Wedded to a Wayne: A Finn World Holiday Romance

“You shouldn’t be suggesting this at all,” he growls. “You of all people.”

“Me of all people?” I tilt my head to meet his gaze. “What does that mean?”

His grip on me tightens. “It means you’re a smart, beautiful, successful woman. You haven’t hit thirty and you’d be fine if you woke up tomorrow and decided to retire. There aren’t a lot of people in the world who can say that, who did that practically on their own.”

“And yet my family still won’t answer my calls.”

His nostrils flare and he looks like he wants to shake me. “They’ll come around. But even if they don’t, you would still have the freedom to choose. Don’t you want to wait until you fall in love to get married, instead of legally binding yourself to someone you’ve basically known for about a month? Someone with two children from a previous marriage who will always be the priority?”

“They should be your priority.” I try to shake him off, but his grip is solid, so I stick out my chin defiantly. “Which is exactly why you need to consider this. Consider how you’d feel, how Lang and Barry would feel, if you didn’t do everything possible to stop them from being taken from you. They should be with you, Emerson. Everyone knows that.”

Anger and something I can’t name flares to life in his eyes. “You believe that so much you’d marry me to make it happen?”

I lick my lips, tasting strawberry and trying to formulate coherent thought, despite his touch and penetrating gaze. “I wasn’t planning to marry anyone at all before my brother’s old school misogyny got turned up to eleven. The idea of waiting for someone who may or may not show up to sweep me off my feet seems antiquated. And freedom to choose is exactly what I’m trying to exercise right now. I’d like to choose not to be exiled from my family while still having a say in my own future, and this is the best way to make that happen.” I shrug, supremely conscious of his thumbs making light circles on my shoulders. “And… I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Emerson. Our lunches together, our emails, have led me to believe we have more in common than most. I admire you and your family and care about your children. If I can help you keep them close, I would want to do that. Marriages have been built on less, and it’s a better option than either of my current alternatives.”

He's still searching my face as if to find some truth I’m still hiding from him. “This is crazy, Tanisha.”

I manage to move away from his touch, turning toward the desk to pick the folder. I hold it out to him. “Before you say that, or make your final decision, at least look at the agreement I put together. I’m not sacrificing myself like a martyr. And I’m not trying to trick you or trap you. I’ve even added an option to limit our arrangement to a suitable twelve-month period, following the hearing, which would still achieve both of our aims.”

“Limit?”

Is he glaring again? “Think about it tonight before making a definite decision. Talk to your lawyer, or mine, if you need to. The

ir numbers are in the file and they’re expecting your call.”

“Why tonight?” he asks with a frown.

I sidle around him and move toward the door with my shoulders back and head high, determined to maintain my dignity until he leaves. “If you agree to this, the sooner we make it official the better as far as the optics are concerned.”

“Right. The optics.” He might be in shock. I suppose I would be too, if this hadn’t been my idea and I hadn’t been putting it together for over a week now.

I open the door and he stops right beside me, immovable until I look up into his eyes. “I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon, Emerson.”

He leans down as if to kiss me and I freeze in surprise. At the last moment, his lips graze my cheek instead. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, too.”

When the ding of the elevator’s arrival takes him away, I’m still leaning heavily against the doorframe, trying decipher his words.

Did that past tense mean “So long, crazy lady?” or “I’ll think about it?”

I touch my cheek, hoping it’s the latter.

You are still keeping secrets.

It’s not a secret. He has to know I wouldn’t be offering this if I didn’t admire him as a person. And it’s not a stretch to think we’re similar enough that we could live together. That we might complement each other. I’ll admit the idea of seeing him every day over the breakfast table isn’t the worst thing I could imagine.

I wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried to kiss me.

You think he’s sexier than Winston Duke and you want him.

That isn’t a lie.

Yes, I know. You can laugh if you want to. I just called a business meeting to convince a man to marry me. He’s not a broke scoundrel, but he is a single dad with a troublesome ex.

Tani Chahal, your feminist card called. It wants you to lose its number.

“That’s Tani Cliché Chahal to you.”

Chapter Two