The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 29

The next day, I step into a bustling dim sum restaurant. I always thought, based on videos I’ve seen, that a place like this would be busy and have very Asian-themed décor—dragons and phoenixes or something. Instead, the hall is inlaid with frosted green jade pieces designed to look like a life-sized bamboo forest.

A host comes over, and I give her the name of my lunch date. She leads me to the back, and I wave when I catch sight of Ethan.

Since our previous meeting, we haven’t had much contact. I did mail the small sketch to him, but face-to-face time wasn’t really necessary, since he knew what I wanted. After all, I’m not paying him to check up on me, just help me claim what’s rightfully mine. And after that, punish Doris and her family. There probably isn’t enough evidence to make them pay criminally in a court of law, but there are other ways.

Ethan’s in an exceptionally well-tailored navy suit that fits his shoulders and lean torso well. The only splash of color is the burgundy tie, but his confidence helps him carry off the otherwise bland ensemble. Now that I think about it, Ares only wears black, blacker and maybe navy. Must be the lawyer uniform, although Jeremiah seems to like bold colors in order to make a statement.

“Hey,” Ethan says with a smile. “Thanks for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”

“No problem. Thanks for letting me pick the cuisine.” When he asked to meet for lunch to discuss my trust, I suggested dim sum. With Zoe, I didn’t care if I couldn’t eat a bite, which oftentimes makes the other party uncomfortable. But Ethan’s another matter.

“No problem. I haven’t had Chinese in a while. This’ll be good.”

We order. He goes mainly for the dumplings, but I choose fried rice, noodles and veggies that have to be shared from the same plates. Then we agree to get a large pot of jasmine tea to split—thank God. The service is brisk, and soon our food comes out.

Ethan serves me crab fried rice, while I pour tea for both of us. I wait until he takes a bite of his portion before I chew on mine. Ah… Heavenly. The perfectly blended flavor of Dungeness crab meat and freshly chopped veggies is chef’s-kiss good.

“So. What’s this about?” I ask. Ethan is a busy man. He didn’t ask me out just to eat. “I thought the entire process would take about three months?”

“It’s probably going to take longer. Nesovia recently passed a law to force probation when a woman reclaims her inheritance through marriage.”

I purse my lips. “Those damn politicians. They never do anything useful. When I get a hold of my money, I’m bankrolling whoever runs against them.”

“Amen.” Ethan grows serious. “But in the meantime, it gives your aunt an opportunity to file a petition and tie the process up in court for a while.”

“How much time are we talking here?” I pray it only adds a couple of months, but it’s the legal system, which churns slowly.

“Maybe a year?”

Ugh. No! “Even after I turn thirty?”

“Yes, because the process started before you turned thirty.”

“Fuckers,” I mutter, thoroughly annoyed with the lawmakers of the damn country I had the misfortune to be born in.

“But Doris says she’ll sign an affidavit to give up the right to contest if you’ll sign a transfer agreement.”

Rage flares. “She’s not getting a penny out of me!”

“If she wanted money, I’d advise you against it. But that isn’t what she wants.”

“Oh?” I can feel my eyes narrowing. “Doris loves getting my money as much as spending it. Why would she give it up? What’s the catch?”

“She wants you to agree to transfer ownership rights to any and all items you’ve decided you don’t want to keep anymore.”

That’s even more confusing. “Like what? My clothes? Shoes?”

“Examples in the agreement include notes, scraps of paper, doodles, your old stationery items, although that’s not an exhaustive list.”

“I’m not giving them my old stationery for the rest of my life. I might have some private stuff written there.”

“It’s whatever you don’t want. She wants to get this done as soon as possible.”

What’s Doris’s deal? This doesn’t make any sense. “Do you see any gotchas in the agreement?”

“Actually, I don’t. They’re literally asking to take your trash, in a sense.” He takes a shrimp shumai from the steamer.

I look at the Cantonese soy sauce fried noodles and swallow a sigh. Ethan hasn’t touched them yet. I get more fried rice instead. I need more carbs if I want to think clearly. “What do you think she’s trying to pull?”

“Unless you’re throwing away a treasure map, I don’t know. By the way, if you have one, you should give it to me, not them.”

I laugh. “No. I don’t have anything of that nature. Hmm.”

“In any case, you can take your time and decide on what to do.”

“Well, you’re my lawyer. What do you think?”

“I’m of two minds about it. If all they really want is your old, unwanted stuff, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let them have it. In return for expediting the process to get your trust sooner, of course. But I also recognize they could be setting a trap, or…maybe they’re hoping to get something of value from your castoffs.” He shrugs.

“They know it’ll be nearly impossible to touch my money. I’m not just married—my husband is a Huxley. That might’ve made them change their tactics.” Or did Zoe have something to do with it? I hate it that a small part of me wonders if she should get some credit, all because of her cryptic remarks. But Zoe’s family is dangerous, and Doris, Vernon and Rupert don’t want to cross the Dunkels.

“Very possibly.”

I sigh. I loathe making decisions when I don’t have all the facts. “The smart thing to do might be to sign the agreement. But part of me doesn’t want to give them anything, even my trash, you know? They’ve taken so much already.” I look down wistfully at the so-far-untouched noodles. Will I ever be able to do something as mundane as eating out without worry, like everyone else?

Resentment, frustration and anger start to boil, and I expel a breath to hide the emotion. “To be honest, I’d prefer that they be out on the streets with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

“Then that’s what you should do.” Ethan’s smile is neat and perfect—the kind designed to inspire confidence and relief.

“Thanks for understanding. I know the way I want to do it makes things more complicated.”

“It’s all billable.” He winks.

I finally pick up the noodle plate and serve Ethan some. “This looks so good. You should try it.”

“Well, this is cozy. When did you become so familiar with my wife, Beckman?”

I glance up. Ares is standing at the side of our table with an expression so dark and gloomy, it wouldn’t shock me if it started to thunder and rain inside the restaurant. Bryce and Josh are behind him and waving tentatively at me, then they throw Ethan an ugly look. All three are in black suits—the lawyer uniform!—and are obviously here to enjoy their lunch.

“It’s business,” I say.

“While serving food to each other?” Ares’s stormy blue eyes are still on Ethan as he speaks.

“He was helping me eat.”

Ethan raises his eyebrow slightly at my explanation. I cringe inwardly. I should’ve phrased it better. Now it sounds like Ethan’s been feeding me like a baby.

Since I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with Ethan and my brothers-in-law present, I stand up, loop my arm through Ares’s and drag him away. His expression is still taut, but he seems to thaw a bit.

“If you were craving dim sum, you could’ve asked me,” he says finally when we reach the relatively deserted hall to the bathrooms.

“But you’re busy, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to disturb me.” A mix of shocked realization and agitation crosses his face. Why is he so upset about my being considerate?

“That isn’t what we agreed to,” I remind him. He has so many important clients and cases. The little conditions to our temporary marriage of convenience might be so minor they just slipped his mind.

The muscles in his jaw bunch together. Maybe he hates being told he’s mistaken about something. He is a lawyer, after all.

Then I remember something I’ve been meaning to tell him. “By the way, Soledad came by yesterday. She said she was pregnant with your baby. You might want to check up on her.” I mentally pat myself on the back for sounding so placid.

But instead of thanking me for letting him know, Ares looks at me like he wants to scream. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was planning to, but you came home late. Not that I’m blaming you for working late, because things happen. And this morning you left for work early, and I didn’t want to bother you, since whatever case you’re working on must be critical. But if Soledad is that important, I’ll text you as soon as possible next time.”

“Next time? Is that all you have to say?” He sounds terrible, like somebody’s dragging the words from the depths of hell.

“Um…” I shift back and forth.

She said I was a substitute. Am I? Who do you see when you see me? When you said you wanted to be my knight, did you mean your true love or me? What happens if you find her before we get what we want out of this marriage? Do you care for me at all, even a little bit?

Except all the questions sound so clingy and ridiculous, the kind you might ask your real husband, in a real marriage. “Yeah. I guess…?” I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible. I’ve already given up on changing enough to be the ideal wife he spoke of, but I should do what I can.

He looks at me with all the agony in the world, his complexion paler, his eyes losing the gorgeous spark that never fails to mesmerize me. I don’t understand why, but somehow it feels like I’m at fault. “I’m really fine, Ares. You don’t have to worry about me.”

I shouldn’t have added that. His beautiful face crumbles, like he’s a man whose last hope has been dashed.