Page 10 of The Paradise Problem

“Holy shit. Holy shit! Wait—your first name is West.” I press my hand over my mouth and speak behind it. “Are you West Weston?”

“Anna. What?” West stares at me. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Is that a yes?”

“My first name is William. I go by Liam.” He stutters out a few sounds. “Sor—Di-did you really not know that?”

“Liam,” I say, and squint at him. Thick auburn-blond hair, those matching whiskey eyes. It seems like a Scottish name. I can picture him in a kilt, fists planted on his hips as he stares out at the Highlands before him. “Okay. I can see it.”

“Anna, are you telling me you didn’t know what my first name was the entire time you lived with me?”

“Everyone just called you West.”

His mouth opens and closes again. “You never read the legal documents I gave you? The ones I told you to take to an attorney and sign?”

“I was fake-marrying you because I couldn’t afford rent off campus. What made you think I could afford an attorney? It was a simple divorce, right?”

“Had I known you couldn’t afford an attorney, I would have—”

I cut in, laughing. “What college undergraduate who is so desperate for housing that she marries a stranger can afford an attorney?”

He gapes at me for a beat longer and then bends, resting his head in his hands. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit what?”

“Oh shit as in, if you didn’t read any of our contracts, this is a mess. I think I need to go back to the beginning with you.”

“I definitely need to go back to the beginning,” I say, wiping my eyes. I mime an explosion at my temples. “Like—my mind is blown right now. You dressed like a middle schooler around the house. All basketball shorts, all the time. You drove a Honda! West, you’re incognito rich! No wonder Jake never told me anything about his family! I would have made him pay for Jersey Mike’s every fucking time! Wait. Why did you need to live on campus? If you’re the grandson of the founder of Weston’s, you could probably buy an entire apartment building on Sunset.”

“In theory, yes,” he says, shifting uncomfortably, “but just before we got married, I found myself suddenly having to pay for housing, tuition, and living expenses without a job.”

“What? Why?”

“My father supports his kids financially, provided we do what he wants. His plan had always been that I would finish my MBA, join Weston’s corporate office, and eventually take over his role at the company. But by the time I finished business school, I already knew I didn’t want to do that. I’d interned there for a year after college, and it was miserable, due to reasons that aren’t worth detailing now. I told my parents that I would be continuing school to get my PhD. My father and I had a huge fight where a lot of these old issues came up. He cut me off completely until I agreed to come work for him.”

“Well, he sounds fun.”

“Initially, our marriage was just so I could cheaply live on campus and finish my degree. But once we were officially married, I realized what I’d inadvertently done.”

“Granted, I’m super high—”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“—but is it weird that I’m not sure I’ve ever heard someone use the word inadvertently?” West takes another deep, patient breath. “Sorry,” I mumble. “What had you inadvertently done?”

“My grandfather left money to each of his four grandchildren—my three siblings, and me. A condition of the trust was that our inheritance would become accessible to each of us only when we got married.”

It’s my turn to gape. “What in the smelling salts waistcoat gentleman shit is that?”

“Agreed.”

I attempt a British accent: “The lord must find a wife!”

“Well, as far as the family attorneys knew, I did.”

That lands in a puddle of silence, and it hits me after a couple of seconds filled only with the sound of Conan kicking someone’s ass on TV that West expects me to catch his meaning.

And then I do. “You mean, marrying me triggered your inheritance?”

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