Page 116 of Marry Lies
I want to propose to heraftergetting to know her.
I want to watch her fall in love with me, because I’m sure as fuck already in love with her.
I want to give her the biggest, most ostentatious wedding ever—something to make up for the courthouse wedding.
And I want to marry my wifeagain, this time when she’s wearing her dream dress, listening to her favorite song, and walking down the aisle toward the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with.
Not the person who coerced her with money and connections.
“Right. Well, if possible, can you please transfer the money from my father’s account? You can reimburse it with one of my accounts, and I’ll even throw in a bit of hush money—”
“Miles, surely you know I can’t do that. Your mother separated your accounts before her death on purpose. You can’t touch your father’s money, and vice versa.”
I sigh, feeling defeated. I knew my mother went behind my father’s back before her death, dividing our trust five ways and leaving the scraps for my father. Scraps being more than most people made in their lifetimes, but still.
And then another thought occurs to me. If I transfer the other nine hundred thousand, give or take, tonight, she will see it and wonder why we’re not doing the installments.
This call is pointless. The best course of action is to continue the installments from me so she’s not suspicious. I can tell her in eleven months when she has all of her money. But the real question is, can I lie to the woman I love for eleven months to ensure she’s taken care of?
Yes.
I’ll do anything to ensure she’s taken care of.
I hate myself for it, though.
“I understand. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, actually. Can you please confirm that the transfers will be completed every month on the 15th, like we’d discussed?”
“Yes, sir. I can see here that the next one is scheduled in two weeks.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.”
After hanging up, I pace the hall.
I knew this would happen, and it was at the expense of Estelle and Prescott. My father did what he always does, and I made it worse by trying to protect her.
Oscillating between telling her and not telling her, I decide to text the one person who always gives me the best advice.
Me
I need to talk to you
Liam
Okay. Be right over.
* * *
I’m still pacing—this time in the kitchen as I panic eat Estelle’s delicious fuckingbiscuits—when Liam walks in.
He takes one look at me and chuckles. “Well, now I understand the late night booty call.”
I frown. “Very funny,” I say between bites of the sugary cookie.
“I didn’t know you owned a pair of sweatpants, truthfully. I thought you slept in your suit.”
