Page 61 of The Marriage Clause

And he paid Brookhaven before I even asked.

He notices things. My flowers. The specific shampoo I use. That I needed peonies without ever telling him why.

He sleeps in his office and I hate that I care.

"Yes," I lie. "I love him."

That makes him smile and then his shoulders ease a little.

"Well then that's a start. But the true meaning of a marriage is friendship. If Everett is your best friend, you'll last forever. Your mother was my best friend."

My eyes sting at the thought of their love. Of the idea that I'm marrying a man who can barely be in the same room as me, let alone be friendly with me. "How do I know if we're friends? We've barely known each other for over six months and he's my boss, and I've spent months barely able to stand him?"

He gives me a look. "Sweetheart, your mother married an American she'd known twenty-three days because he dropped fruit at her feet and butchered French with enough confidence to be charming. I'm not exactly in a position to judge unusual marriages."

That catches me right where it needed to. I laugh and wipe under my eyes before the tears can actually fall.

"If you said yes to him, there was probably a good reason. Give him the benefit of the doubt. At the very least... he has good taste in a wife."

He reaches for my hand. His grip is warmer than I expect, stronger too.

"Thanks Dad," I say, squeezing back

"Do you want me to walk you down the aisle?"

I had hoped.

Of course I had hoped.

But hope has been dangerous for a long time now, and I didn't let myself put it into words in case Thursday turned into one of his bad days and the question broke both of us.

"Yes," I whisper.

His hand tightens around mine. "Then I will."

Emotion rushes up my throat so fast it hurts. I laugh again because if I cry he'll feel guilty and if he feels guilty I'll cry harder and then we'll both be a disaster before lunch.

He studies me for a second, then smiles in that familiar, half-mischievous way that reminds me he was a troublemaker, always plotting mischievous things for us to do that gave my mother small heart attacks every day, long before he was a patient. "Tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Does he know what he's in for?"

That makes me snort.

"Probably not."

"Good," Dad says. "Men should always be a little afraid before the wedding. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for and Everett Kauffman just met his match. He's at least smart enough not to let go of a good thing when he sees it."

I smile so hard it hurts. If only he knew that Everett did let go of a good thing. He fired me before I begged him to marry me. However, that is a story for another day... or if I'm lucky, never at all.

I tell him that Everly, Everett's sister, has a tailor that will be coming by tomorrow for a rush fitting to get him into a tux and that I'll let Gladys know when to expect him.

When I leave an hour later after we eat lunch together in the facility’s dining room, I feel steadier than I did walking in.

Not calm. Definitely not calm.

But steadier.