Page 20 of Say You Will

Finished with her meal, Franki lifts Oliver onto her lap. As she rubs his back, he cuddles into her, resting his chin on her shoulder like a baby. His tail goesthwack, thwack, thwackagainst the edge of the white tablecloth.

“Thank you for a lovely dinner and your proposal. I’m afraid, unfortunately, that I have to decline,” she says gently.

“What would it take for you to say youwillmarry me?”

Though her voice is soft, I detect some underlying emotion that I don’t recognize. “I’m not interested in a business arrangement or being the person you chose because I was the easiest option.”

She scratches Oliver behind his ears. “I’ve never been anyone’s priority in my life. That’s fine, but I won’t sign up for a marriage custom-designed to remind me of that fact. It’s better to be alone.”

Marriage will demand a great deal more of my time than I initially planned for. Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t irritate me at all. I’ll strikedoesn’t require attentionfrom the list. Later. When I’m not here for her to see it. “I can add you to my itinerary and make you one of my priorities. It’s a fair compromise. I have certain responsibilities that will always come first, but I’m willing to make reasonable adjustments. You’re my first choice of a wife. Does it follow that I value you less simply because you’re also the most convenient option?”

“Here’s a hint: the next woman you ask this question to, leave off the ‘convenient option.’ It makes me want to stab you with a fork,” she says, gentle exasperation in her tone.

Since she has, in no way, moved toward her cutlery, it’s clear her threat is an empty one. I lean back in my chair. “You need romance and emotional investment.”

“To accept a marriage proposal? Yes, I do. From both parties,” she says, voice sweet, but firm.

Tapping my finger on the table, I look away from her and around the hotel room as I formulate my thoughts and consider my next steps. By all common sense and reason, I should cross her name off the list and look for someone else, but the thought of walking away from her creates a sensation I can only describe as claustrophobia rising in my chest. Franki is the only person I find remotely suitable for the position. Shewillbe my wife. If she needs a romantic relationship, then I have to learn how to give her that.

I rise. “I understand.”

Franki joins me.

Methodically, I unroll and button my cuffs. Then I walk across the room and reach for my tuxedo jacket where I’d draped it over the end of her bed. Shrugging it on, I turn back to her. “I’ll be visiting my sister tomorrow. I’ll give you a ride back to the house. There’s no need to take two vehicles or inconvenience one of my parents’ drivers.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your parents. I can take a taxi.” Her lips press together, and she looks away in clear distress.

I attempt reassurance. “It’s no problem at all for me to do it. I’m already heading in that direction. We may as well carpool. I’ll pick you up at nine sharp. I also have an employment opportunity to discuss with you on the drive if you’re interested. Specifically, I’m in need of a translator. It’s a full-time, salariedposition with benefits. Your hours would be flexible. There may be some travel involved.”I’m literally making this up as I go, but if I have to buy a company in Germany or France to give Franki a job and keep her close to me, then that’s what I’ll do.

Her dark eyes flare with a glint of excitement and maybe a hint of distrust. “Really?”

“Yes. Nice little coincidence there for both of us. Serendipitous, I think you’d call it.” I don’t like how financially vulnerable she seems to be at the moment. I would never coerce her or manipulate her, but someone could. She’d refuse a handout or offer of financial assistance. A job, on the other hand, will go a long way to shoring up her resources. She’s always been a great student. No doubt she’ll be just as dedicated in a professional capacity.

“It would make me breathe a little easier, I’ll admit. I was concerned about losing my health insurance,” she says.

What the fuck have her parents been doing that she doesn’t have health insurance? I’ve never liked Guinevere Jones or Jonny Lennox, but for two overtly wealthy people to refuse to help their own child with her education or healthcare is despicable. Particularly when that daughter has multiple serious health issues. My last report on her was three weeks ago, so whatever happened with Franki and her parents is recent.

With Oliver close at her heels, Franki walks to the heavy, black-painted hotel door, and I follow, accepting her cue for what it is: a request for me to leave.

I don’t want to cross that threshold, but strategy is everything. Ignoring the suspicious glint in Oliver’s doggy eyes, I bend close to press my lips to her cheek. Smooth warmth. The faintest sweet scent. I have the strange desire to nuzzle against her and breathe her in. To simply live in this moment for the rest of my life. When she doesn’t pull away, I linger, absorbing her closeness.

This is an echo, or maybe a mirror, of that last night before she left.

“Will you come back?”

“Yes. I promise. This is just while I finish school.” Franki looks down at her new puppy where he gnaws noisily on a stuffed toy. She takes a deep breath before looking into my eyes and stretching up to kiss my mouth.

I turn my head to give her my cheek. She stays, pressing against my skin for a long moment, as I stand with my hands raised in surrender so I don’t touch her. After long, too- tempting moments with her sweet lips pressed to my skin, I step back.

“I can’t, Franki.” It’s not appropriate. She’s eighteen to my twenty-two, but hasn’t graduated from high school, yet.

“You could wait for me.”

I’ll wait for eternity. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

Now, I’m the one with my lips on her, and I wait for her to step away. She’s twenty-three now. Older than I was that night. Eighteen-year-old Franki would have jumped at my proposal and accepted anything I gave her. It was part of why it would have been so wrong. This Franki wants to stab me with a fork for my audacity.

She wraps her arms around me beneath my jacket and leans into me. I reach my own around her, tugging her close, my right hand splayed flat against the silky warmth of her lower back. I slide the fingertips of my left hand up, then down, over the exposed skin at the nape of her neck, and her flesh erupts with goose bumps. The sheer intimacy of it has me forgetting to breathe.

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