Chapter 2 2

The leather seat of the car was cool against her legs. It smelled like new money-rich, earthy, and pristine.

Kiley sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the windshield wipers sliced back and forth. Swish, swish. The rhythm was hypnotic, trying to lull the panic that was clawing at her throat.

Outside, the gray silhouette of City Hall loomed through the curtain of rain. It looked like a fortress.

The engine cut. The sudden silence in the cabin was deafening.

Carmine unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward her. His movements were precise, controlled.

"We're here," he said.

Kiley blinked, the spell breaking. She looked at the building, then at the man beside her. Reality crashed down on her like a bucket of ice water.

What was she doing? She was sitting in a stranger's car-a very expensive car-about to marry him because... because what? Because she was angry? Because her heart was broken?

Her hand froze on the buckle of her seatbelt.

"I..." Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "I can't do this. I don't even know you."

Carmine didn't look surprised. He didn't look angry. He just rested his arm on the steering wheel and looked at her.

"Don't you want to make him regret it?" he asked.

The words were a precision strike. Kiley flinched. She could still see Javon's face, the smugness, the way he had looked at her like she was nothing. Like she was disposable.

Nobody wants you, Kiley. You're baggage. That's what he had said during their last fight.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The vibration against her thigh made her jump. She pulled it out.

Sunnyvale Nursing Home: Second Notice. Payment Overdue.

Kiley stared at the screen. The numbers blurred. Grandma Rose. The medication, the room and board, the physical therapy. Javon had promised to help. He had promised that once they were married, his promotion would cover it.

Now, there was nothing. Just debt and a grandmother who was going to be evicted.

Carmine glanced at her phone. He didn't need to see the screen; her slumping shoulders told him everything he needed to know. He knew about the debts. He knew about the grandmother. He had done his homework.

"I have full health insurance," he said quietly. "And spousal benefits."

Kiley's head snapped up.

Insurance.

It wasn't romance. It wasn't love. It was survival. In America, marriage for health insurance was more common than marriage for love. He wasn't offering a fairy tale; he was offering a business deal. A stable, corporate job with benefits. That, she could understand. That, she could accept.

She looked at him. He was handsome, yes. But more importantly, he was a lifeline. He was offering a transaction.

She gritted her teeth, shoved the phone back into her pocket, and opened the car door.

The rain hit her instantly. She stepped out onto the wet pavement, the cold water soaking through her thin shirt.

Carmine was there in a second. A large black umbrella snapped open above her, shielding her from the downpour. He stood close, his shoulder brushing against hers. She noticed that he was holding the umbrella entirely over her, leaving his left shoulder exposed to the rain. The dark fabric of his trench coat turned blacker as it soaked up the water.

They walked up the steps of City Hall.

Inside, the air smelled of floor wax and old paper. It was quiet, save for the shuffling of feet and the murmur of clerks.

They stood in line. Carmine stood close to her, a solid wall of heat against the drafty room.

When they reached the counter, the clerk looked up. She was a middle-aged woman with glasses on a chain. Her eyes flicked from Carmine's tailored coat to Kiley's damp, wrinkled clothes.

She slid a form across the counter.

Kiley picked up the pen. Her hand was shaking so badly the tip tapped against the paper. Tap-tap-tap.

She tried to write her name, but the letters came out jagged. She stopped, taking a shaky breath.

A hand covered hers.

Carmine's fingers were long and warm. He steadied the pen, his grip firm but not painful.

"Breathe, Kiley," he murmured.

She looked up at him, startled. It was the first time he had used her name. It sounded different when he said it. Heavy. Important.

"I..."

"Just sign," he said.

She looked back at the paper. With his hand guiding hers, she wrote her name. Kiley Love.

The ceremony was a blur. A judge in a stained robe mumbled through the lines. There were no flowers. No music. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the pounding of her own heart.

"Do you take this man..."

Kiley hesitated. One second. Two.

She thought of the red shoes in her hallway. She thought of Grandma Rose alone in that hospital bed.

"I do," she said.

Carmine didn't hesitate. "I do."

The judge stamped the paper. Thud.

It sounded like a gavel sentencing her to life. Or maybe parole. She wasn't sure yet.

The clerk handed the marriage certificate to Kiley. She reached for it, her fingers brushing the embossed seal.

Carmine's hand shot out. He took the certificate from the clerk before Kiley could grab it.

"I-" Kiley started. "I should keep that."

Carmine folded the document and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.

"I'll keep it safe," he said. "You lose things."

Kiley frowned. How did he know that? She lost her keys constantly. She lost her phone twice a week. But he couldn't know that. Unless he was just assuming she was irresponsible based on her current state.

"I don't-"

He didn't let her finish. He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit.

"Let's go, Mrs. Wilkinson."

The name sent a shockwave through her spine. Mrs. Wilkinson. It felt foreign. It felt like a lie.

They walked out into the daylight. The rain had stopped. A single beam of sunlight cut through the clouds, hitting the wet pavement.

Kiley shivered. She was married to a stranger. And she had a feeling the storm was just beginning.