Andrik is an impatient man. “You said the settlement will be calculated after debts owed to his fellow inheritor have been settled. Who is his fellow inheritor?”
It can’t be Andrik. Despite already amassing billions, his family was awarded a fifty-million-dollar property portfolio and a similar value in cash assets.
The lawyer clears his throat again, agitating me further. “Your grandfather has some terms he requested be included in his will. If the terms aren’t met, the inheritance will be forfeited.”
“And that term is?” Andrik continues, beating me.
“Terms,” the lawyer corrects. “There is more than one.” His hand shakes when he passes me a thick wad of papers, his eyes unmoving from my face. “But the main thing is that you are to marry Emerson Morozov by the end of the week.”
“What?” The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, and I almost tear the terms of my inheritance out of the lawyer’s hand when my heart demands answers before my head can register a single thought.
The lawyer didn’t lie. The list of terms for Andrik Sr.’s last wish is extensive. It covers everything. Our marriage. The location of our first home. Events and traditions that all husbands and wives make during their first year of marriage are documented, and every milestone attracts a hefty supplementary bonus to the payout we will be rewarded if we survive one year of marriage.
I glance up at Andrik, who is watching me intently, when he says, “You should take the deal, Mikhail.”
He knows the history between Emerson and me, the heartache that still lingers. He knows it well because he experienced it only months ago. However, this differs from what he went through with Zoya.
Emerson left me at the altar.
She broke my heart.
She can’t come back from that.
I mutter to Andrik to get the fuck out of my head when he says, “The heartache will be worth it.”
Again, I shake my head. My heart races, but my mind is blank. “I don’t need the money. I’m fine how I am. I’ve built my own life, my own success. I don’t needthis.” I dump the terms onto the conference room table at the end of my sentence.
Andrik tilts nearer, his voice a mix of empathetic and stern. “What about Emerson? Have you considered what she would want and what this could mean to her?”
I bounce my eyes between his, confused. Before he met Zoya, he didn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. It will take me more than a few months to become accustomed to his new empathetic side.
Upon spotting my confusion, Andrik attempts to ease it. He doesn’t use words. He exploits my grandfather’s terms and reminds me I won’t be the only one who will benefit from our quickie marriage.
If Emerson follows my grandfather’s rule, she will be an extremely wealthy woman in less than thirteen months.
My grandfather’s lawyers have set aside a fifty-million-dollar check for her.
I try to pretend I still know the woman who broke my heart.
It is far from the truth.
“She would say the same as me. She can make her own waves.”
“I’m sure she can, Mikhail. But there’s a big difference between riding the waves you create and being pummeled by them.”
Andrik steals my chance to reply to Zoya’s statement by dumping a thick medical file onto paperwork I’m pretending doesn’t exist. The name on the front is instantly familiar, and I reach for it before I can talk myself out of it.
My heart twists in pain when I read about Emerson’s mother’s diagnosis. Inga is the apple of her daughter’s eye. She was the first to support my relationship with Emerson, and the one I wanted to seek advice from the most when it abruptly tumbled.
I made it to the end of her street before I chickened out. Emerson’s family is full of opinionated women. I might not have made it out of the wreckage unscathed, so I put it on the back burner until I was confident I would survive the carnage.
One hour turned into a week.
A week shifted into a year.
Before I knew it, ten years had flown by.
No wonder Emerson ran before we made it official.
