A Perfectly Terrible Plan

The night before my engagement party, I unblocked the man I was supposed to marry.

He'd been blocked for eleven months. Personally, I thought another twenty years might do him some good.

We need to stop this, I typed.

Adrian Hayes replied before I could put down my phone.

"You'll have to be more specific. Your life presents so many opportunities."

"Our engagement, you ass. Tomorrow, you do something embarrassing. I refuse to marry you. Our mothers cry a little. Everybody moves on."

"No. I have a reputation."

"Fine. I'll do something embarrassing, and you refuse."

Almost a minute passed.

"Agreed."

I should have been suspicious. Adrian never agreed with me unless somebody was about to develop an urge to throw something heavy at him.

Usually me.

Our families had done business together since before I was born. Recently, my mother had decided that a partnership between the companies was lovely, but a partnership between their sons would be even better.

His mother had agreed with suspicious enthusiasm.

I was twenty-three, worked on brand projects for Bennett & Co., and had ambitious plans to keep choosing my own mistakes.

Adrian was twenty-five, ran a division of his family's company, and regarded me as a problem best approached with his sleeves rolled up.

He had also agreed to marry me.

My mother considered this evidence of maturity.

I considered it evidence that he needed a hobby.

"You can say no," she'd assured me when she first brought it up. "But think before you do. You've known each other your whole lives. He's always been there."

That was precisely the problem.

Still, I'd agreed to hear Adrian out. His proposal was practical enough to be insulting: two years without matchmaking dinners, strategic parental visits, or questions about why we hadn't settled down. Two years to find out whether we could live together. After that, either of us could leave.

There were no business penalties. No threatened inheritances. Nobody's job depended on it. Just a pair of meddling mothers and a man who seemed almost offensively certain we could make it work.

I'd said yes because I knew him. Whatever else he was, Adrian wasn't a stranger I would have to learn to trust with my keys.

It had seemed manageable until the word wedding started appearing on napkins.

The next evening, my mother steered me toward the staircase of the restaurant she'd reserved for our engagement party.

"Say hello to our guests, Jamie."

Across the room, Adrian held a champagne flute. Dark suit. Perfect hair. The expression of a man who had already approved the budget for my funeral.

I winked discreetly.

He tipped his head.

Our signal.

I climbed two steps, wrapped an arm around the banister, and announced, "Before we begin, does the husband come with a warranty? My last major appliance stopped working after six months."

A few uncertain laughs drifted through the room.

I leaned farther over the railing.

"And I won't accept store credit."

My mother said my name in a whisper sharp enough to cut glass.

Adrian set down his champagne.

Finally.

Then he began to clap.

"That's what I love about him. His sense of humor."

I stopped moving.

"What?"

Adrian turned toward our parents, utterly composed for someone committing a felony against my trust.

"I know. I'm surprised, too. But I think I've fallen in love."

My mother pressed a hand to her chest. His nearly knocked over a candle.

I stared at my future husband.

The bastard smiled.

My father retrieved me from the stairs. He knew me far too well to believe in any emergency I was personally directing.

"You can strangle your fiancé after dessert," he murmured. "Your mother has already paid for the cake."

Six weeks later, the cake was gone, the papers were signed, and I lived in Adrian's house in Cambridge.

My father called it an adult decision.

I called it a failure to run fast enough.

On our first night, I set up my game console in the library. At ten thirty, Adrian emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.

I looked.

I'm only human. Specifically, a human man with excellent taste in bad decisions.

He crossed the room, opened an empty drawer, closed the empty drawer, and picked up an architecture magazine upside down.

"Most people get dressed after a shower," I observed.

"It's hot."

The heating was off.

Adrian bent to examine the bottom shelf.

His towel fell.

My character died on-screen.

He snatched up the towel with an indignant sound.

"You could have said something."

"I didn't realize this was audience participation."

His ears went red.

I returned to my game, guided by a self-preservation instinct that only worked at the wrong moments.

"You can go upstairs. I'll be there at eleven."

He stood still for a second.

"I'm not waiting for you."

"Great. Then nobody's going to be disappointed."

At eleven forty-two, my phone rang.

"Jamie. Can you tell time?"

"Of course. It's only ten one-oh-two."

He hung up.

When I finally entered our bedroom, I brought two beers as a peace offering. Adrian sat against the headboard in pajamas, looking like a marble statue that had just discovered income tax.

"You took your time."

"You said you weren't waiting."

"I wasn't. I have an early meeting. You wandering around the house keeps me awake."

I held out a beer and sat beside him.

"This place has three floors, Adrian. You could sleep through my wandering around with a marching band."

He didn't take the can.

I remembered the reception photographs. His smile for our parents. His hand holding mine throughout the ceremony, never loosening even when the photographer asked us to change positions.

"You still want the two years?" I asked.

He looked at me. For the first time that night, he seemed to misplace an answer.

Then his shoulders straightened.

"That was the agreement. Don't get the wrong idea. I'll fulfill my responsibilities. You'll have a comfortable home, company when you need it, everything we discussed."

"What a warm and inviting offer."

He held my gaze.

"Just don't expect love."

I opened my beer slowly.

"Good thing you warned me. I was about to embroider your name on a pillow."

His mouth tightened.

That was when I had a terrible idea.

I leaned over and kissed him.