Page 16 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

Yeah, I get it. Dogs are actually a woman’s BFF, even if this dog has only known said woman for a few days. He’s still on her side. Sharing a couch with me last night didn’t endear me to him.

“Let me get this straight,” the little brother says. He looks like his sister. They have the same flaxen hair and blue eyes, but his bone structure is much less delicate than hers. He’s also about a foot or so taller. He’s even taller than me, and most people don’t get to boast that because six-three is a tough benchmark to beat. He has scrubby scruff, which indicates he’s much younger than she is because I know she’s twenty-nine, and since the dad is rocking a full beard that tells me family genetics doesn’t trend toward scrub-brush facial hair but more likeget turned around and lost in the bush because it’s so thickkind of facial hair, I don’t think he’s old enough for bearding yet.

But what do I know?

That’s the kind of look Weland’s mom is giving me. It’s a look that says what the heck do I know about anything? And how could I have done this to their daughter? How could I have kind of ruined her life and then made her lie about it, even to them? What kind of person does that?

“Bry…” Weland says, a warning note in her voice. “We didn’t come here to beat anyone down or rehash things we can’t change. We came because…because I guess it’s time. We wanted to tell all of you everything. A full confession.”

“You told us everything,” Bryan argues. His death glare becomes extra homicidal, and of course, he doesn’t train it on his sister. Just on me. “He sat there and let you do it. And you clearly couldn’t come to us until he gave you permission. That’s weird and creepy. Gag orders? Seriously? Fake marriages? It all sounds just a tad like acontrolling assholeto me. This is the guy you want us to give our blessing to?”

“Forgiveness doesn’t happen overnight.” Weland is so gentle. I think she’s always like this. Hard to make angry, quick to laugh,and easygoing. Somehow, she keeps putting her heart out there over and over again, even when it gets ripped up and tattered and hurt. “But yes, that’s why we’re here. Because we want to know what you think. Ultimately though, we will make our own decisions, so be gentle. People make mistakes, and this situation is still more complicated than a fifteen-minute sit down can even begin to explain.”

“You told us that you sold the rights to your songs. That’s why you had to take down the ones you had online, and that’s why you couldn’t make any more videos. Because all your work was sold.” Weland’s mom, Monique, complains. She’s an older version of Weland. Petite, lovely, and dignified with kind eyes. Except they’re not blue. “You lied to us becausehemade you lie to us?”

I did. I did that. I also gave Smitty a written sheet of what she could say to explain the money and why she was taking down her videos. I came up with that explanation because it was valid. And because I’m a bastard, I did use her songs. To my credit, once she read the sheet over with Smitty, she fired back that if I was paying that kind of money, I might as well have her song and all the songs she’d planned on putting online at that point. She wasn’t going to be turned into a liar.

So I had them, and I gave them away. I made exponentially more money from them than what I’m paying Weland, which makes me feel like a douchebag multiplied by a thousand.

Allof this makes me feel like a total douchebag multiplied by a thousand. When laid all out on the table, it really does sound bad. It makes me sound like an unfeeling villain. Like a greedy, money-grubbing grubber of a grub, even though that’s not who I am.

“That’s not how it happened, and that’s not who he is.” Weland defends me, keeping her tone gentle but firm. It’s like my eyesare projecting words onto the wall, and she’s reading my brain like a teleprompter.

It kind of creeps me out, but the shiver that runs up my back isn’t all bad. It’s more like amazement. Being married to someone for four years doesn’t make you close to them. Beingcontractuallymarried for four years definitely doesn’t make you close, yet it still feels like I know Weland, and she knows me, and now she’s reading my thoughts.

Bryan gives his sister a wounded look. Yeah, it would suck to find out that you’re kind of the reason your sister messed up her whole life. Not that it was on purpose, but the kid has to be feeling guilty. And I say kid, but I think he’s probably twenty-one or twenty-two since I already know he’s a lot younger than Weland. I should know this. All the details. Smitty would know it. He’d tell me if I asked him, but I don’t want to ask him.

Beans shifts under the table, curling up into a ball. He huffs, closes his one eye, and immediately starts snoring. As soon as we got to Weland’s parents, she let them feed Beans a packet of the probiotics we found, along with a bit of plain yogurt. Then, we all sat down at the kitchen table and she explained why she called an emergency family meeting and brought some rando with her.

Rando. Christ. I hate that word, term, implication. All of the above.

“He still made you lie to us,” Bryan insists. “And that’s just wrong. Who makes someone fake marry them anyway? That’s seriously desperate, dude.”

I glance away since I don’t want to look an angry wolf in the eyes. I glance toward Fred instead, but looking at Weland’s dad isn’t really any better. I see where both kids got their bright blue eyes from though. He subtly scowls at me like he’d enjoy nothing more than shoving a boot straight up the parts of me where the sun doesn’t shine.

He’s pushing hard to get the dirt despite what his sister just said. “I can’t explain the whole situation, but it was dire. Sometimes it happens. It wasn’t his fault.” Weland is defending me again, though she can’t explain the whole thing because I haven’t even explained it to her. It’s not fair of me, and I know it. I need to man up here.

Clearly, this whole family thinks I’m a piece of work.

Ithink I’m a piece of work.

There’s no way they’re going to give their blessing.

It was a crazy idea anyway, thinking we could make it work. Wanting to make it work out of the blue wasn’t something I saw myself needing to check off a life list when I was on my way here. And then I saw Weland at that club in person, and it was…it was…I don’t know. It feels a lot like game fucking over. RIP to my single life.

And you know what? It might be crazy, but I’m not sorry. Everyone called me crazy back in the day. They said starting a record label would never work. That I’d never sign anyone and that tiny little indie studios never went anywhere. Well, spoiler alert, they were wrong. Whatever this idea of mine is now might be crazy and terrible. It might even end up being torture, but call me a masochist, I guess, because I’m signing up for it.

I’m suddenly jumping off the cold and unfeeling bastard businessman married to the life of work, work, work boat, and leaping into waters that involve tricky things like emotions, hormones, and other unknown elements that terrify me.

“I did.” This is me manning up. “I did, and I’m sorry. I went about all of this the wrong way. I did pay your sister a huge sum of money in exchange for a fake marriage because I needed it to save my company. I’m not sorry about that. If you met my cousins, you’d understand. It’s not an excuse, and I’m not saying it was right. Just necessary, but necessary isn’t always moral, and it’s very seldom the high road. Yes, there was a gag clausebecause the marriage needed to appear legit, and I couldn’t risk it getting out that it wasn’t. No, there was nothing saying we needed to be in the same room or that the public needed to know my wife. And my cousins not being able to get their hands on her or even their opinions anywhere near her was important to me. I was trying to protect her as much as I was trying to protect myself. That sounds like a cop-out, but I mean it. The rest, you can blame me. I took advantage. I needed someone who was desperate because I was desperate myself. I went about it all wrong. I freely admit that.”

“So why now?” Weland’s dad interrupts. “And is it genuine?”

“You just seem like a creep who wants to get in my sister’s pants,” Bryan growls.

“Bryan!” Monique yelps. “We don’t say things like that.”

“But we do make life hell for assholes and creepy dudes who want to mess with Weland. At least, I do. She’s my sister and she clearly needs protecting, maybe even saving from her own self. I messed all this up for her. It was my surgery she had to pay for. It was me she sacrificed herself for, and I’m not going to let her do it again. I’m not entirely sure why you’re even here, Sterling, but you don’t get my stamp of approval on anything but us putting you on a plane to whatever hole you came out of and making sure you stay there for the next year until my sister is free of you, and then it’s good riddance time.”

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