Page 11 of Dearly Unbeloved
“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 likeear 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 lotlike 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 Iam. 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.”
