Page 49 of The Proposal Pact
“Love Hive, in particular the Granny Gang, my mother included, decided to get me a girlfriend and they’ve been on my case for months now.”
“Okay? I don’t see a problem there.” Of course, she doesn’t. She’ll probably end up in that gang sooner or later.
“Theproblemis that I don’t want a girlfriend.”
“Mm-hmm, just a wife.”
“Exactly!”
“That’s it, you’ve lost it.” She claps her hands and tries to get up once again.
I snatch her hand and don't let go.
“A fake wife!” I cry out. “A fake wife who will show them I’m off the market so they stop pestering me.”
“Why me?”
I’ve been asking myself that same question since the idea popped in my head with her face next to it. But Sophie is the only one that came to my mind. This little menace who dances in the fountains, sings old songs, loves all this color, and will kill someone for her hockey. Someone with the ass that was sent here to torment me and a sassy mouth with a comeback for absolutely everything I say. The little menace who’s been polluting my headspace since the first time I saw her.
But I don’t say that, because it's irrelevant. There are more important factors.
“Because I know that this will stay strictly in the lines of the contract between us, and because I know there’s no way I’ll fall in love with you. Therefore, we’re safe.”
“Once again, so romantic.” She rolls her eyes before setting them on me again. “And what’s in it for me?”
“Remember last night?”
“Theè mou.” She slaps a hand over her face. “What have I done?”
“Apart from dancing drunk in the fountain, singing at the top of your lungs in the cell, and being the menace you always are? You shared some tad bits about your brother and how you wanted to show him that you’re a stable adult. What better way to do it than be in a committed relationship?”
I can see those wheels turning in her head and a small part of me relaxes slightly.
This can totally work.
“What did I sing?”
I frown. “That’s your question right now?”
“What? I need to know. Some songs sound better than others—”
“Sophie,” I snap. “Focus.”
“Oh, fine, fine.” She rolls her eyes at me again. “There’s a flaw in your system.”
“What kind?”
“You see, I”—she points to her chest—“want a boyfriend who will love me, buy me pet ducks, and tattoo our wedding rings on our fingers. So, exactly how am I supposed to find one when I’m married to the local grumpy sheriff?”
“Jesus, a pet duck?” My face twists.
“Duck, sheep, chicken, or a pig!” Sophie throws her arms out. “I don’t care what it is. The point is, I want a real boyfriend.”
“Fine, how about we set an expiration date for our fake marriage? A year? You will have the time to get settled in here and show your brother that you have it all handled while the Granny Gang should be moved onto the next target by that time.”
Sophie considers this for a second. “You’re an adult,” she says almost as if she’s checking some mental boxes in her head. “You have a steady, reputable job. Wait, do you have a house?”
“No, not yet.”
