Page 6 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

SIERRA

T hey’ve taken eleven couples in an hour. At this rate, we’re going to be here for at least four more hours, and we need to be at the airport in six.

Rose filled in the paperwork while I texted the group chat with Jazz and Maggie to make excuses for our absence at breakfast. As far as they’re concerned, Rose and I had such a good night with the twins—whose names I can’t even remember—that we’re seeing them for brunch, and we’ll meet up at the airport.

Neither of us charged our phones last night, so we have to reserve what little battery we have. Which means sitting in silence.

Ordinarily, people watching in a room full of people who got drunk and married on a Sunday night in Vegas, and now regret it, would be fun. It’s less fun when we are those people.

The irony of the fact that just a couple of days ago, I was promising Kyo that I still had time to find a wife to get my stupid inheritance, and now I’m waiting to get divorced. Or annulled. Whatever.

I snort to myself, and Rose’s head snaps in my direction. “What about this could possibly be funny?”

If I wasn’t so exhausted, so hungover, I might have a witty comeback, but I don’t.

Instead, I tell her the truth. “My mom’s parents left me a really big inheritance, but I have to be married to claim it.

If I’m not married by thirty-one, I lose it.

Kyo lost his, and I have nine months to get married to claim mine.

I’ve been trying to find a wife for three years with no luck, yet here we are.

” I don’t mean to sound as bitter as I do, but god, what are the odds?

Rose raises her brows. “Seriously? What happened when Kyo lost his?”

“It was donated to charity. I don’t know which, but based on how my mom talks about my grandparents, I probably don’t want to know.

Let’s just say if they were alive, they’d have written my mom out of the will the second she married a Japanese man.

” And I hate to think how they’d have reacted to two biracial, queer grandkids.

Rose scrunches up her nose like she always does when she hears something she doesn’t like, except she’s wearing her glasses, and the movement causes them to slip down her nose. If it wasn’t Rose, I’d think it was cute. She huffs and sits back in her chair.

“They sound awful,” she says, shaking her head. We’re quiet for a moment before she continues. “Do you want to hear something else funny?”

“What about this could possibly be funny, Rosie?” I repeat sarcastically, and she scowls at me.

“You know how I had my review with my boss earlier this week?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a promotion opportunity coming up. I want it, and although my boss is happy with my performance, she’s concerned that I’m not a team player.”

“You’re not a team player. You hate working with others,” I point out, and she doesn’t argue.

“Apparently, the team wants to get to know me. They want me to be sociable. So I figured I’d just pretend and lie my way through it. But my boss saw the quiz answers you wrote on my papers, and I panicked and said you were my fiancée, and that the reason we were coming to Vegas was to elope.”

I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to hold back the laugh and failing miserably. She didn’t laugh at me and my inheritance-issues—it’s shitty of me to laugh at her thing, but I can’t help myself. “Shit, you really manifested this, huh?”

“Shut up,” she groans, but there’s no heat in it. We might not like each other, but, for once, we’re both in the same sinking boat.

“Far be it from me to pay you a compliment, Cannon, but you being introverted isn’t a personality flaw,” I say, and she eyes me with suspicion.

“Don’t get me wrong, you have many, but that’s not one of them.

It’s just who you are, and that’s… fine, I guess.

Sure, you could maybe st and to be more sociable, but anyone trying to get you to change that much, your boss included, is a red flag. ”

Her suspicion fades, confusion replacing it, like she can’t understand me saying something semi-nice to her. Which, given the past year, is understandable. She sighs. “That’s easy for you to say when your boss is Cal Michaelson.”

I can’t argue with that. I’ve had awful bosses before, and I know how lucky I am to be where I am now.

Rose drums her nails on the clipboard, like she can’t bear to sit still.

She flips open the wallet and pulls out the papers from the chapel.

Neither of us looked beyond the information sheet and the temporary certificate, but there are a bunch of travel coupons, and even a flyer for a divorce attorney. Lovely.

“What’s that?” I ask as Rose’s fingers close around a white envelope.

She shrugs and opens it, pulling out a glossy photo and laying it flat on the clipboard.

It’s a little blurry, like it was taken on an old disposable camera.

Rose and I are standing, facing each other, holding hands beneath a purple neon sign that says Dearly Beloved, but half the letters aren’t lit up, so it looks more like ear love .

We both have stupid, drunken smiles on our faces, and I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen Rose look so light.

“We look…” I trail off because I’m a second away from complimenting the picture.

“Wasted,” Rose finishes for me. Right. I must still be a little drunk .

“Mhmm. Funny that we were both wearing white last night.”

“Yeah,” Rose agrees, clearing her throat and sliding the picture back inside the envelope.

We both look up as the number twenty-five is called, and I groan. “Only forty-three to go.”

Rose sighs, shuffling the papers in her lap into a pile and hugging them to her chest. “What would you spend the money on? Your inheritance, I mean.”

I start at the sudden change of subject. It’s not like Rose to small talk. But I suppose it’ll help time pass faster. “Kyo and his partners want to have kids, but Lina needs IVF, and her insurance won’t cover it.”

“That sucks,” Rose says, shaking her head. Her eyes are glued to the screen, the numbers moving at a snail’s pace. “So, how long do you have to be married for before you get the inheritance?”

“Three months.”

Rose hums, and I narrow my eyes as I watch her expression move from contemplative to resolved. What is she?—

“Then let’s stay married.”

I sip gingerly at the shitty diner coffee just for something to do with my hands. The too-bright fluorescents reflect off the tarnished metal tabletop, stinging my eyes.

Rose is pushing flambéed strawberries around her plate with her fork, looking a lot like she’s trying to keep the contents of her stomach inside.

Why she ordered pancakes is beyond me—I ordered plain toast and unseasoned hash browns, and those have been hard enough to choke down after whatever we had to drink last night.

We picked the place right across the street from the annulment office, and it’s the dictionary definition of dingy.

Everything is a little tarnished, the menus are sticky, and the napkin holder has what looks like a dent from a fist in it.

There are a couple of guys working behind the counter who would make me cross the street if I saw them out at night, fucking around.

I watch as one of them licks his thumb and wipes a smudge on a glass before sitting it on top of a precarious tower of glasses. Gross.

Rose finally pushes her plate away, and I waste no time. “Let’s get out of here and eat before we talk,” she said, like she didn’t just drop a fucking bomb on me. I’ve been waiting as patiently as I can, but who does something like that?

My wife, apparently. Jesus.

“Can we talk now?” I ask, and she takes a long draw through her straw, wrinkling her nose. That’s what she gets for getting soda at this time of the morning.

She swallows and pushes the glass away, too. “Yeah. I mean, it just makes sense. We’re already married, we live together. What’s the harm in just staying that way until you get the money?”

I can’t believe she, of all people, is suggesting this. Uptight, never put a toe out of line, Rose Cannon. “There is the issue of us loathing each other,” I point out, and she shrugs .

“My parents barely tolerate each other most days.”

I’ve spent enough time around Lilia and Alexander Cannon to know what she’s talking about, but it’s not the same. “I think getting married specifically to claim an inheritance probably constitutes fraud.”

“That’s not why we got married, it’s why we’re staying married.

Besides, no one has to know. As far as anyone around us will be concerned, our hatred of each other has just been to cover up our true feelings, and we could no longer fight them.

Or something like that. We can figure out the logistics before we have to tell our families,” Rose says, like it’s somehow the most reasonable thing in the world. Who is she?

I rub my eyes with my fingers, and they come away flecked with black and silver glitter, because I did a bad job of taking off last night’s makeup while rushing out the door for a fucking annulment.

“I can’t understand why you’d offer to do this. You know your parents will be furious you eloped, and it’s completely out of character. What’s in this for you?”

“I’m not against pissing my parents off.

I never got to do the teenage rebellion thing, and now Jazz has settled down, maybe it’s my turn to stress them out a little.

As for what’s in it for me…” She clasps her hands on the table in front of her, squaring her shoulders and straightening her jaw so she’s looking ever so slightly down on me.

There’s the Rose I’ve unfortunately come to know so well.

“I’ll be your wife, so you get your inheritance, and you’ll be my wife for all the social events I need to go to get my promotion at work.

You’re better with people than I am. People seem to like you—not me, to be clear, but people. ”

“Wow. Thank you?” I snort, rolling my eyes. It might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.

“If all goes to plan, in three months, you should get your inheritance money, and I’ll get my promotion.

The promotion comes with a raise, and we’ll both be able to afford to get divorced, move out, and only see each other when Jazz insists—and she might insist less if we claim it was a bad breakup or something. ”

I can’t go as far as saying it’s a flawless plan—it’s actually batshit crazy—but it might work.

With a few amendments. “We can’t claim it was a bad breakup.

I’m not willing to lose Jazz, Cal, or my job over this.

If things end badly, they’re obviously going to choose you. You’re family, and I’m just a friend.”

“Technically, you’re family now, too. You’re Jazz’s sister-in-law,” Rose points out.

Shit. “She’s going to kill me. When she asked me if I would be your roommate, I don’t think she had us getting drunk and married in Vegas in mind.”

“She married Liam after they’d been dating for two months. She’s also Jazz. I don’t really think she has any kind of moral high ground here. Look, the way I see it, this is the last thing either of us wanted, but we might as well take advantage of a shitty situation.”

I pick at the crust of my toast, my ring sparkling in the harsh lighting.

It’s a really pretty ring—both of our rings are much nicer than I’d expect, considering we bought them at 1 a.m. at a pawn shop, according to my mobile banking app.

It seems I also spent a decent chunk of my savings on it, and it’s too pretty for me to sell, so I guess I’m going to need that inheritance after all.

“Alright,” I agree, finally. “I guess we’re staying married.”

There’s a resounding crash as the tower of glasses tumbles to the ground behind the counter, smashing to smithereens.

Now, that’s an omen if I’ve ever seen one.