The Wedding Night Before Christmas Page 12

  An invitation that came this morning…for an event scheduled tonight. A celebratory dinner to congratulate us on our engagement, supposedly. “It was damn short notice, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.”

  “And you have your company Christmas party tonight, don’t you?” I know she does, because this was going to be the first night in a week that we wouldn’t spend the evening together. I’m tempted to accept the Wyndhams’ invitation just to have a little time with Audrey.

  “Yes, but the Christmas party always goes on until midnight or later. I could leave it for a few hours. But you intended to meet up with your friends at Murphy’s tonight?”

  Which, knowing Patrick, will turn into a stag party for me. “The dinner’s early enough that I could still do that afterward. I’m just wondering what the hell they’re playing at.”

  “I might be able to shed some light on that, Mr. Moore.” It isn’t Audrey who answers. Instead it’s the man who’s waiting for us—who also looks like he might have come out of a movie about rich people in England, though his accent places him closer to home. He gives my hand a firm shake. “Bradford Sullivan.”

  Audrey’s lawyer. “Caleb Moore,” I respond. “Shed what light?”

  He gestures for us to walk with him and says, “We’ve argued that only the estate’s executor should have access to Eleanor Wyndham’s assets while the will is in dispute. The probate judge agreed. So the Wyndhams received a notice to vacate the mansion within two weeks.”

  “They’ve been kicked out?” This was already a good day, but now it’s even better.

  “Essentially.” Bradford opens the door to a conference room. “So I suspect the dinner invitation is an olive branch that they are extending out of sheer panic.”

  “Because they assumed they’d win this case, yet one of the first motions filed resulted in their eviction,” Audrey says and glances at me. “Do you want to accept that olive branch?”

  “Fuck no. But I’ll go to the dinner.”

  Her pale eyes glitter with amusement. “For spite?”

  “Pretty much.” And because I’ve never even met these assholes. I should probably get a look at who I’m dealing with. “We might as well let them know where they stand. Maybe give them a U-Haul brochure.”

  “I like your style, Mr. Moore,” Bradford says, then introduces me to a man who is his blond clone. “Our senior partner, Nathan Ellis. Typically, we’d ask that you bring your own attorney to advise you, but we understand that time is short and you’ve had difficulty finding competent representation. So Audrey requested that Nathan and his team act as your unofficial representatives in this matter. They’ve already asked for several revisions to this premarital agreement on your behalf, and after a week of back-and-forth, this is what we’ve arrived at for today—so please consult with Nathan if you have any questions or concerns. The agreement itself is based on your original proposal to Audrey.”

  I don’t really give a shit what it is, as long as she marries me. I take a seat at the conference table with Audrey and her lawyer sitting across from me, then begin reading through the contract. And, yeah. It’s damn similar to my proposal, but a hell of a lot more comprehensive. I skim over the long sections about her paying the legal fees and the sale of the mansion. The only new section is the part she added after a conversation we had about protection and birth control, the same conversation that had me heading in to the health clinic last weekend. And the lawyers are damn thorough here, too. She’ll continue with the pill that she’s already taking, and we’ll use condoms if needed, with changes to be made at our discretion and by mutual agreement. Copies of our clean test results are even included in the—

  Snap.

  My head jerks up. Across the table, Audrey’s icy gaze is focused on the contract in front of me. But I don’t see what about it is distracting her. “Audrey?”

  Her eyes meet mine and a little smile plays around her lips. She glances at the lawyer sitting beside her, then pulls out her phone. I look at mine when the text comes in.

  Audrey: Every time you turn the page, you lick your thumb the same way you tease my clit.

  Oh fuck. Instantly I’m too damn aware of the fit of my jeans. I shove the phone back into my pocket—and I don’t even know if I’ve finished reading this page. But I don’t give a shit. I lick my thumb and turn to the next.

  A sharp snap! follows while I grin like a motherfucker. I glance up again when I hear her move. Her smile is a full curve now, but she’s rising from her chair, turning toward the windows overlooking the city, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Suddenly I’m tossed headlong into the memory of the first time we met. Sitting across from each other—not at a table, but at her desk. Where she did the same damn thing. Snapped that rubber band while looking at me. Then got up and looked out the window.

  At the time I thought she was cold, distant. But now I know better. She’s standing over there with her pussy as hot as my dick is hard.

  And it was hot when she accepted my proposal, too.

  Her hands rub up and down her sleeves, and my grin fades. That’s another thing I’ve paid attention to this past week. Maybe she always wears long sleeves because it’s winter. Or maybe it’s habit from a time when her scars were a lot more visible than they are now. But whatever the reason for the sleeves, I’ve also noticed there are only two things she doesn’t talk about: those old burns on her arm, and her parents. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’re connected.

  Someday, I really fucking hope to meet them. Not so I can do or say anything to them, because I’ve got a feeling Audrey wouldn’t like it. But for the same reason I’ll be seeing the Wyndhams tonight—I’d like to put faces to the people I hate.

  I look down at the contract again, my stomach tightening as I realize this page starts the section regarding the dissolution of our marriage.

  This is all straight out of my proposal, too. At least the first part is, where it says that as soon as probate is granted and Eleanor’s estate passes into my possession, the marriage agreement will be considered complete and divorce proceedings can begin without either party being in breach of contract.

  There’s some other shit about infidelity voiding the agreement but I’m never going to cheat on her. I keep going back to that bit about divorce proceedings beginning after I receive the inheritance.

  With acid eating away at my gut, I glance at Nathan Ellis. “How long do you figure it’ll be before this thing with the Wyndhams is settled?”

  “We estimate between six to twenty-four months.”

  Two years with her. Maybe.

  Because this was based off my proposal. I told Audrey at the beginning this marriage would only be temporary. But that was before I got to know her. Before I kissed her and tasted her.

  Is this what she wants, too?

  I look to Audrey, who’s still standing at the window. “Did you read this thing?”

  “Yes.” She faces me again, her expression unreadable. “Several times. I had to approve each revision.”

  Each revision. But if this was based off my proposal, this part was in here since the first draft.

  And she approved it each time.

  A thick knot fills up my chest as I start skimming the rest. Barely seeing it. Something about shared custody if we have kids. Something about keeping the assets we came into the marriage with, and the same for assets we earn or inherit during the marriage. Something about a settlement if I don’t win against the Wyndhams—

  “Hold up. What the hell is this?”

  Ellis glances at the paragraph. “In the event that we don’t secure your inheritance, then upon the dissolution of your marriage to Miss Clarke, you will receive a settlement of five hundred million dollars.”

  “Absolutely fucking not.”

  Audrey frowns at me. “You are entrusting me—and through me, this law firm—to secure your inheritance. Eleanor’s will is clearly valid. The only way we can lose is if my lawyers make a terrib
le mistake during proceedings, and failure means that I have made a gross error in judgment asking Sullivan & Ellis to handle this matter.”

  Beside her, Bradford appears pained but nods. “She’s not wrong.”

  Audrey’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “So if we fail, you would deserve compensation for my error.”

  “No.” And because that one curt word clearly doesn’t convince her, I add, “You were my one chance of going up against the Wyndhams. This was all a gamble for me. If I lose, I don’t expect to walk out with money in my pocket.”

  “The courts are not a casino, Mr. Moore. You don’t win a lawsuit by chance but with a strong legal argument,” Nathan Ellis says. “The Wyndhams might create a delay by contesting the will, but it’s all a bluff—and in this type of game, we can see their cards. We know they have nothing. They were relying on you not having either the money or the stamina to fight them. But their claims are pathetically weak in the eyes of the law and they are going to lose.”

  So maybe the inheritance is a sure thing. If so, this clause won’t even matter. But I can’t let this shit stand.

  “I don’t give a fuck. Take it out.” My gaze burns across the table to meet Audrey’s. “I’m not marrying you for your goddamn money.”

  “Yes, you are,” she replies succinctly. “You asked me to marry you so that you could gain access to my money and my lawyers. Is that not so?”

  “No, it’s not so. The marriage proposal was just to get your attention. I never figured you’d go for the whole thing.”

  Lips parted, she stares at me for a long second, her expression utterly still. Her throat works before she asks, “Your proposal was a gimmick?”

  That makes it sound sleezy as shit. “No, I just…asked for more than I figured you’d give. I wanted a business partner. I wasn’t looking to fleece money out of a rich wife, or to get anything more than what I was supposed to inherit. Any money you spend helping me, I intend to pay it all back. I sure as hell don’t want half of a fucking billion dollars out of you.”

  Nathan Ellis slides in again. “Mr. Moore, marriage to a woman like Audrey will come with certain drawbacks and sacrifices. You’ll have to endure public attention, and your personal relationships might suffer if any of your friends or family become resentful or envious of your new situation. I advise you to consider—”

  “No. This bit where I get money from her? It’s a dealbreaker. If it’s in here, you better tear up this fucking thing because I won’t sign it.”

  Ellis glances over at Audrey, who’s up at the window again, her back to all of us. “Audrey, you originally suggested the terms of this settlement. Do you have any objection to removing it?”

  There’s a long silence. Dread clutches tight around my chest when I see how stiff she is—her spine rigid, her body unmoving.

  Finally she says, “Please give Caleb and me a few minutes alone.”

  Fuck. Heart thumping, I push back from the table and head over to the window while the others quietly leave. She stares straight ahead through the glass, giving me nothing to go on. Just her profile and the stiff set of her shoulders.

  The inside of my throat feels like I swallowed gravel when I ask her, “So you put that bit in there, making sure I get money after we divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is that what you expect—that we’ll split up after this legal shit is all over with?”

  “Yes,” she says quietly. “That’s what I expect.”

  All that gravel is ripping up my chest now. “When this marriage is over”—I can barely fucking get that out—“I don’t want your money.”

  “I know. You just made that very clear.” She glances at me with a sad sort of amusement touching her mouth. Amusement that vanishes only a moment later, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth before looking out the window again. “Do you want to tear up our marriage contract completely? I will still help you with the rest…and be the business partner you hoped to find.”

  Because when I brought that proposal to her, I didn’t really know what I was looking for. But it was Audrey all along. For however long I can have her. Six months. Two years. It’ll never be long enough.

  I should have known a man can’t have a whole pie and eat it, too. So I’ll take what I can get.

  “No,” I tell her hoarsely. “I don’t want to tear it up.”

  Her eyes close briefly. She pulls in a deep breath before glancing at me with another little smile. “I suppose there is still the matter of your unlikely demise. We need to make sure that inheritance stays out of the Wyndhams’ hands.”

  “Yes.” I’ll agree with any reason she wants to believe.

  A bit of sparkle returns to her gaze. “And spite.”

  I try to dredge up a smile but can’t manage much. Because spite isn’t anywhere near the top of my list of reasons to marry her. Hell, I’ve barely even thought of the Wyndhams during this past week. Only of her.

  Only of making certain she still wants to marry me.

  “And this, too,” I tell her gruffly—and she doesn’t stiffen when I catch her chin, doesn’t pull away when I softly kiss her. Instead her eyes close and she melts against me.

  Her cheeks are flushed when I lift my head. Her eyes search my expression, then she glances away, her gaze settling on the contract I abandoned on the table.

  “Caleb, we can change the agreement—but you should know that, in my mind, this is when our marriage begins. When I sign this contract. Not the ceremony or the license. To me, that’s just…” She seems to cast about for words before settling on, “That’s just the handshake after the deal is made, because there’s no going back for me after this. So if you have any doubts—”

  “I don’t. And I’ll sign any damn thing you want me to.” Especially if a contract is what locks her down. “But I still want the ceremony. Because that’s what’s important to me.”

  The vows that talk about forever. Not just a short time.

  She nods. “Of course we’ll have both.”

  “All right, then.” I stalk over to the table and grab a pen, start flipping to the end of the contract. “Let’s do this.”

  “Not yet!” Her exclamation and soft laugh follow me. “We need witnesses. And we’ll ask them to print a copy that doesn’t include the paragraph about the settlement.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  Her face serious again, she collects the contract from the table. “But are you certain, Caleb? If we lose against the Wyndhams, you’ll end up with nothing when our marriage is over.”

  “I’m sure,” I tell her.

  Because it’ll be the same either way. Win or lose, when our marriage is over…

  I’ll have nothing at all.

  9

  Audrey

  Audrey: I’m leaving the Christmas party now. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.

  Caleb: I’ll be ready.

  In the backseat, I click off my phone and lean my head back, closing my eyes. The driver’s closed partition, privacy screens on the windows, and soundproofing shut out the light and noise from outside, but I can’t shut out the pain that’s been growing inside me all afternoon.

  I’m no good at lying to other people, but I apparently have no problem lying to myself. I told myself that I would be content with the short time I have with Caleb. Yet I could barely breathe as I watched him read through the second part of the marriage contract today. Hoping with everything in me that, after spending this week together, he’d modify his original plan to dissolve the marriage after the legal battle ended.

  But he didn’t. He let that part of the contract stand while everything inside me felt as if it was breaking apart.

  That wasn’t even the worst of it, though. I thought it would be. But I had a week to prepare for that—of reading that section over and over, of knowing it might never change. I wasn’t prepared for the rest.

  I want to marry you, he said the first time we met.

  But it was a lie.

&nbs
p; I never believed the proposal was anything more than a business arrangement. That had been clear from the beginning. He wanted to marry me to spite the Wyndhams. I was never under the illusion his offer meant more than that.

  Yet I still believed him when he said, I want to marry you. That statement had electrified me. It had surprised me and pleased me and I decided to accept his proposal before I even heard the rest of his pitch.

  But he never meant a word—and I didn’t even realize it.

  I can’t always tell when people are lying to me, and I can’t always interpret their tone and expression, but I can spot a gimmick like red paint on white canvas. Yet I didn’t spot his. I took him at his word. And since then, he’s been so forthright that it never occurred to me that his I want to marry you was just a way of getting my attention.

  But he didn’t want to marry me.

  Maybe he does now. He says he does. But maybe he just…recognized that marriage was a better deal. Because it is. So maybe he doesn’t really want to marry but is smart enough to see the advantages, so he agreed to take that step. I know he doesn’t want my money, but in this fight against the Wyndhams, marriage to me makes attaining his goal much more certain.

  As for the sex that he claims is another reason…we certainly don’t need marriage for that. And I don’t think he’s faking his desire when he kisses me or touches me, and I don’t think his thoughtful way of offering protection and comfort is a pretense. But those have nothing to do with marriage. He would be the same if we were only dating. Because passion and caring are in his nature, and his friend was right to call him a marshmallow. Caleb is a big, sexy marshmallow. A little charred and rough at first glance but so sweet inside. So he would be the same whether he was marrying me or not.

  And I don’t know what to believe now. Self-doubt has crept in. Because I mistook what he wanted from the beginning—mistook the words that formed the foundation of this relationship. And it hurts. The painful vulnerability that faded over the past week is once again a giant, aching hole in my chest.