I stop, my hands still in the air. “What?”
“She wants us to go through with it. Get married.”
I lower my hands. “No, she told me she didn’t want to marry you, and you said you know that.”
“She doesn’t want to, but she thinks we should. A marriage of convenience, she called it.”
I pause. “Uh, I’ve read books about those. It’s a one-way ticket to Happily Ever After Land.”
His face softens, even if he doesn’t smile. “Not in this case. She’s thinking of it more as a green-card marriage. We both have contracts we want to escape.”
“You both have contracts?”
“They’re de rigueur in our circle of luck workers. Her plan is that we marry in name only. Live under the same roof with separate bedrooms. Like roommates. Our contracts don’t say we need to remain married. She’s gone over both in detail. For safety’s sake, though, she thinks we should still play the role of newlyweds, publicly, and then after two years, have an amicable divorce. There would be premarital contracts, of course. We’d separate and go on with our lives, contract-free.”
“Which sounds very logical, but you don’t want it.”
“I . . .” He shifts, clearly wanting to look out the window again. “It is logical. An efficient and reasonable solution to our shared problem. I can free myself from the contract and all attached parental expectations by simply sharing a house with someone who’d make an excellent roommate. No one expects a love match, so we wouldn’t need to feign romantic attraction. We are agreeing to attempt an alliance that will ultimately fail, and we will go our separate ways.”
“But . . .”
“I don’t want it,” he says. “There are things I wish to change in my life. I’d like to mend fences with Rian. Help him if I can, and if he doesn’t want that, then I’ll be a properly supportive older brother.”
He waves around the room. “I want a proper home where I feel comfortable entertaining friends. If there was one part of this house that truly excited me, it was the pool. I enjoy swimming, and I imagined doing it every morning before work. I haven’t even opened it since I moved in. I swim at the gym, when I get to the gym.”
“You want more,” I say.
“More of everything, whether it’s biscotti with my morning coffee, a pool to swim in before work or an actual week of actual vacation. If I go along with Theodora’s plan, I postpone all that to fully inhabit my expected role in the world I want to escape. I know it’s only two years, but it feels like twenty, and maybe I’m being selfish and immature, but I want more choice. Now.”
“That isn’t selfish or immature, Aiden. You’re afraid if you marry Theodora, you’ll be sucked back in and forget all that.”
“Yes.”
His phone rings. He glances down. “Speak of the devil.” He shakes his head. “No, that isn’t fair. Theodora’s not my enemy here.”
“She really isn’t. You should talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Try to come up with an alternate plan.”
He stares down at the phone.
“She doesn’t deserve you ducking her calls,” I say softly.
He nods and answers. As he talks, I wander the office. There’s a bookshelf, and I head for it. Before I can start checking out books, I hear him say, “No, not today. I have plans.”
He glances at me. “I understand but—”
A pause. “Yes, that makes sense, but even an hour is really more than I can spare right now.”
I shake my head and motion that he can spare that hour.
“One moment,” he says and mutes the phone. “She’s inviting me for cocktails and a conversation.” He mouths. “I don’t want to go.”
“But should you?”
He hesitates.
“I can stay here,” I say. “We’ll go to dinner afterward. You really should talk to her, and it might help ease things if you go over.”
Ease them with his parents, I mean. They’re sure to hear that he had cocktails with Theodora, and that will reduce the pressure on him. On me, too, but mostly I’m thinking about him.
“You’re my guest,” he says. “I shouldn’t abandon you.”
“I’m your friend, not your guest. I’ll read while you’re gone.” I pick up a book. “The Principle of Financial Reporting for Insurers. Er, maybe not. Ah, magazines.” I take one. “North American Actuarial Journal.”
“There are novels on the bottom shelf.”
I bend to see a gleaming row of hardcovers. Popular fiction from every genre.
“Eclectic taste,” I say. “I like it.”
He clears his throat. “I haven’t read any of them. I bought them last week, as a goal for when I had a little time to myself. I’m not sure what sort of fiction I’d like, so I got the top sellers in each category.”
I lift one of the mystery books. “I’m on hold for this one at the library. I’ll start it now.” I thump into his office seat. “I don’t suppose I can put my feet on the desk.”
He smiles. “You can put your feet wherever you like, Kennedy. I don’t relish the idea of leaving you here, though. I’m still concerned about those last two paintings.”
“There’s an alarm system, and whoever has the paintings won’t look for me here.” I waggle my phone. “Not a single text since Mercy sent them her number. I seem to be off the hook.” I meet his gaze. “Go. Then we’ll have dinner together and get your car back.”
He unmutes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “All right. What time should I be there?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
I have been alone in Connolly’s house for twenty minutes, and that represents the limit of how long I can pretend this book is more interesting than the chance to snoop through his house. Oh, the book is fine. Great, actually. But I really want to look around.
Before leaving, Connolly told me to make myself at home. Help myself to food. Take my book onto the back porch. Even take it upstairs if I’d rather read in bed, given that his office chair was obviously chosen for style over comfort. So I have permission to snoop. It still feels weird, which is why I’ve been sitting in this gorgeous and ergonomically correct office chair, pretending to read while the crick in my neck whimpers. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I leap up, slap the book down and start to explore.
I check out the kitchen first and snap pictures for Hope. A little aspirational dreamscape that she’ll appreciate. The house might predate electricity, but the kitchen is state-of-the-art. I poke around a little, but while I like cooking fine, this isn’t my favorite room, and it’s clearly not Connolly’s either.
I head for the back yard. He secured the alarm but gave me the code, and I use it before I open the door. I step out onto the back deck and need to snap more photos, this time for Ani, the gardener of our family. To be honest, our back yard is better landscaped, but it’s also larger and not dominated by a pool. Still, Connolly’s gardener does excellent work with the little bit they have. I hope he gets out here to enjoy it, but the empty back deck tells me that’s a vain hope.