Page 6

6

Stella

“W hat do you want?” I huff at my brother when I’m summoned to his office, yet again, the next day.

“The agreement with Ferraro is ready,” He tosses his pen down on the desk. “Just sign next to the red flag on the last page.”

“Why do I have to sign it?” I ask in confusion.

“Because in exchange for the funds we need, you have to agree to a minimum of one year of marriage.”

Well, fuck.

“And that you’ll live with him the entire year.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I pick up the document and flip through the pages. “Am I required to lick his toes and suck his dick every day for a year as well?”

“No. There’s nothing about sex in the agreement.”

Arching my eyebrow, I slump into one of the visitor chairs and start reading it.

“Just sign it! I would never screw you over, Stella.”

“Screwing me over is exactly what you’re doing,” I mutter. “Do you think I’m just going to take your word for what’s required of me?”

“Fine. Whatever,” he replies before taking a seat and watching me read. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, until I get to the third page. “What’s this paragraph about Andre guaranteeing a hundred million if the loan isn’t paid in full in a year?”

“Exactly what it says.”

“But…why?”

“Creed wanted some sort of collateral I’d pay back the loan. Since the house and shit aren’t worth that much, Andre offered to cover a hundred mil.”

“So, if you don’t pay Ferraro the money back he’s loaning you, Andre loses a hundred million dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t fucking know. I guess he’s desperate to marry you or some shit.”

I consider that for a moment and shake my head. There’s no damn way. “Like his cousin would ever make him pay it.”

“Family or not, I think Creed will hold him to this agreement.”

Turning to the next page, I skim through more talk about repayment and interest before getting to the terms that specifically affect me. And there it is — if I end the marriage before the year, the total amount of the loan is due immediately. Fuck. I am also required to spend all of those days and nights living with my husband, either at our residence or any other location of our choosing.

The good news is if Andre goes to prison, I can ask for a divorce the day he begins serving his sentence. That gives me something to hope for at least.

Then I read the next paragraph and can’t hold back my laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Saint asks.

“If we have any children together during the length of our marriage, he’ll pay child support, but only if I take the brat to visit him in prison at least once a month for the duration of his incarceration!”

Saint shrugs. “That seems reasonable enough to me.”

“There’s no fucking way I’m getting knocked up by that man.”

“Why not? You like kids.”

“Just because I like kids and want my own someday, doesn’t mean I want them with him .”

“He’s attractive and smart. You could do worse. Mom would be thrilled to be a grandma…” he trails off because we both know there’s no way in hell she’ll be around in nine months.

But he’s not wrong.

I hate that my siblings and I never gave her any grandchildren to spoil. She’s wanted us all to settle down and start families for years now, but we’re still stubbornly single. And I’ve always wanted kids, several of them. It’s just a dream I’ve let fade for years now, since I had no desire to do what was required to conceive them.

Doing some quick mental math, our wedding night in mid-December would be right around the time I could get pregnant if we don’t use protection. The odds from one time are small. But it’s possible I could give my mom something else to be happy about before she leaves us. And maybe I’ll also have someone to love when she’s gone, filling in a partial piece of my soul she’ll take with her.

Rereading a few sections, I realize. “He doesn’t ask for custody of any hypothetical children, just offers to pay child support for them.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s facing three and a half years in prison. A kid wouldn’t know him well enough to want to spend time alone with him once he finally gets out.”

“Right.” I finish reading the document and don’t have any other objections. At least my brother was telling the truth, and the agreement doesn’t mention any requirements of sex. “Give me the damn pen.” I hold out my hand, and my brother reaches across the desk to slap one into my palm.

The little red flag where I’m supposed to sign looks rather ominous, sort of like a literal warning, but it’s too late to bitch now. Still, I can’t help but say, “Shouldn’t I sign this in front of a notary?”

“We’ve got a girl down at the construction office who will handle it. I’ll take it, so you won’t have to go down there.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before scribbling my name across the paper.

“Have you told Mom yet?”

With a sigh, I get to my feet. “No, I’ve been putting it off, but I guess it’s time.” I spin the giant diamond around on my finger and head upstairs.

* * *

“How are you feeling this afternoon?” I ask my mom while I push the curtains apart, letting in some sunshine, since I can’t remember the last time she was able to make it outside.

“Same old,” she says with a weak smile.

“Cami’s gone to get you some fresh tea.” I look over my mom to assess how she’s really doing today.

Her skin is pale and delicate, her frame thinner than ever, and her greying black hair sparse. Yet, her blue eyes retain their quiet warmth, and her smile, though faint, still lights up her face when she sees me, Cami or Saint. She would’ve been an amazing grandmother.

“Are you…do you think you’re up for some company tonight?” I ask her tentatively once I’ve determined she’s about the same as she’s been the past few days, slowly declining right in front of my eyes.

“Company?” she asks. “What sort of company?”

“I’m…I’ve been seeing someone lately.”

My mom blinks at me, and I force my lips to lift into a smile, praying she buys this lie. The woman needs something good in her life, even if it’s not real.

“You’ve been seeing someone? That’s where you’ve been going? Cami said you disappear several times a week for hours.”

“Right, well, I told her and Saint I go shopping, but that’s only partially true,” I continue to lie rather than tell her where I actually go when I leave. “And he asked me to marry him.”

“Marry him?” Mom repeats. Her eyes lower to my left hand as she struggles to sit up. Hurrying closer, I grab an extra pillow from the loveseat to prop her up. “He gave you a ring? Did you say yes?”

“He gave me a very beautiful ring.” I hold up the diamond on my finger for her to see. “And yes, I told him I’d marry him, even though I know it’s not a great time…”

“Stella, honey, how long have you known this man you’re planning to up and marry? Does Saint know about this?”

“Yes, Saint knows and approves. And I’ve known him for years. So do you. So it’s not like he’s a stranger or anything.”

“Well? The suspense is killing me,” she echoes Andre’s words from last night.

“It’s Andre Ferraro.”

“Oh. Oh, right. I think I remember him,” she says, her blue eyes brightening. “The tall, dark, and handsome lawyer who would be pretty if he lost the facial hair and didn’t look so grumpy all the time?”

“That’s exactly how I would describe him,” I agree with an honest smile as I move to sit on the chaise in front of the nearby window on the other side of the bed.

Now my mom stares at me, her eyes softening. “He lights you up.”

“What?” I clutch a throw pillow to my chest.

“You light up when you talk about him.”

“No, I don’t. You just described him perfectly. He’d hate to hear how pretty he’d be if he stopped scowling and smiled. I can’t wait to tell him you said so.”

“He’s coming over tonight?”

“If you’re up for company.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, honey.”

“Okay, then, I’ll bring him up to see you before we have dinner together.”

“I wish I could join you…but I just don’t think I’ll have an appetite.” Or the energy to get down the stairs.

“It’s fine, Mom. He can come up here to say hello.”

“Well, you’re going to have to get me cleaned up and dressed in something nice.”

“You don’t have to change or do anything special,” I assure her, knowing that doing so will just drain her. “Andre knows you’re sick. You don’t have to pretend you feel better than you really do.”

“I’m glad you have him. Oh, you’ll have beautiful babies together. The clock is ticking, Stella,” she warns me as her eyes grow heavy. Before I can comment on her assessment, she says, “I think I’ll maybe have a little nap now to save up my energy.”

A moment later, she’s asleep when Cami returns with her cup of tea and a straw to make it easier for her to sip.

“Mom? Mom, you need to drink something,” my sister mutters, but she doesn’t respond. Turning to me, Cami looks distraught as she whispers, “I hurried! I swear I made it as fast as I could.”

“I know you did,” I tell her. “She’s just having a quick nap. I’m sure she’ll drink it when she wakes up.”

Cami nods her head in agreement at the lie we both tell each other to keep up our spirits. But we know if Mom doesn’t start to eat or drink enough, we’re going to lose her even sooner than expected.