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Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(11)



No use beating around the bush, best just to be out with it.

“Listen, I need—I need you to consider a request for your help.” I pulled off my coat, tossed it to the couch, and walked to my friend. I grabbed Steven’s hands. “I received a call today from Uncle Eugene, you know, my father’s lawyer? And, Steven, this is serious.”

His demeanor immediately sobered and he tightened his hands around mine reassuringly. “Tell me.”

“You remember my cousin Caleb?”

“Yes. The pharma bro who is one evil deed away from becoming a real-life portrait of Dorian Gray.”

“That’s the one. Well, you know how my dad is getting worse? Caleb is trying to obtain guardianship of me—and my property.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He wants control of the family’s shares, which—if he succeeds in his bid for guardianship—would be his as soon as I inherit.”

“But, honey,”—Steven shook his head, clearly confused—“your dad’s condition has been pretty stable, hasn’t it? When is the last time he even recognized you? Isn’t that why you’ve been flying to Boston, to visit your parents, learn the ropes, so you’ll be prepared when the time comes? I thought the doctors said you had years.”

I did my best to faithfully relate the majority of my conversation with Uncle Eugene to Steven, the bulky burden of reality resettling on my shoulders as I recounted the facts. I repeated Eugene’s assessment of the situation. I didn’t cry. When I felt close to tears, I walked to the couch and sat, crossing my arms over my stomach and working to separate myself from the moment.

But when I arrived at the most crucial part—the part about needing to get married—Steven interrupted me.

“Oh my God. Are you going to ask Dan?” His mouth fell open, his gray eyes circles of excitement.

“What? No! Not Dan. You.”

Steven recoiled. “Me?”

“Yes. You.”

I’d surprised him. He looked horrified. His eyes darted between mine for several long seconds, and I knew.

He was going to say no.

My face fell to my palms. “Darn.”

“Oh honey.” He placed a hand on my back and rubbed.

“What am I going to do?”

“Lamb chop,” he began gently. “I can’t say yes. I’m . . . seeing . . . someone.”

This news had me sitting up straight. “You are? But—this is great. Who? And for how long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’d never admit it, but Steven had been hoping to meet someone for a while.

“Not long.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Do I know him?”

“Maybe.” Flicking his wrist, Steven batted my question away. “But we can discuss all that later. And, listen, if you can’t find anyone else, I’ll do it, okay?”

“No. No way. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Nonsense.”

“Steven—”

“What are the requirements? Besides marrying you, what will this person have to do?”

“Uh, let’s see.” I searched my memory, describing Eugene’s warnings about Caleb, and then added a few stories from my recent visits, during which Caleb had been particularly awful.

“You need someone impervious to threats and bribery.” Steven tugged at his bottom lip.

“Yes. Someone I trust, obviously. Someone I’ve known for a while. Preferably someone who isn’t interested in me at all. That would only complicate matters.”

“Well, I check all those boxes. Plus, I’m magnificent. I see why I’m your first choice.” He gave me a small smile. “But let’s think. Why don’t you ask one of your gal pals? Which one of you knitters isn’t married?”

“I thought about asking Marie.”

Steven shook his head. “I don’t think so. Isn’t she involved with that professor guy?”

“Who?”

“The hot nerd who lives next door to Fiona and Greg.”

“Matt Simmons? I don’t think so.”

“Think again. I spotted them out shopping together at the Hugo Boss store. She helped him pick out ties.”

This was news to me. “She did?”

“And a man doesn’t ask just anyone to help him pick out ties.” His tone was thoughtful as he stared off into space.

“Damn it.” I rubbed my head again. I felt like I’d been rubbing my head all day. “There’s got to be someone.”

“Yes. There is.” Steven moved his gaze back to me. “And it’s the most obvious someone.”

I squirmed in my seat, my heart doing another round of ask him, ask him, ask him.