My mouth opens and closes at least three times before I say the only thing that comes to mind. “That can’t be legally binding.”
“Forcing me into an arranged marriage would not be, but by tying the contract to my tuition, they circumvent that. The marriage is a private matter, which the court would remove from its consideration, leaving only the debt, due to be repaid by my thirtieth year. I thought that meant when I turned thirty.”
I wince. “It means when you turn twenty-nine.”
His lips twist. “If only I’d had you to consult with before signing. My parents verbally led me to believe the money was due when I turned thirty. That was the age that stuck in my mind, and if I ever revisited the contract, I skimmed that part for other details.”
“They misled you. Used archaic wording, and let you misunderstand it. Then, when the time drew near, if you wanted to repay it, you’d think you had another year to get the money together.”
“Yes,” he says finally. “Exactly that.”
“You did plan to repay it, right?” I ask.
This is the longest pause yet, and he visibly shifts in discomfort. “I . . .” Deep breath. “When I agreed to the contract, I was not vehemently opposed to an arranged marriage. I grew up expecting it, and at the time, my parents seemed to have a strong relationship, as did other members of our circle. It’s not as if my parents would choose a woman and force me to marry her. I would have multiple potential partners, whom I would get to know.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My question was presumptuous. I know people who come from cultures that arrange marriages, and sometimes, it works out a lot better than the alternative. I apologize for sounding judgmental.”
“You didn’t expect it from my particular cultural background. It was a shock.” He sips his coffee. “I would like to say that I have been saving to repay the debt since I graduated. But my early profit went into repaying the startup loan to my parents, and then expanding the business. The contract had no effect on my relationships. I dated whomever I wanted, with no interference from my parents. Had I been serious about anyone, I suspect that would have changed, but it was never an issue.”
I remember the first time we met. He’d checked that I was actually a curse weaver using an ex-hex. A mirror supposedly given to him by a former lover after he’d broken it off when she became serious. The lie had come easily to him, so much that I never questioned it, which makes me suspect it was a variation on a situation he’d encountered before. Young, wealthy, handsome and single, he’d have had no problem finding women. But his job and his ambition meant that none of those relationships approached a level of commitment his parents deemed dangerous.
He continues, “If anything, knowing my parents would help me find a life partner freed me from looking for that. I could enjoy company without commitment. The fact I was never tempted to commit also seemed to support their philosophy. Then, two years ago, Rian asked how much I’d saved to get out of my contract.”
My sister’s face flashes. “Rian is under the same contract, isn’t he.”
Connolly shakes his head. “Rian refused to sign, so my parents refused to pay for his education, and he had to drop out after his first year.”
I say nothing, but my expression must speak for me, because Connolly nods. “Yes, that was a horrible thing for my parents to do, and I regret that I didn’t realize it at the time. To me, it was just Rian being his usual contrary self. It wasn’t as if he cared about school. Wasn’t as if he’d gotten into Harvard.”
He makes a face. “Yes, I was an ass. Nothing new there. But then he mentioned it, presuming I planned to save up the money. That made me think. I spent a year mulling it over before deciding yes, I should repay it. I still intended to let my parents suggest possible partners, but I wanted the freedom to buy my way out if I didn’t like their choices.”
“Good plan.”
“I thought so. Then . . .” He trails off and sips at his coffee, before folding his hands around it and saying, “I recently . . . I began to doubt . . .” He clears his throat. “I decided I did not want to go through with the matchmaking. I wished to repay the money. I turn thirty a year from this September, and I was on schedule to pay the debt.”
“Then you found out it’s actually due this September.”
“Yes.”
“How close are you?”
He shifts in his seat. “Not nearly as close as I thought. When I began accumulating the funds, I asked our accountant how much my tuition had cost. I knew I was expected to pay interest, so I factored that in based on the historical prime rate, plus five percent. Last week, my mother told me it was time for me to meet their choices, and I asked for the bill. That’s when I found out about the date difference. It’s also when I discovered that the contract specifies the interest rate is tied to a specific index, which has done very well in the last decade. My bill has doubled.”
“They want you to repay double your tuition?”
“It’s more than tuition. I am repaying the cost of my education, which apparently includes the apartment they rented for me—premium Boston real estate—plus all expenses. They’d given me an unlimited credit card and encouraged me to use it. I worked very hard at my studies, and so I deserved to indulge myself. That’s what they told me, and so, being young, I did.”
“They encouraged you to rack up your bill, and that was the reward for your hard work?”
He shifts. “They played me for a fool, and I am dealing with that humiliation. I’d rather not discuss it further, if that’s all right.”
“Of course. So the point is that you’re not going to be able to repay them by September. What about taking out loans?”
“I am still investigating that, but all my past loans have been through them, which means I have little in the way of a credit rating.”
He straightens. “Here is where this discussion becomes truly awkward. First, let me assure you that I have no intention of going through with any arranged marriage. I will find a solution. Therefore, I should have left you out of it.”
“No, if you’re dealing with something, it helps me to know that. We are friends, right? I’m not just here to ply you with forbidden sweets, as much fun as that is. Chasing cursed paintings is fun, too. But I’m also here for the less fun parts. Like supporting you in a difficult situation, whether it’s brainstorming solutions or just cheering you on and cheering you up.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve gone too far, presumed too much of a new friendship. But when he speaks, his voice cracks a little as he says, “Thank you. I . . . have not been that kind of friend to anyone, I’m afraid. Not even my brother. Not being it means I can’t expect it from others, but . . .” Deep breath. “You can expect it from me, and so I appreciate it from you. I’m trying to change, for Rian, too, and this helps.”
“I’m happy to be your supportive-relationship training wheels.”
His lips quirk. “Thank you. However, I still wouldn’t have presumed to burden you with this issue if it didn’t involve you. Tangentially, as I said. The problem . . .”