The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 16

It’s urgent.

That’s all Lucie had to say to get me a same-day appointment to see a lawyer at Highsmith, Dickson and Associates. She was a little peeved that neither Highsmith nor Dickson was available. But I’m sure they aren’t the kind of people you can see on little to no notice, especially when you aren’t already a client.

Lucie has a meeting, so she leaves, and Ares’s driver takes me to the swanky high-rise that houses the offices of Highsmith, Dickson and Associates. Soft gray carpet muffles my footsteps. Six enormous flower pots along one wall sport orchids that don’t have a single scratch or flaw. There’s a splash of blue in the décor, probably so it doesn’t look too monochromatic.

I shake my head. The insistence on white, black and gray must be a lawyer thing.

An impeccably dressed receptionist in a smart navy suit smiles. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes. I’m Lareina Hayworth. Lucie Peery—Lasker—referred me here.”

She taps on her tablet, then brightens. “Of course. Right this way.” She stands and leads me into the inner sanctum of law offices. Everyone’s in a suit, light gray, charcoal or black. A few crazy rebels are in navy.

I stand out like a sore thumb in my pink top and denim. But then… I’m not the one asking to be hired.

The receptionist stops in front of an office and knocks. “Your two thirty is here.” A beat, then she opens the door for me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I walk inside the space with an exceptional view of the city. On the wall to the left hangs a colorful Lichtenstein—a replica, of course. The piece is rather startling amid all the black and white. Bookshelves groan under the weight of countless thick legal tomes. Those, of course, are a respectable black.

The lawyer at the wide cherry desk is in his early thirties, with neatly cropped brown hair and slender fingers. Gold-rimmed glasses sit on his face, and he lifts his eyes from the stack of documents on his desk. His mouth curves into a dazzling smile. “Lareina Hayworth! It’s you.”

I narrow my eyes. Do I know this guy? As I stare intently, he tilts his head.

“‘The art is the most fundamental expression of one’s soul.’”

I stagger back half a step as recognition hits me. “Ethan?”

His smile widens. “Yeah.”

“Oh my goodness. Our art professor used to say that at least once a lecture!”

“Right? And now I can’t recall his name.”

It takes me a moment. “Sanderson.”

He snaps his fingers. “Yes!”

“I didn’t realize you were a lawyer here. I can’t believe we’re finally meeting each other in person!”

He stands, and we hug each other.

“How long has it been since that class?” I ask. “Ten years?”

“Yeah, about that long. I’m surprised you remember me. I wasn’t entirely sure, because I never got a response to my emails.”

“You sent me emails?” I frown.

He shoots me a slightly sheepish expression. “Yeah, to the address in the student directory.”

I never got anything from him. The only thing that landed in my inbox during the class was correspondence from the professor.

Doris. Had to be her. Must’ve set up a block list or something to ensure nobody except instructors could get in touch, to keep me isolated and without support. It’s one thing to know other wealthy trust-fund babies through parties. Those relationships tend to be superficial. But in a class setting? That’s entirely different, with a possibility of deep conversations leading to genuine friendship.

“I’m sorry. I never got any of them.”

Something flickers in his gaze, and his smile returns to being bright and warm again. “Probably some weird tech fail. Happens.” He gestures for me to sit down.

I take an empty seat and cross my legs. “I guess.” I shrug helplessly. As soon as I get my money, I’m going to make sure Doris pays for everything she’s done.

“I really wanted that pencil drawing you promised me,” he says.

It takes me a moment. “Oh, right!”

The professor gave us an extra-credit assignment where we had to sketch a classmate. I did a pencil portrait of Ethan, and the professor shared it with the class to illustrate what he meant by “deft capturing of key features.” I was a bit surprised, then embarrassed, then pleased that he thought so, since other art experts and critics that Doris befriended said my drawings weren’t that good. At the end of the class, Ethan asked me if he could have it, and I said yes. Since then…

I frown. Doris took all my artwork to the therapist, and I never got any of it back. “I’m sorry. I don’t have it right now.”

“Well, no, I’d imagine not,” he says with a light laugh. “But you can give it to me later.”

Assuming the therapist hasn’t thrown it away. “How about if I just redo the sketch? I mean, if you’re okay with it.”

“Sure, that works.” He smiles. “Anyway, what brings you here? Lucie says you need a lawyer?”

“Yes. I just got married—”

“Married?”

I nod. “And I need someone to draft a contract between me and my husband. A sort of prenup after the fact, I guess.”

“You don’t have one?”

“No. The wedding was, um, rather sudden.” Ares said the impromptu addition by Mr. Sinatra wouldn’t hold up in court, and I’m certain he’s right about that. He’s a lawyer, after all.

“Oh, wow.” Ethan runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. When we had that class on romantic love and art, you said you’d never experienced it—and didn’t plan to.”

“Nope. And I still don’t. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to get married. I’ve always wanted a husband.” Someone other than Rupert, of course, so I could be free of Doris. I honestly believe if she could get away with it, she would’ve tried to marry me off to Vernon, except that bigamy is illegal even in Nesovia.

Ethan’s gaze grows sharp as he regards me over steepled fingers. “So. You’re not in love with your husband?”

“Love isn’t necessary for a marriage of mutual understanding and benefit.” Besides, even if I had such a romantic notion, Ares doesn’t want it. He wants a cool, businesslike union, without cheating or anything that could cause public embarrassment. “You know how it is in our circle. And as a Nesovian, I need a reliable husband to take control over my money.”

“Ugh. Horrible country. They updated their inheritance law not too long ago after Lucienne Peery’s marriage made international headlines. I think the government was vaguely embarrassed at being outed on how badly they treat half their citizens.”

“Does this mean it’s going to be easier?” I ask, hoping.

“Of course not. Have you ever seen a government bureaucracy improve your life?” Ethan clicks and unclicks the end of his pen a couple of times as he considers. “Anyway… Who’d you end up marrying? Do I know him?”

“You might. He’s a lawyer, too. Ares Huxley?”

“You married a Huxley?” I might as well have said I married a serial killer from the way Ethan’s eyes bulge under pinched eyebrows.

I squirm, an odd discomfiture fleeting through me at the strong disapproval in his tone. Does he know something about Ares that I don’t?

“We ran into each other in Vegas and, you know, hit it off,” I say. “It seemed perfect.” Well, was perfect when Ares told me he wanted to be my knight. Of course, he had to ruin it by saying he only wants an “indifferent” relationship, then confuse me by being considerate about my food issue, even though I never said anything explicit about it. Only an observant man who cares would do what he did. “Is there something about him I should be aware of?”

“Other than the fact that he’s got a rep for being a dick, both in and out of court? No.” Ethan’s eyes narrow, but the gleam in them is tinged with satisfaction.

His reaction strikes me as odd, but maybe he and Ares have some sort of enmity? Possibly they were pitted against each other in court or something.

But Ethan also said “out of court.” Maybe my expression is too transparent, because he adds, “He dates women, then dumps them as soon as they fall in love with him.”

My face crumbles a little.

He spreads his hands, but not entirely without sympathy. “Lareina, everybody knows this. He’s infamous.”

This might explain Ethan’s vague disapproval. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on falling in love with him.” Throwing myself at my husband when he specifically told me to stay respectfully indifferent would be beyond ridiculous and humiliating. “Nobody gets to break my heart without my permission.”

“Good.” A corner of his mouth quirks upward. “So. Exactly what do you need this contract to do for you?”

“Protect my assets against my husband and his family.” Ethan gives me a vaguely horrified expression. I realize he might’ve misunderstood and hurriedly add, “Not that I think they’re going to steal my money or anything, but a girl can never be too safe. Besides, I ought to have full control over my premarital assets, not my husband or his family. Right? So can you do that for me?”

A smile tinged with glee splits his face. “It will be my pleasure.”