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When she drinks, the little filter she has falls away. They say a drunk man’s truths are a sober man’s secrets. What secrets does she keep?
We fall into silence, and Alexis moves her hand forward, tracing the outline of the compass tattoo on my arm.
“This is beautiful,” she says. Her eyes scan over my ink, like she’s memorizing them.
I watch her, and when her eyes finally meet mine again, I speak. “I need a wife,” I mutter.
“Needis an odd word choice. Shouldn’t it bewant?”
“No. Not in this circumstance. I don’t know how to say this … to fulfill the requirements of becoming CEO, I must get married before my fortieth birthday.”
“You mentioned your birthday was in thirty-eight days,” she says. “I was listening. Did you know that’s beekeeping age?”
“Not sure what that means,” I admit.
“It’s a good thing.” Her lips slightly part. “Being forced to wed is old-fashioned though.”
I suck in a deep breath. “That’s one of the many requirements my grandfather established when the company was formed. An invisible clock has been ticking down since I was old enough to get married. It was supposed to encourage us to start a family early and not be obsessed with our job.”
“Like how you are now?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“And he’s not Southern?”
“No. French.”
“Right, because then the expectation would’ve been eighteen with a baby on the way.”
Her finger continues tracing the outline of the compass. Her touch is intoxicating, but I try not to act affected by her closeness, even though she intrigues the fuck out of me.
“I don’t have any other options. The odds of finding someone to spend the rest of my life with within six weeks is astronomical.”
“A fake marriage is dishonest,” she says.
“Oh, see, it’d be arealmarriage—at least on paper and in public,” I confirm, remembering what my brother said. “But I agree. It’s dishonest. However, thousands of people will lose their jobs in the next six months if I don’t take over the company. My brother will quit, and I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for. My hand is being forced. And I’ll do whatever I can for my employees, even go against my wants.”
“Which is?” she asks.
I’ve never told this to anyone I dated. “Over the years, I’ve refused to get married unless I was in love.”
That sad expression I saw in the Tower Penthouse meets her pretty face again.
“So, you’re making the ultimate sacrifice for your employees. And you sayI’ma hopeless romantic.”
Our faces are close, and I melt under her as she continues to touch me. As if she notices, she pulls her hand away and clears her throat.
“So, let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’ve refused to get married until you found true love, and now that you’ve got a month and a half, you’re like,Fuck it all. Let me marry this woman I’ve known for weeks.”
“Eight days,” I correct. “It’s only been a week.”
“I haven’t been counting, Easton, but you have,” she says. “I don’t know why you’re choosing me. There are a thousand women who would happily marry you right now and try to be the perfect wife for you.”
“And that’s the problem. I don’t want someone falling in love with me in the process. You don’t believe in love, and I need to marry someone whose heart I won’t break with this situationship.”
“And the expectation is?”
“Be my date to all social events, where you act like you’re in love with me whilenotfalling in love.”