Page 32 of Love You Truly

The situation is almost too perfect. She needs someone to get between her ex and his plans to butt in where he has no right to insert himself. I need to secure land to grow grapes or establish a preferential land agreement with someone willing to sell to us.

It’s a moonshot idea, but I feel emboldened to take it. “Fine. You concocted a fake engagement easily enough to get Felix off your case. Sounds like you should just get married. To me.”

CHAPTER 13

Dash

“What?” Mallory stares at me.

I have nearly the same response to my own idea the second the words leave my mouth. “I know, it’s crazy, but we haven’t detested each other too much tonight, so maybe it could work.”

“Did you just hear yourself? I think a marriage should be based on more than just ‘not detesting’ the other person.”

“I know. And yes, I did. Forget it. The idea is crazy.”

I’m about to go back into the ice cream place and order a plain cone just to appease her when she holds up a finger. Slurping the last of the ice cream from her cone, she lets it melt in her mouth while looking at the same shooting star sky that made me come up with such an insane plan.

She crunches into the cone and stands. “Really is the best part,” she says through a mouthful of waffle crumbs. “Hang on. Lemme think this through. Maybe we should get married.”

“Wait, what? You just said it’s crazy.”

“So did you.”

“Because it is.” And I shouldn’t like the idea even a little bit. I’m not the marrying kind. Then again, it sure would dispel all the talk about me being a man-slut. Maybe then I’d have better luck making deals with new growers and convincing the best employees to work for us.

I look back at the sky because it’s clearly doing weird things to our brains. All I see is darkness with pinpricks of light where the stars flicker a million miles from here. They look so harmless, and yet we both seem to be losing our minds.

She starts walking away from the patio, so I follow her because I think she’s saying words. When I get closer, I realize she’s actually quietly singing a Taylor Swift song, which is equally troubling. I think I liked her better when she was angry and feisty. That, I could handle. This is scaring me a little.

“Why are you…singing?” It’s not the most important question, but it’s still one I’d like her to answer.

“What? Oh, it’s just something I do when I need to think.”

“Always Taylor Swift?”

“Mostly.” By now, we’re in the gravel parking lot behind the string of shops, and my car is the only one in sight. “Just so I’m clear, did you just say we should get married to keep my ex out of my business plans and satisfy my parents’ need to see me married off? I heard that right, didn’t I?”

I gulp oxygen instead of breathing it. This is my chance to backtrack and tell her it must have been a stiff wind that distorted my words, and I most definitely do not want to be her husband.

Fake husband.

“It wouldn’t be a real thing. Just, you know, on paper so you could get that douchebag off your case. After a year or whatever, we’ll tear up the paper and go on with our lives. Your folks will see that you’re perfectly capable of running your business without your ex, and after we’ve established that, we’ll each go our merry ways.”

“What do you get out of it?” She points a finger at my chest, but her expression is more confused than accusing. That makes two of us.

I look up at the sky as though I’m casting about, trying to come up with something. “Well, I…I guess maybe there’s a way this benefits me too. Like, for example, my reputation for dating a lot of women has been getting in the way of business.” I explain the recent problem with Soltero. “If I’m seen as tied down, I’ll be free to wine and dine growers without anyone’s husband looking twice.”

“Seriously? People judge you like that?”

“Yeah. People judge.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know they do.” I wonder if she’s referring to me or to herself, but she doesn’t say more.

I nod as well. “We need to expand our distribution in order to keep our growth projections on track, and that means we need to produce more wine, so I can’t be the problem child in the bunch.”

I’m a terrible liar, and I feel disingenuous because my siblings basically sent me to this dinner with the idea of buttering Mallory up, even if she doesn’t seem suspicious.

“You need to buy grapes.” She nods, understanding where I’m going.

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