“I agree,” Harper said. “I think you should think about it. It’s not like he’s paying you for sex.”
“How would I explain that to mom and dad?” I asked. “They’d hardly say, ‘Go ahead sweetheart, whatever makes you happy.’ They’ve lived in the same house in Connecticut their whole lives, for Christ’s sake. They are not exactly all about the adventure.”
“Well, first off,” Violet said, “I’m not sure what living in Connecticut has got to do with anything. And second, when have they ever told you to do anything other than what makes you happy? They’ve never pressured us, never told us our decisions were terrible, or our choices wrong. They’ve only ever supported and loved us. Don’t make them the scapegoat just because you’re scared.”
I twirled the stem of the champagne glass between my fingers. Was I scared? When Ryder talked about marriage in his office earlier, I’d thought he was a lunatic, yet here I was, listening to my sister and Harper tell me how it was no big deal.
“Weigh the pros and cons,” Violet said.
That’s what Ryder had invited me to do—consider the advantages and disadvantages.
“You’d save your business,” Harper said.
“You’d be doing something crazy for the first time in your life,” Violet said. “Take a risk. Have a real adventure.”
“But I’d be on my third marriage when I find the right guy,” I said. “That’s a big fucking deal.”
“The right guy?” Harper asked. “Your ex was the ‘right guy.’ You thought you were happy with him, right?”
My insides shifted. “Very.”
“I know.” Harper squeezed my hand across the table. “What I’m saying is—just because it didn’t last forever, doesn’t mean it was a failure. It was right for the time. No one said the right guy is the man you spend your whole life with. There could be plenty of right guys.”
“Plenty of right guys? Is that the deal you have with our brother?” Violet asked Harper.
“Maybe,” she replied, sticking out her tongue.
It made sense. There were so many good times and incredible memories between me and my husband that it was hard to coat it all in failure.
But perhaps he was just part of my story. One right guy.
“I suppose I could ask him for some more information. I mean, presumably we wouldn’t have to live together. And it’s probably only for like three months or something.”
“Exactly,” Violet said. “And if you decide to say no, tell him your sister’s interested.”
Maybe I would. But perhaps I was interested.
Ten
Ryder
There weren’t many times in my life that I’d felt nervous, but tonight was one of them. My whole life could be turned on its head this evening. Instead of sitting at the bar, I’d chosen a secluded booth in the corner where it was as private as you could get in the middle of Manhattan. I could still see the door from where I was. There was no way I was going to miss Scarlett if she turned up. I could have called her, to try to state my case again, but I wasn’t about to force a woman up the aisle.
The more I thought about it, the more marrying Scarlett made sense. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed normal—she held down a job, she was attractive, clever and we shared a similar lifestyle based around work and family. People would buy us as a couple. But most of all, I liked that she’d been so adamantly against the thought of marrying me. I’d had the same reaction when Darcy and my lawyer had urged me to find a wife.
It all seemed so ridiculous.
I’d changed my mind out of necessity. I’d pushed the lawyers as hard as I could, sought second and third opinions. They all agreed—marriage was the only way.
I hoped Scarlett showed tonight.
I swiped my phone open. She was ten minutes late—she’d left me a message earlier asking me to meet her here. I was going to give her an hour. Maybe more. I didn’t have anything else to do but wait, and hope. If she didn’t show or said no, I didn’t know what was next. Scarlett seemed like the only option.
The night with Scarlett had been . . . more than I’d expected. I rarely had a bad night with a woman, but the sex with Scarlett had been a little different. The memory of her face, her hair, her body—it had all stayed with me in a way that I wasn’t used to. It was almost as if we’d known each other longer than just a few hours. She’d touched me like she knew me. The way she peed with the door open—it was weird but weirdly endearing. The way she liked to kiss. A lot. I couldn’t remember a time I’d kissed a woman so much during sex. It had been nice.
Intimate.
Intense
I tipped back my Negroni. Perhaps I’d call her if she didn’t show. Try to convince her to take the deal. Or at least maybe kiss me again.
“Ryder?”
I shot out of my seat, cracking my leg on the table. Scarlett. Shit, I was normally cooler than this, but I was so damn relieved to see her.
“Hi,” I said, bending to kiss her on the cheek. “Let me get you a drink.”
She didn’t meet my eye as she sat. Fuck, I hoped she hadn’t just come to turn me down face-to-face.
As I stood at the bar, I glanced back to our table. Her long dark hair was pulled back, giving me a perfect view of her slender neck. I’d never seen a woman with hair that black. Those full, almost pouting lips I’d kissed so much just two nights ago, those eyes that watered a little as she came. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. I smiled when she glanced at me.
She looked away.
“Thanks for coming,” I said as I returned to the table and slid into the booth.
She pulled her shoulders back and looked straight at me. “I’m hoping you’ll give me a little more information about this”—she fluttered her fingers through the air—“arrangement you’re proposing.”
I was in with a shot. Thank God. “Ask anything you like.”
She glanced toward the bar as if checking for a waitress. Was she needing a little liquid courage before we got down to business?
A waitress approached and set our drinks down.
Scarlett tipped back her glass, emptying it. Maybe I should have asked for shots instead of cocktails.
Fair enough. This was likely to be one of the most bizarre conversations I’d ever have. I could only assume Scarlett felt the same.
“Let’s start with the sex,” she said.
“What, now?” She came here to get fucked? I was definitely okay with that, but that’s not what this was about for me. “I’d really like you to agree to marry me first.” And weren’t those words I’d never thought to hear come from my mouth?
“What? No. If we get married, do you expect me to have sex with you?”
Jesus, would that be such a hardship? “There is no expectation from my perspective. And I think it would be good to keep things simple.”
“Would I be able to date other men? I assume we’d have to live together?”
I’d been through all this with the lawyers on the phone over the last couple of days. As ever, I was prepared.