She shakes her head. “That’s never been a thing in Korea. If it was, I might’ve chosen a man for now to mollify my family, then gathered a harem, adding the love of my life later. Then favored only my pick and lived happily ever after, like Korean kings used to with their favorite concubines.”
“So you’d divorce your fake husband and marry your favorite concubine guy?”
“There wouldn’t be a need to divorce anyone. In ancient Korea, the king was technically married to all his concubines.” She shrugs. “But these days, you’re supposed to pick one.”
“One out of a hundred.”
“Right. My parents compiled a list that I’m supposed to choose from. I guess they think getting married is like a buffet.”
Okay, so I misunderstood. One. Good. “What if the guy doesn’t pick you back?” Who’s on this damned man list? And why am I not on it? She would’ve chosen me if I were.
She snorts. “Not pick me back? Come on.”
I raise my eyebrows, impressed. “A woman who’s confident. I like that.” Not that I disagree. I would totally pick her back.
“I know what I bring to the table, and more important, they know. Every eligible bachelor will have a dossier on me. They’re happy as long as they get a proper merger wife who’ll increase the market cap of the combined conglomerates. And bring enough of a control stake in their companies to help in a war for succession.”
Shit. This reads like a pitch for a movie: Game of Thrones meets Crazy Rich Asians.
Anyway, she doesn’t want to settle for being somebody’s merger wife, although I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to win. What’s the point in living if you don’t plan on winning? But maybe she only wants to marry a guy who’s already won.
But now I understand why I’m not on the list. It would be unfair. After all, I don’t need to wage a succession war. I’m already the king of my own fortune.
“So what’s wrong with the men?” I ask. Other than that none of them are named Declan Winters.
“Nothing…except that they were all born rich, over educated, multilingual workaholics. That and the fact that I didn’t choose them.”
That makes me feel superior. I wasn’t born rich, and nobody can accuse me of being over educated. I speak some Spanish, but everyone in L.A. does. I do work a lot, but only because I’m trying to make sure I’m going to be okay, not to win some succession war. That makes me a complete non-workaholic.
Then another solution to her problem strikes me. “Why don’t you just marry someone on your own? I mean, just as a preventive measure. Then your family won’t be able to marry you off to one of the Hundred.”
A lot of men would be interested in that position. Hell, I would. It’d be awesome to pretend to be her significant other and keep her away from those other guys she hates so much. Performing a selfless act of good, while wrapping my arms around her and kissing her in public because you gotta make it look authentic.
It isn’t like me to be interested in a fake relationship, but so what? What was I doing in the romantic comedy I filmed for Netflix? Acting like I was in a relationship with my counterpart, who’s married in real life. Doing it with Yuna would be just like filming that show, except there wouldn’t be any cameras.
Yuna shivers. “Ew, no. The goal is to marry somebody who will put me first, not marry someone who won’t put me first to avoid some other guy who also won’t put me first. It’s like saying I’m going to drink my own arsenic so I don’t have to drink someone else’s. I’ll still be dead.”
Touché. “But with a guy you choose, you could have a prenup, so you can divorce amicably after your family’s no longer trying to marry you off. Then you can pick the right guy. And who knows? Maybe you’d fall in love with your fake husband.”
“Too complicated, and falling in love with a fake husband only happens in fiction.”
“It does?”
“Well, romance fiction. Like The Very Bossy Engagement. I read that one not too long ago.”
Jesus, the title sounds faker than a fake husband.
Yuna adds, “Besides, there’s no guarantee he won’t become greedy and want more than what was promised. Or that he won’t take my family’s payoff money and divorce me before the specified deadline. It’d be simpler to research and pick out a guy who wanted me for something very specific—like enough shares to control his family’s company—with the understanding that we’d divorce in a year or two. That way, my family wouldn’t try to make him go away by throwing money at him.”
“Never mind, then,” I say, although I can’t imagine the kind of money her family would need to make a guy leave this woman. “Obviously you’ve given the matter a lot of thought.”
“Yeah.” She shrugs
. “Anyway, to get back to the original point, I need to prove to my family that I’m capable of being gainfully employed and taking care of myself.”
“What would’ve happened if you hadn’t found a job?”
“I would’ve sent out more résumés until I did.”