Page 15 of Honeyed

“Arthur stated it had to be you.”

“But if he just wants you married in order to get the money, then—”

“It has to be you.” That deep voice cuts me off.

“All right.” I blow out a slow breath. “And how long do we have to be married for? Fuck, I can’t believe I just asked that question as if it was a rational one.”

Warren harrumphs in agreement. “Believe me, wrapping my head around this hasn’t been easy for me to do either. I wanted to harass Arthur in his casket about being insane, but then realized that wouldn’t do any good. And I’m not sure, I’d have to talk to the estate lawyer to see exactly what terms were drawn out. Maybe a year or two? I’m not sure though.”

A year or two. That’s all I would get with the man I pictured being with for the rest of my life so many times.

“And we’d have to do the whole thing? A wedding, moving in, merging lives?” It was dumb to say, but I couldn’t come out with the real questions I wanted answers to.

I turn to look at him, and if he isn’t the most handsome man alive. All morning, sleepy gray eyes and tousled chestnut hair in a pair of black joggers and a forest green quarter zip. He has that casual athletic look going, and my God, I want to climb into his lap and sink into his chest as we watch the water flow below us. But of course, as usual, I refrain.

“Yes, all of it. Although, we could get married at the courthouse. No big to-do, no having to explain things to your family until after it’s done.”

Depriving my family of the wedding they’ve probably always wanted for me, as their princess, will crush them. It dampens my mood a little bit because I’ve always envisioned walking down the aisle on my father’s arm.

“Are we really sitting here having this conversation?” I had to point out the lunacy of it again or I’d freak like I did at his apartment.

Warren’s hand seeks mine and grabs on, just like it has so many times before. But the contact of our skin feels different in light of the question he asked me.

“Alana, I know it seems insane. I know it’s a lot to swallow, and we are definitely going to have some obstacles to figure out. But if we do this, if Arthur’s estate gets into the right hands, if I fulfill what he wished for his legacy, if we can help August get out from under that awful woman, isn’t it worth it?”

He’s being so noble, but all I can hear is that I’m not worth marrying without the estate terms.

“Yes.” I can’t help but choke a little on the answer. “How will we sell this to my family? To our friends?”

A smirk lifts the side of his mouth. “That’ll be the easiest part, won’t it? Two best friends who finally fell for each other and couldn’t wait? Sounds like some movie Cass would have starred in back during her time in Hollywood. They’ll eat it up.”

I can’t help but swoon right on the spot because it sounds like my fairy tale come to life, only I know it’s fake.

“They can’t know it’s fake,” I warn, not sure why I want to lie to my entire world.

Maybe because I’m embarrassed that they wouldn’t believe he’d marry me for real, just of his own accord.

“People will suspect something when you pay for a storefront outright. And when I try to shove a brand-new scholarship by an anonymous source at August,” Warren points out.

“So, let them assume, but I don’t want to admit that we only got hitched for money.” It burns just to say it to him.

“So we’re going to do this?” A note of hope fills that deep voice.

My eyes trace the golden-brown stubble dotting his jaw, and my nose fills with the faint whiff of his woodsy cologne as the breeze blows past us.

“You understand this means I won’t be able to marry a man who actually loves me? Who wants to start a life and a family with me. And that when, if I ever do, I’ll have to tell him about my first marriage.” I deliver this line with accusation because I want him to prove me wrong.

In my heart, a fierce yearning opens the chasm that has always bled for him. I want him to look me dead in the face and say he has always loved me like I’ve dreamed he could. That he wants to be the only man I ever marry.

But he doesn’t. “I understand what I’m asking of you, Al. It kills me to do it. To know that your first marriage won’t mean what traditional marriages mean. But know that I will always protect you, love you, and support you in the way I have for fifteen years. Know that I will do right by you, and that when it comes time for this to end, I will do it peacefully, with the utmost gratitude.”

His answer is perfect and heart-wrenching all at the same time, which describes exactly how I feel about a lot of my interactions with Warren over the years.

When I look at him, he’s hung his head so that a brown lock or two droops onto his forehead, everything weighing heavy on his shoulders. This man has been asked to adapt too many times in his young life, and here is just another task he’s taking on to try to make someone else’s life better.

But something else is niggling at my brain, and before I can let it go, it ends up popping out of my mouth.

“And do you expect that I’ll just forgo sex for a year or more?”

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