“So, what are you going to do?” Noah asks, his smirk smug.
I’m certain he’s having a moment of déjà vu. It was only a handful of months ago that he told me about the arranged marriage his father’s will proposed, and I was the one mocking him and telling him it would never work. Seriously, what are the odds that two friends would each find themselves in a marry-or-else situation? This is the twenty-first century, is it not?
I check my watch as if that will tell me.
Then I realize Noah is still waiting for me to reply, so I take a breath.
“There’s no way I’m letting millions go. I’m going to do what any normal man would do. I’m getting married,” I tell him.
Noah chuckles low under his breath. We’re seated at a bistro near the courthouse where I’ve just finished dissolving the marriage of two nasty clients involved in an intense custody battle. It’s disturbing that two people who vowed to love each other for all of eternity, who produced three humans together, could turn so viciously on each other. Then again, I know all of this from personal experience too, which makes it sting all the worse.
I take another sip of lukewarm tea, and try to let it go. But bloody hell, with my own marriage looming on the horizon like a death sentence, it’s hard to imagine how I can possibly put myself through something similar. I just have to remember the reason I’m doing this, make a plan, focus on it, and not let anything get in the way, even my own desires.
“You’ll be fine.” Noah takes a sip and nods at me over the rim of his cup. “Look at me and Olivia.”
They’re happier than anyone I know, but I’m also fairly certain they’re the exception, not the rule. They’ve known each other since they were kids, and their fathers had a hand in uniting them, both in business, by naming them co-CEOs, and also in love. My situation is totally different. I’m going to be forced to marry a virtual stranger or else lose out on millions, all because my great-grandfather was old-fashioned and thought that a man of my age needs a wife and family.
To say that I’m not built for husbandry is an understatement. Wait a second … husbandry is the term for breeding animals.
“How’s Olivia getting on?” I ask, needing a topic change.
A sappy smile graces Noah’s lips, and the bastard lets out a dreamy sigh.
It’s better to focus on his happy life than my dreadful one. So I listen patiently while he tells me all about the joys of married life.