Page 8 of The Fiancée Farce
“Who says I’m lying?”
Tansy stared.
Ugh.Fine. Her turn to explain, then. “I’m going to assume you’re aware of the Van Dalen family business?”
With twenty-two daily newspapers and commuter tabloids in fifteen states, including theSeattle Tribune, Van Dalen Publishing was the nation’s third-largest newspaper publisher. Unless you were living under a rock, chances were you’d heard of the media giant. Tansy’s proximity to the family all but guaranteed it.
Tansy nodded.
“I’m not sure if you heard, but my grandfather passed away last month and, to everyone’s surprise”—and the indignation of most—“he named me heir of Van Dalen Publishing.”
Surprisewas an understatement. Her hopes of ever helming Van Dalen Publishing had withered a long time ago and were eradicated entirely after she told her father off for his ultimatums and general fuckery, to which he responded by cutting her off.
She had figured she wasn’t even in the line of succession anymore; Hieronymus van Dalen’s decision to skip over his three sons and bequeath Gemma the majority shares in the company—a decision discovered only after his death, during the reading of his will—had sent everyone into a tailspin, none more so than Gemma.
Tansy frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Gemma had received more congratulations than condolences in the month since her grandfather had died, enough that a genuine extension of sympathy knocked her off-kilter. “I hardly knew the man, but thank you.” She coughed, clearing her throat, her head. “So, I’ve been named successor—hip hip hurrah—with one tiny stipulation. Per the conditions of my grandfather’s trust, in order to inherit, I’ve got to be married, otherwise the company goes to”—Gemma’s upper lip curled—“Tucker.”
Tansy’s jaw dropped. “That’s—that’s—”
“A crock of antiquated shit?” Gemma snorted. “I know, right?”
Gemma didn’t need a spouse to run the company; she didn’t need a spouse,period. Gemma didn’t need anyone.
Tansy frowned. “I was going to say that’s not very fair.”
Fair?Oh, Jesus. If Tansy still believed the universe gave a single fuck about what was fair, she was in for a rude awakening.
“I mean, is that even legal?” Tansy asked. “Forcing you to get married?”
“Technically, no one’s forcing me to do anything. It’s considered a conditional gift. A reward for embracing the family values my grandfather held most dear.” Gemma rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to accept.”
But she’d be damned if she didn’t seize this opportunity with both hands and hold on tight.
“Why would he do something like that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Gemma pursed her lips. “My grandfather’s motivations, while a mystery, are neither here nor there. In order to inherit the majority shares and be named president, I have to be married by the annual general meeting on Decembertwenty-second, otherwise Tucker gets handed the keys to the kingdom.” Which was un-fucking-acceptable. Tucker had no practical experience in journalism, and for God’s sake, he complained about his hands getting dirty from newspaper ink. Over her dead body would she let him ruin VDP’s legacy. “And before you ask, no, I can’t marry just anyone. It has to look legitimate. Believable. Like I’m marrying for love, not simply to inherit. The marriage can’t raise any red flags. It’s got to pass inspection.”
And inspected it would be. Her grandfather had named his dear friend and the chairman of the board of directors of VDPthe executor of his will, and therefore judge, jury, and executioner of Gemma’s fate.
Tansy’s mouth opened and shut. “You’re serious. And you want to—you want to marryme?” Her eyes went wide with disbelief. “You don’t even know me.”
Just like Tansy didn’t know her. All the better that theydidn’tknow each other. How’d the saying go?Familiarity breeds contempt?Hell, that was probably the primary reason most of Gemma’s relationships, few and far between as they’d been, had gone belly-side-up, with people thinking they knew her only to realize they didn’t—and leaving once they did.
Gemma shrugged a shoulder. “What’s there to know? You’re eligible, according to your little lie everyone now believes we’ve been dating for the last six months, and while it’s not a prerequisite, the fact that you’re easy on the eyes certainly doesn’t hurt.”
Tansy’s blush returned with a vengeance, sweeping up the sides of her jaw before overtaking the lower half of her face. “Are you drunk?”
Gemma laughed. “I just paid you a compliment and you ask me if I’m drunk? I think the words you’re looking for areThank you, Gemma. I’d be delighted to marry you.”
Tansy offered up a flat glare.
“All right, fine, I might be a teensy bit tipsy,” Gemma conceded with a smile. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at weddings? Get a little drunk, have a little fun, bag yourself a bridesmaid?”
Tansy scoffed. “Trust me, I’m no bridesmaid. Madison and Tucker would’ve rather eloped than have me in the wedding party.”
Ah, but she’d said nothing about being bagged. Gemma grinned. “Only because you’re so pretty.” Gemma let her left hand drift, reaching out and toying with the topmost button of Tansy’s sweater, tempted to undo it and see what she was hiding underthere. She refrained, exercising restraint. For now. “Even in that sweater, you’d overshadow her in all the pictures.”
