Page 27 of A Week To Wed
“Wait, your family owns General Mutual too?”
Maisy winces. “Not as yet. I said they were set to buy them. My father and mother set me up with Godfrey, a son of the owner of General Mutual. I wasn’t sure about him at first. He seemed rather self-involved. But he was funny and charming, and he pursued me intensely. I thought, he must see something special in me. Lord knows I was never good enough for my parents. If I wasn’t engaged or getting into the insurance business, I wasn’t making much of my life. So I dated Godfrey for a few months, and he seemed so utterly taken with me, it was flattering. He took me on trips around the world and treated me to dinners at places that celebrities have to get on waiting lists to eat at. He hung on my every word. And on top of all that, he was a gentleman. Never touched me. Never did anything more than kiss me on the cheek. He said we should wait until the wedding night because he was a traditional fellow. I put that down to him having integrity.
“Turns out, it was anything but integrity. When I planned our wedding, he vetoed every single one of my ideas. He laughed at my binder.”
My hand pauses in midair with a handful of popcorn. “I hate him.” The words come out so growly that Loki whines and jumps off my lap and onto the couch cushion next to me, showing me his belly.
“I know right?” Maisy says. “Eventually, he told me all of my ideas were childish and embarrassing. He said I would have to present a conservative front to the world, because all the bigwigs of the insurance business would be at our wedding. Eventually, my mother took over planning the wedding, even down to my dress. Nothing was the way I wanted it. It was the way she wanted it.
“The night before the wedding, I thought at least I’ll try to have some fun on my own terms. So I sneaked upstairs to Godfrey’s room, and I heard him talking on the phone to his best man, bragging about my trust fund that he was going to get his hands on. It turns out he was only marrying me for the money.
“And I thought to myself, right. ‘Okay, Maisy, you have a choice.’ Well, I knew I wasn’t going to marry Godfrey. I went to my parents and told them what I had heard. And they didn’t seem the least bit shocked or concerned.
“‘You’ll learn to love him in your own way. In time,’ is what my mother said. ‘Just as I did when my father set me up with your father, the most promising of his young executives.’
“I was so shocked that I went home, packed up all my things, and hid at a hotel until I figured things out. And I decided I wanted to disappear, and being a mail-order bride sounded like a perfect way to disappear. I always wished I could go back to Meemaw’s ranch. I became nostalgic, remembering how happy I was there. This way, I could have a wedding the way I wanted, a groom of my choosing—more or less—and hide from my family. And look at me now. I landed with you.”
I lower my chin. “I’m happy you did.”
Maisy bites her bottom lip. “Are you?”
She tugs at my heart when she’s not sure of herself.
Setting down the bowl of popcorn on the table, I pull Maisy onto my lap.
“So, so happy.”
I angle my face up to hers, and she wraps one arm around my shoulder, accepting my kiss against her soft, parted lips. The kiss sets my belly on fire, with her tongue sweeping against my top lip, then my bottom lip.
I suddenly feel guilty about the things I’m holding back.
“What is it?”
I should tell her about the will. About the marriage clause. But then, I feel like the both of us are falling so hard now it doesn’t really matter. Does it? I don’t want her to think I chose her out of desperation. Yes, I procrastinated and needed someone quick, but I don’t ever want her to believe she was my plan B, my backup plan.
I press a kiss on her forehead. “Nothing. Heartburn.”
ChapterEighteen
Maisy
As I’m scanning his desk at the back of the house on Thursday morning, I don’t see anything that resembles an address book. I don’t feel good about rifling through Lincoln’s desk, but what choice do I have?
I open the top middle drawer, and finally, there’s a small spiral-bound book. I pull it out and open it up. Yes. Finally, I can get in touch with his family. There’s not much here, but there’s something. His nephew, Jonas Whitlock, is already on the guest list, so that’s done. There’s a smattering of Halls all over the map, and one close by in Bozeman. James. Hm. I snap pictures of some of the names and addresses with my phone.
Before I close the drawer, however, something else inside it catches my attention.
“Last Will and Testament of Edwin Hall.”
I should close the drawer and pretend I didn’t see that. But it’s just a will; what could it hurt?
I pick it up and thumb through it, noticing something very interesting. So interesting that my hands tremble as I read the words.
* * *
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because!”
