“Uh-huh.”
She grows serious. Like career-advice-giving moment serious, and the damn bug is gnawing faster. “Well, then…yeah. It’s final.”
Every cell in my body bristles. “That’s positively medieval. He can’t make me stay married to my boss.”
“Then what are you going to tell him? ‘Sorry, Mr. Sterling, but your grandnephew and I got so drunk, we got married without realizing what we were doing. And when you showed up, we were too hung over to tell you the truth. Hope you don’t mind.’” Kim adds a fake smile and a cute little shrug.
“That’s not helpful,” I say, annoyed she is agreeing with the little voice in my head.
“What? The smile?” She sobers. “I was trying to imitate the kind of expression you’d be wearing, telling him all that. I call it the Doomed Yet Hopeful Fool.”
Normally I’d laugh, but my head is still achy, and really, nothing about being married to Nate is funny. “Thanks. What would I do without you cheering me on?”
“Look, there are only three things for you to consider here.”
“And they are?”
“One, is the marriage certificate legit?”
Oooh, good question. I didn’t check, and I doubt Nate did either. We just assumed, like the tabloid writers. But you know what they say about “assuming.” Immediately feeling better, I decide Kim can still be my friend.
“Two, did you have sex with Nate?”
What the hell? “You know the answer to that one.”
“If you’d asked me yesterday, yeah, sure. But you married the man. Things are different now. It’s a commonly accepted practice for a woman and her husband to fuck each other’s brains out on their wedding night, especially when the woman’s been lusting after the husband’s hot, topless body for months.”
I take it back. She can’t be my friend anymore, not when she says stuff like—
“And three, did you use protection?”
My jaw hits the metaphorical floor so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t break. She knows I’m not on anything—no matter what I use, it messes me up—and I have no idea if Nate carries condoms around. His pants pockets are definitely empty when I hand them to him…but maybe in his wallet? Anyway, she knows I don’t remember. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because we didn’t have sex.
I would’ve definitely remembered it if I had it with someone I had dirty fantasies about for months.
“You’re fired,” I say.
An eyebrow goes up. “From what position?”
“Friend.”
“Whatever. The day you start paying me is the day you can fire me. Besides, you’ll want to keep me around when I tell you there’s a very easy solution to all this.”
“There is?” I lean forward eagerly. Kim always has an answer.
“Just go along with it for a few
months. Then quietly divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. It happens. You two got married suddenly, plus you were drunk. So nobody’s going to be surprised.”
“Why can’t we do that right now?” I cringe at how whiny I sound.
“Because you have to convince everyone you tried to make it work. If you divorce immediately, who’s going to believe you? Most people expect you to know Nate’s quirks because you’ve been working for him for almost a year. So a few months are necessary for you to convince the world there’s a huge difference between dealing with Nate the boss and Nate the husband.”
This is not what I want to hear. But I can’t argue with her logic. Besides, I recall Barron’s face from this morning. He’ll probably accept the failure of Nate’s and my marriage with grace if we fake some effort.
And there really doesn’t seem to be any other way forward.
I clench my hands as grim determination courses through me. I can do this. It’s only a few months.