Page 25 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
I take a deep breath, perching on the edge of the armchair across from him. "I'm getting married."
His bloodshot eyes widen. "You're what now?"
"Getting married," I repeat, my voice steadier than I feel. "To Hudson Wilder."
"The ex-biker?" Dad's face contorts in disbelief. "From the north ridge?"
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ, Violet." He shakes his head, looking more alert now. "You can't be serious. You barely know the man."
"I know enough," I counter. "He's a good father. He built that beautiful house with his own hands. And he needs a wife to help him get custody of his daughters."
Dad narrows his eyes. "And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
"Fifty thousand dollars," I say bluntly. "Enough to catch up on the mortgage and keep us afloat for a while."
The shock on his face would almost be comical if the situation weren't so serious.
"He's paying you to marry him?" Dad's voice rises incredulously. "What is this, the flipping 1800s?"
"It's a business arrangement," I explain, keeping my tone even. "He needs a wife to strengthen his custody case. I need money to save Mom's house. It's a win-win."
"A business arrangement," he repeats flatly. "Do you hear yourself?"
"Do you have a better idea?" I challenge. "Because we're out of options, Dad. The bank isn't going to wait forever."
He falls silent, running a hand through his thinning hair. I can see the shame and frustration warring in his expression.
"How old is this guy anyway?" he finally asks.
"Thirty-eight."
"Christ, Violet. He's almost as old as I am!"
"Sixteen years older than me," I correct him. "And age is just a number."
Dad snorts. "That's what predators tell their victims."
"He's not a predator," I snap, anger flaring. "He's a father fighting to get his children back from their drug-addicted mother. He's the stable parent, but the system is rigged against him because of his past."
"His past with an outlaw motorcycle club," Dad points out. "Not exactly a Boy Scout."
"People change. He left that life years ago." I lean forward. "Look, I'm not asking for your permission. I'm telling you what's happening. The wedding is on Tuesday at the courthouse."
"Tuesday?" he splutters. "As in three days from now?"
I nod. "I'll be moving in with him the same day."
"This is insane," he mutters, reaching for a half-empty beer on the table.
I snatch it away before his fingers can close around it. "What's insane is letting Mom's house slip away when we have a solution right in front of us."
"And after?" he demands, glaring at me for taking the beer. "When he has his kids back and doesn't need you anymore?"
"We'll divorce," I say simply. "I'll come home with enough money to keep the house afloat until you can get back on your feet."
He looks away, jaw clenched. "You shouldn't have to do this."
