand just left her leg as I walk around the bench, pausing to look around so I don’t run into anything or anyone this time.

“Wait.” It’s barely more than a whisper but Camila's voice stops me dead in my tracks.

That's twice today now that I’ve stopped breathing. Turning around to face Camila, the wind blows her hair in all directions now. “Okay,” she breathes.

And my heart all but falls out of my ass. “Okay?” I ask.

“Okay.”

Camila

My eyes arepuffy but have adjusted to the dark room. The only light is the blue glow emitting from my laptop that’s cracked open and playing my‘Let Me Be Dramatic’playlist. I’m sitting on the blanket-covered couch in my living room trying to figure out how I got here. And I don't mean here on this couch, I meanhere, as in my life. This time last week I had a job. A job that gave me Sunday-Friday headaches because I was in a constant state of anxiety. But I had a job. My parents were at home not having to worry about me; they were proud. And now here I am, an accidentally married, jobless disappointment, waiting for Taylor to come home to see me staring at a blank TV.

The jingle of keys rattles just outside the doors and I have only a split second to wonder what kind of reaction she’ll have to my newest and greatest surprise.

“Ooompfh.” Actually, she's not even going to notice me after running into all those boxes in front of the door.

“Hey, Mila,” she says cautiously. “What's ah…what's going on here?”

Looking over at my best friend I must have the wordterrifiedwritten on my forehead because she comes rushing over to sit beside me. I believe there are many different kinds of friendships but there's a certain comfort that comes from a friendship like ours. One where we can be ourselves, completely vulnerable. So as soon as I feel her arm wrap around me and pull me into her side, I let it all out.

I tell her about my fear of having to move home, meeting with Miles, his idea to play out this marriage for a while, how I agreed to move in with him, and how he agreed to pay our rent so Taylor wouldn't have to worry about it. Oh yeah, I made him tack that on at the end. The moment I’m done word vomiting and I look into those big green eyes, it confirms to me that this idea is even crazier than I initially thought.

Something about Miles’s face, even with that permanent scowl, made me feel safe though. It made me think this plan could work and that maybe it wasn't as crazy as I initially thought. As soon as I agreed, he told me his assistant would work out the details to have my things packed up tonight and movers would come by, along with his driver Wills, to pick me up and move my things in later tomorrow.

“And what is he getting out of this?” Her skeptical face tells me she thinks I’ve agreed to be his Pretty Woman.

“I think he’s mostly just doing it to help me out because I cried in front of him,” I confess. “But also, I don’t think he wants his coworkers to find out. I guess it doesn’t look good to be the guy that’s married but…not really.”

“So all you have to do is pretend to be married to the hottest grump on the West Coast?”

My bottom lip is raw from how hard I’ve been chewing it. I look around our tiny one-bedroom apartment with all its color and random art. From street vendors and swap meets to some of the most exquisite galleries around the world. Blankets, floor pillows, and flowers litter the place. The most expensive things we own are kitchen appliances and tools that Taylor calls her babies. I call them the cities’ shiniest pickpocketers because on more than one occasion she’s bought an appliance before paying rent and we’ve had to make up the money somewhere else. But she loves to cook, and it's one of the only things she's stuck to doing as long as I’ve known her, so I let her indulge in it.