I study her face, looking for signs she's not serious. There are none. Only fierce determination and something else. Desperation, maybe.
"You don't even know me." I cross my arms over my chest. "For all you know, I could be exactly what your father says I am."
"Are you?" Her dark eyes challenge me.
"No."
"Then we have no problem." She pulls a folded paper from her purse, laying it on my workbench. "I drafted terms. Nothing fancy, but it covers the basics."
I stare at the paper without touching it. "Terms."
"For our arrangement." She taps the paper. "Six month marriage. Separate living arrangements. Public appearances together when necessary. Quiet divorce once I inherit. Nothing complicated."
The clinical way she lays it out should be a relief. Instead, it stings in ways I'm not prepared to examine.
"You really think your father will let you marry me without a fight?" I finally pick up the paper, scanning her neat handwriting. "The man hates me."
"My father doesn't control my life." Her voice hardens. "I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions."
"Even spectacularly bad ones, I see."
She laughs, the sound rich and warm in my dusty workshop. "Especially those. Look, I know it's unorthodox."
"Unorthodox." I fold the paper and hand it back to her. "That's one word for it."
"Do you have a better idea?" She doesn't take the paper. "I need to be married by my twenty-third birthday to inherit. That's six months away. You need someone to vouch for your character in this judgmental town. We can help each other."
"And your boyfriend?" I remember hearing rumors about her around town. "What does he think about you marrying another man?"
"Ex-boyfriend as of last night." She shrugs one shoulder. "He said I was making a mistake choosing culinary dreams overstability. I decided anyone who thinks my dreams are mistakes isn't someone I want in my life."
Respect blooms inside me despite my better judgment. Standing up to her father yesterday took courage. Breaking up with her boyfriend over her principles took even more.
"What happens if your father digs into my past? Finds things to use against me?" I'm giving her an out, a chance to reconsider.
"Like what?" She raises an eyebrow. "Street racing charges from a decade ago? I already know about those."
"There might be worse."
"Is there?"
I hesitate. My record has been clean since I got out. The racing charges were the worst of it legally, but there were other things. Bar fights. Bad crowds. Choices I'm not proud of.
"No," I admit finally. "Nothing worse. But that won't stop him from making things up."
"Then we'll deal with it together." She says it like it's simple. Like we're already a team. "That's what partners do."
Partners.The word sits strangely in my mind. I've never had a partner. Never wanted one. My life works because I keep it simple. My forge. My business. My solitude.
"Why me?" I ask the question that's been circling my mind since yesterday. "You could find someone else. Someone your father approves of. Someone with a clean background."
"Because I'm tired of living my life according to what other people think is appropriate." She steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head down to maintain eye contact. "Because you stood there yesterday while my father humiliated you, and you didn't lose your dignity. Because something tells me you understand what it means to want freedom more than approval."
Her words hit too close to home. I turn away, moving back to the forge where the metal has cooled. Safer territory.Metal makes sense. It follows rules. Heat it enough, it becomes malleable. Cool it properly, it hardens into something strong. Simple physics. Predictable.
Women like Savannah Parker are anything but predictable.
"Six months is a long time to be tied to someone you don't know." I stoke the forge, watching flames lick at fresh coal. "Especially someone with my reputation."
