Page 13 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding
“But why?”
“Out of money,” he said, clearly trying to shrug it off, but Pandora could see how gutted he was.
Clearly, the guy was dedicated to his studies, whatever they were. He was there every single night, poring over his texts, writing endless notes, working hard toward whatever his goal was.
“I had held out hope for some grants to finish my PhD,” he went on. “Just heard that the last one fell through. I’m already in debilitating debt. I can’t take on any more loans. Gotta pack it up and head back home to live with my parents until I figure things out.”
“I’m so sorry …” Pandora trailed off, hating that when he was admitting something so personal, she didn’t even have his real name to try to comfort him with.
“Victor,” he said. “What can you do? That’s life, I guess.” He tapped his card, then made his way over to his table.
Victor. Pandora had mused over what his name might be more times than she cared to admit. “Victor” had never made the list. Somehow, though, it was better than anything she’d dreamed up. But now she wouldn’t get a chance to use it.
Pandora kept sneaking glances over at him as she went through the motions of making his macchiato for the last time.
Her heart twinged at that thought.
At the idea that this would be the last time she would ever see his face.
Unless …
No.
No, absolutely not.
Victor didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be willing to even entertain the thought of such an absurd plan, let alone actually go through with it.
But it would solve both of their problems, wouldn’t it?
Pandora thought of Lucy’s list, thinking that Victor certainly had the brooding thing down. And if his face in her fantasies was anything to go by, he could absolutely pull off a convincing smolder.
He was always dressed rather smartly, never coming in wearing something as casual as a tee like your typical university student. Pandora could absolutely see him rocking a waistcoat. Maybe even a cravat.
He didn’t seem like the dancing sort, but she was sure that he could be taught a basic waltz. And she totally didn’t want him to learn just because she wanted to feel his hand at the small of her back, his other one holding hers, their bodies pressed close as he moved her around the floor …
Pandora shook her head, trying to stop getting swept up in fantasies, so she could focus on the potential reality.
Victor needed money.
Pandora was just months away from having an astronomical sum of it.
A marriage could solve both of their problems.
It couldn’t hurt to ask him, right?
The hot macchiato in her hand was excuse enough to go over and test the waters, see if he would even entertain a conversation about it.
He looked so dejected.
He didn’t pull out his laptop or notebook, just sat there at his table, a closed book on the surface, his hand resting on top of it curled into a tense fist. His gaze was fixed on the wall, all of his defeat and disappointment etching sad lines in his forehead.
If there was one thing Pandora could relate to, it was the feeling of everything you ever wanted your whole life slipping away – all your dreams shattering around you.
The only good thing that came from that kind of destruction, by her estimation, was a bone-deep sort of desperation.
The kind of desperation that made her open to a fake marriage, to lying to her family, to living a lie herself.
The same kind of desperation she hoped might make Victor willing to hear her out. And not laugh in her face.
