Page 6 of Valentine's Day Proposal

“S-sure…” As expected, Willow backed up, opening the door. When Peter had vanished into the room, I had no choice. I plodded down the hallway and into her apartment, reluctant. Each footstep felt like I wore lead weights.

Her place was simple, stylish as I remembered her to be, but much smaller than I would have thought from her. From what I could tell it was a one-bedroom place and it didn’t even have a view. The kitchen, off to the right, was decked out in red—towels, dishes, decorations, even the rugs—a stark contrast to the cream and tan of the living room. Berber carpet stretched from wall to wall, large chunky furniture cluttering the center of the small space.

Peter didn’t wait to be invited. He plopped himself on the armchair as if he owned the place and Willow hovered by the door until I positioned myself in front of the sofa, all the way to the far end. The way she bit her lip as she shuffled over to us made me smile. She did that when she was nervous—like the time she had to drive home from my parents’ house after Thanksgiving one year on snowy roads. I’d had a few drinks and I couldn’t drive her.

I shook the memory from my head and sat as she did, both of us staring at Peter like he was the mediator of the war that would spontaneously break out if either of us spoke first. He set his briefcase on the cherry wood coffee table, popping it open. He rifled for a moment, not saying anything, and extracted some papers. When his head popped up and the briefcase closed, he smiled.

“Here it is.” He stood and offered each of us a stack of papers. Then he sat and waited.

My eyes scanned over the document I told him I’d never agree to. Willow sat quietly reading each page. I grew more and more frustrated until I couldn’t take it anymore. I slapped the papers on the table in front of me, making a scene, and felt like my head would explode.

“How many times do I have to say no?” I glared at Peter, who sat calmly, as if he hadn’t just gone completely against my will. “A marriage contract?”

“Charles, just read the damn thing.” Peter sat forward, touching his fingertips together.

“I’m not marrying her.”

Willow scoffed, tossing her packet of papers onto the table next to mine. “Peter, you made it sound like I’d be helping him, as if he wanted this. He isn’t even interested. Why would I care to help him at all?”

“Not interested?” I stood, hurt by her accusation. She had no idea if I was interested in marrying her or not. She hadn’t spoken to me in seven years. “Who’s the one that’s not interested? I came after you and you were gone. Vanished.” I rose to my feet and started pacing.

“You wouldn’t have had to come after me if you hadn’t been the asshole of the fucking century.” Willow rose too, walking around behind Peter’s chair and leaning on it. She stood behind him as if she needed protection and he was her bodyguard. I saw the fury in her eyes, that angry flicker that told me she wanted to fight. She hadn’t changed a bit.

“Goddammit, Willow. I tried to make it right.”

“Did you? You piece of shit! You broke my heart. Get out of my house.”

Peter rose to his feet, holding a hand in my direction and one in hers. “Guys, sit down. Let’s act like grownups.”

Willow scowled at him, and I stopped pacing, but I refused to sit. I hadn’t even asked to come here. He violated my wishes.

“Clause 15—marriage of convenience. No love, no strings attached. Clause 27—payment of two-hundred thousand to be paid to Willow Suthers upon termination of the contract, which shall happen no more than six months after the election is over, win or lose.”

Willow’s chest, once heaving because of her anger at me, calmed. Her eyes blinked slowly as Peter spoke. The weight of that sum of money sinking in right before my eyes. Of course, it was a lot to her. She probably built her accounting firm singlehandedly and never thought in a million years she’d see that type of money in one chunk.

Neither of us spoke again. We stood glaring at each other. If I followed Peter’s advice, at least Willow would have the money she needed to really grow her accounting firm. It was just an arrangement, right? No love or messy emotions. I wouldn’t risk hurting or being hurt again. She knew it was just for business, and so did I.

“Fine. I’ll sign.” She scowled at me. “But no love. And when the election is over, I’m out.”

By the time we left, Willow and I had argued at least a half-dozen more times, but she signed the contract and agreed to a closed ceremony at my place on Valentine’s Day.

Talk about a surprise Valentine.

6

WILLOW

It wasn’t exactly what I had planned for my wedding day, but a simple white cocktail dress in February, in a sprawling apartment in DC would have to do. Mom and Dad rode with me in the limo Charles sent for us, or Peter rather. It seemed to be that he was the one pulling all the proverbial strings. Charles wasn’t that much of a mover and a shaker.

“I wish you’d have told us sooner that you were back together. I know how much you loved him.” My mom fidgeted with my mock veil, covering only my eyes in a sheer tulle material. The pillbox hat I wore irritated me, but Mom insisted it was a must for my winter wedding. She swore I looked just like Jackie O, and I didn’t protest. There was likely going to be so much arguing in this marriage that today didn’t need to be filled with nonsensical bickering.

“I know, Mom. It happened sort of suddenly for me too.” I smiled, pushing her hands away. “I got it.”

She stared at my reflection in the mirror as I adjusted the veil and forced a smile. Nina popped her head in the door and called for us. I’d only just met her this morning when I met with Peter to go over the wedding plans. Apparently, Charles had only two hours for the entire pre-wedding plans, the ceremony, and the dinner afterward—which was limited to me and my parents and him and his.

His parents knew about the arrangement; mine did not, and I told him I needed to keep it that way. There was no way my parents would understand a marriage of convenience. And if they knew I wanted money to expand my business, and that was why I was selling myself short like this, they’d just write the check. No, thank you. I would do this my way.

“Thanks, Nina.”

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