Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(20)

“Fine, tell me the end.”

She was really freaking me out here.

“I need . . .”

“Yes?”

Her chin wobbled. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency.”

“Anything. It’s yours. Just ask. Please,” I begged.

I swear, this woman. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. She clearly had no idea the kind of power she had over me. Or maybe she did, and this torture was on purpose.

“Dan.”

“Kat.”

She reached into her pocket and took out a small velvet box. Her hands were shaking as she opened it, revealing two plain gold rings. One was thicker and bigger, obviously meant for a guy. The other was small, for a woman’s finger.

Does she want me to pawn them?

I glanced between her and the box, waiting.

“Dan. I want . . . will you marry me?”





Chapter Four





Legal Guardian: An individual who has the legal authority (and the corresponding duty) to care for the personal and property interests of another person, called a ward. Guardians are typically used in three situations: guardianship for an incapacitated senior (due to old age or infirmity), guardianship for a minor, and guardianship for developmentally disabled or mentally disabled adult.





—Wex Legal Dictionary





**Kat**





Dan was staring at me, but he wasn’t looking at me.

His eyes were unfocused and it was obvious he was looking inward. But it was in that way people do when they’re either trying to make sense of a nonsensical situation, or they’re trying to figure out how best to extract themselves from dealing with a crazy person. Or both.

My heart plummeted even though it didn’t have a long way to go. I hadn’t allowed myself to hope. Even when I’d left briefly to buy the rings, I’d done so assuming I’d be marrying Steven. Not Dan.

This had been a kamikaze mission, with the same chances of success as racking up an enormous credit card bill and expecting to pay for it by winning the lottery.

Never a solid plan.

But I’d promised Steven. What was a little humiliation in exchange for a fake marriage? I would owe Steven. I would owe him big time, a debt I’d never be able to repay. Pride would matter very little if my cousin became my guardian.

Looking at Dan’s handsome face as he stared through me, I almost laughed. The idea of him agreeing to marry me for any reason was the ultimate delusion of grandeur. Right up there with discovering I was adopted (never going to happen, I’d had two DNA tests already . . . just to be sure); or winning a Nobel Peace Prize for knitting; or learning Doctor Who was real and I would be the next plucky companion; or finding out cheese had no calories.

Ridiculous.

I did laugh. At myself. A small, breathy little laugh. Not a hysterical laugh. I didn’t laugh hysterically. I was always very careful to never do anything in a hysterical way.

At my laugh, his stare refocused on me, but his expression was unreadable. “When would this need to happen?”

I gave him a tight smile. “Forget I—”

“I’m guessing as soon as possible?”

“A month ago wouldn’t be too soon.” Whoa. Was that my voice?

I sounded impressively calm, even for me. But then, I was calm. Why wouldn’t I be? The hard part was over.

Thank him for his time, and then leave.

“Okay, well—”

“Shh.”

I reared back an inch. “Shh?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but thought better of it, and instead turned to grab my coat.

“What are you doing?” He glanced between my jacket and me, his expression shaded with irritation. “I’m trying to think here. Hold still.”

Again, I opened my mouth to respond. Before I could, he invaded my space, gripped my shoulders, and walked me three steps to his couch.

Dan guided me to a sitting position. “Stay there.”

“Dan—”

“I know a guy.” He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze, his eyes wide and serious.

But his mouth was not serious. It hooked subtly to one side and—entranced—I stared at his lips.

Stop staring at his lips and listen to his words.

What was he suggesting?

Was he suggesting . . .

Did he know someone who he thought would want to marry me? Perhaps some gentleman who was a professional marry-er? Whose job it was to marry desperate heiresses, perchance?

“You know a guy?” My voice cracked.

Dan didn’t answer, but his subtle smile turned into a real one as he straightened and then pulled his phone from his pocket.

I thought I heard him mutter, “He’ll do it.”

Twisting the hem of my coat, I struggled to speak through my panic.