Page 28 of The Unwanted Wife

"You're not invited, either."

"What?" He gapes. "You don’t mean that."

"Sure I do. I saw the circus you put Edward through, and I’m not willing to go through that. You're not going to surprise me by pulling forward my wedding date, old man. I’ll do it on my own terms."

"But—"

"You get this wedding, or none at all." I focus my gaze on my grandfather. We’re in my office in the headquarters of the Davenport Group. And I'm in the office next to the corner office allocated to the CEO. Not the office for the CEO, but the one adjoining it, with a glass wall in between the two. Because that’s how my grandfather operates. G-Pa, as we call him, is a canny old operator who’ll get his way without regard for the consequences.

He coughs, then rubs his chest. "You’d deprive this old man of one of his last wishes?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What is it about him that makes me regress back to being seven? Oh, wait. When I was seven, I was busy consoling my mother, who couldn’t get out of bed because her depression was particularly bad, and her meds weren’t helping, either.

He coughs again and shoots me an injured look.

I glare back. I’m a lot like him. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with his machinations. "I know what you’re up to."

"You do?" He looks at me with wide-eyed surprise. Add consummate actor to his list of talents.

"You may claim you didn’t know that she and I knew each other before you sent me off to 'evaluate'"— I make air-quotes with my fingers—"the potential of investing in her bakery, but even you have to admit, it’s too much of a coincidence for me to believe that."

"I’m not going to keep pressing my innocence to you. Besides, what does it matter how you met her? Important thing is, you found the woman of your dreams."

Knew it. If that isn’t a declaration of his culpability, I don’t know what is.

"The important thing is, as soon as I get married, you’re going to confirm me as CEO and give me that office." I stab my thumb in the direction of the glass wall that separates my space from the one next door.

"The important thing is, you consummate your wedding."

"The fuck?" I stare. "If you think I’m going to let you verify that, you can forget about it.”

Tiny raises his head from next to G-Pa and looks at me. His mouth turns down. His ears stand to attention. He’s not happy at my voicing my displeasure. I scowl at him, and he blinks back, looking as innocent as the man next to him.

"It’s okay, boy." Arthur pats his big head. "Nate, here, needs to get things off his chest. Let’s cut him some slack. He’s been under some pressure, what with deciding to get married and realizing he can’t get away with just going through the motions. It needs to be a real marriage." Arthur tips his chin up at me. "A fake relationship won’t cut it. And don't think I won't be able to tell the difference. Ahh, don't look at me like that. I don't need 'proof.'" This time, he makes air-quotes. "The truth of your relationship will be evident to anyone with eyes."

Well, damn. The man might be getting along in his years, but he’s still sharp as a tack. The tips of my ears burn, but I manage to school my features into an expression of disdain. "Are you suggesting my relationship with Skylar is fake?"

"Of course not"—he leans back in his chair—"but in case you were thinking of going into a marriage of convenience, you’re going to have to turn it into the real deal, real fast."

"And why would I think of creating a pretend relationship?"

"I’m sure you’re not." His eyes gleam. "Why would you, when you’ve carried feelings for this girl for a while, and now that you’ve met her again… Well, I’m sure you’re not stupid enough to let her go."

"Of course I’m not." I roll my shoulders and glance around the office. Is it hot in here? I pick up my phone and dial my assistant. "Please get maintenance to lower the temperature of the heating system." I disconnect the call.

"So, it’s settled." My grandfather smirks. He looks altogether too pleased with himself. Too late, I realize I’ve managed to give him what he wants. I thought I had the upper hand in this conversation, but clearly, not.

"What’s settled?" I ask slowly.

"You’ll be married in six days in a non-denominational ceremony."

"A non-denominational ceremony?" A wrinkle mars her forehead.

"Is that a problem? Would you prefer a church wedding?" I purse my lips. Should I have consulted with her before I made the decision about the format of the blasted event? Probably. But it’s too late to change things. Besides, it’s not like it's real anyway. Yet.

Nevertheless, when she shakes her head, the tension lessens in my shoulders.

"Gosh, no, it’s not like I grew up going to church."

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