For better or worse, that’s what she’d asked to be for the next six months, and the ring would serve as a hefty reminder to her and everyone else. She had proposed a partnership; she just hadn’t expected it to be fifty-fifty. Furthermore, she’d royally screwed up by not thinking through how to present a fake marriage as real to the rest of the world.
Lucas had been right there, filling in the gaps, picking up the slack and doing his part. She should embrace what he brought to the table instead of fighting him, which meant she had to go all the way.
“I’ll take the contracts to my lawyer this afternoon. As is.”
Cia Wheeler. It made her skin crawl.
But she was perfectly capable of maintaining her independence, no matter what else Lucas threw at her. It was only a name, and with the trust money in her bank account, the shelter her mother never had a chance to build would become a reality. That was the true link to her parents, and she’d change her name back the second the divorce was final. “When can we move in?”
Three
Cia eased into her grandfather’s study, tiptoeing in deference to his bowed head and scribbling hand, but his seventy-year-old faculties hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. He glanced up from the desk, waved her in and scratched out another couple of sentences on his yellow legal pad. Paper and pen, same as he’d used for decades. Benicio Allende owned one of the premier technology companies in the world, yet remained firmly entrenched in the past.
A tiny bit of guilt over the lie she was about to tell him curled her toes.
Abuelo folded his hands and regarded her with his formidable deep-set gaze. “What brings you by today?”
Of course he cut right to the purpose of her unusual visit, and she appreciated it. A dislike of extraneous decorum was the only thing they had in common. When she’d come to live with him after her parents’ accident, the adjustment had been steep on both sides. Prior to that, he’d been just as much her dad’s boss as her dad’s father. She’d long since stopped wishing for a grandfather with mints in his pocket and a twinkly smile.
Instead, she’d gleaned everything she could from him about how to succeed.
“Hello, Abuelo. I have some news. I’m getting married.” Better leave it at that. He’d ask questions to get the pertinent information.
Their stiff holiday dinners and occasional phone calls had taught her not to indulge in idle chatter, especially not about her personal life. Nothing made him more uncomfortable than the subject of his granddaughter dating.
“To whom?”
“Lucas Wheeler.” Whose diamond glittered from her third finger, weighing down her hand. She’d almost forgotten the ring that morning and had had to dash back to slip it on. A happily engaged woman wouldn’t even have taken it off. “Of Wheeler Family Partners.”
“Fine family. Very good choice.” He nodded once, and she let out a breath. He hadn’t heard the rumors about Lucas and his affair with the married woman. Usually Abuelo didn’t pay attention to gossip. But nothing about this fake marriage was usual.
“I’m glad you approve.”
The antique desk clock ticked as Abuelo leaned back in his chair, his shock of white hair a stark contrast to black leather. “I’m surprised he didn’t come with you for a proper introduction.”
Lucas had insisted he should do exactly that, but she’d talked him out of it in case Abuelo didn’t buy the story she and Lucas had concocted. Everything hinged on getting over this hurdle, and she needed to handle it on her own. She owed Lucas that much.
“I wanted to tell you myself first. We’re getting married so quickly … I knew it could be viewed as impulsive, but I actually dated Lucas previously. When I started focusing on other things, we drifted apart. He never forgot me. We reunited by chance at an event last week, and it was as if we’d never been separated.”
Dios. When she and Lucas had discussed the story, it hadn’t sounded so ridiculously romantic. Since she’d never talked to Abuelo about her love life, hopefully he wouldn’t clue in on the implausibility of his granddaughter being swept off her feet.
“Other things? You mean the shelter.” Abuelo’s brows drew into a hawklike line. He didn’t like the way she’d buried herself in her mother’s passion and never missed an opportunity to harp on it, usually by telling her what her life should look like instead. “I expect you’ll now focus on your husband, as a wife should.”
Yeah, that was going to happen.
Abuelo was convinced a husband would make her forget all about the shelter and help her move past the loss of her parents. He grieved for his son and daughter-in-law by banishing them from his mind and couldn’t accept that she grieved by tirelessly pursuing her mother’s goal—a fully funded shelter with no danger of being closed due to lack of money.
Her grandfather refused to understand that the shelter provided more lasting satisfaction than a husband ever could.
“I know what’s expected of me in this marriage.”
Did she ever. She had to pretend to be in love with a man who turned her brain into a sea sponge. Still, it was worth it.
“Excellent. I’m very pleased with this union. The Wheeler fortune is well established.”
Translation—she’d managed to snag someone who wasn’t a fortune hunter, the precise reason Abuelo hadn’t tied the trust to marriage. The reminder eliminated the last trace of her guilt. If he’d shown faith in her judgment, a fake marriage could have been avoided.
“I’m pleased that you’re pleased.”
“Dulciana, I want you to be happy. I hope you understand this.”
“I do.” Abuelo, though fearsome at times, loved her in his way. They just had different definitions of happy. “I’m grateful for your guidance.”
He evaluated her for a moment, his wrinkles deepening as he frowned. “I don’t pretend to understand your avid interest in hands-on charity work, but perhaps after you’ve established your household, you may volunteer a few hours a week. If your husband is supportive.”
She almost laughed. “Lucas and I have already come to an agreement about that. Thanks, though, for the suggestion. By the way, we’re going to have a small civil ceremony with no guests. It’s what we both want.”
“You’re not marrying in the church?”
The sting in his tone hit its mark with whipping force. She’d known this part couldn’t be avoided but had left it for last on purpose. “Lucas is Protestant.”
And divorce was not easily navigated after a Catholic ceremony. The plan was sticky enough without adding to it.
“Sit,” he commanded, and with a sigh, she settled into the creaky leather chair opposite the desk.
Now she was in for it—Abuelo would have to be convinced she’d made these decisions wisely. In his mind, she was clearly still a seventeen-year-old orphan in need of protection from the big, bad world. She put her game face on and waded into battle with her hardheaded grandfather, determined to win his approval.
After all, everything she knew about holding her ground she’d learned from him.
Four days, two phone calls and one trip to notarize the contracts and apply for a marriage license later, Lucas leaned on the doorjamb of Matthew’s old house—correction, his and Cia’s house, for now anyway—and watched Cia pull into the driveway. In a red Porsche.
What an excellent distraction from the text message his brother had just sent—We lost Schumacher Industrial. Lucas appreciated the omission of “thanks to you.”
Matthew