Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(35)

This entire situation is a stark raving nightmare. I lift my head, squeezing my temples before my head explodes.

He’s still knocking on the door, fiddling with the knob, trying to force his way in. “Bella! I’m telling you...I can explain. I know this seems crazy. I know it’s fucked up. Just hear me out.”

I hate how forlorn he sounds. Obviously, another trick.

What the hell do I even do?

Call the sheriff? The FBI? It’s fraud, plain and simple. Complete criminal fraud against me and against Gramps.

That awful realization turns my shock into fury.

Jesus Christ. No wonder he befriended my Grandpa and sat at his right hand for so many years.

Mother was right. No man his age, who’s that good looking, lives in the middle of Nowhere, North Dakota on an old ranch with an old man.

Not without a damn good reason, and even a hefty salary isn’t reason enough. Not to go this far.

That two-timing maniac! I pinch my teeth together so hard my fillings threaten to pop out.

Shooting around the desk, I yank the phone up to my ear.

Thank God Gramps never gave up his landline. He only started using cordless phones because I bought him a pair several Christmases ago, so he didn’t have to sit next to the phone while talking to me.

I’m about to dial 9-1-1 when the photos on the desk catch my eye. Two are of me, my senior yearbook photo and a more recent one Alexa took on a Cancun beach one spring break.

There’s another pic of me and Gramps, maybe ten years ago, his soft hand draped over my lanky teenage shoulder.

Then there’s a fourth with Gramps and the thief. Drake.

But it’s the background that really catches my attention.

“What the...” I pick up the picture, staring in bewilderment.

It’s a recent photo. And I know exactly where they are.

They’re both holding fishing poles, standing in front of a familiar lodge in Glacier National Park, Montana.

I’ve been there once, seven or eight years ago, fishing with Gramps.

For him, it was holy ground. A sentimental, private place. Because it’s where he took his bride on their honeymoon.

I never knew my Grandma Martha. She died well before I was born, when my father was young. Gramps said Dad and I were the only other people he ever took to the lodge because it’s only for those he loves the most.

A shiver pricks at my skin.

Ugh. None of this makes sense.

I set the phone down and drop into the chair, still looking at the picture. My brain, a total mess.

I know Gramps was old, but his mind was just as sharp as always.

I talked to him the night before he died. He was his same old self. And that same old self would never have been swindled by a con man like Drake.

Unless he didn’t know.

What am I thinking? Of course, he didn’t know.

No one knows when they’re being conned. It’s one of those things that only hits you between the eyes after the fact, when you wake up with an emptied-out bank account or a bathtub full of ice, sans one kidney.

I’m hardly immune.

I honestly believed Drake was here to help me.

I let his devilish good looks get into my head, missed the red flags because I was too fixated on bright-blue eyes and hard abs licked by tattooed sin.

His presence alone helped so much this morning while I’d been at the corporate office, and later, here at the house. Knowing he was right behind me gave me courage. The strength to not lose it over my parents and Mr. Briar being here, hovering over me like a wounded animal.

Crap. I was even looking forward to freaking enchiladas.

That was fun. Betting him over Edison, and having a split second to wonder how he’d make dinner, and what he might say to me across the table...

Stupid. So stupid it hurts.

But the pounding on the door has stopped. Now what?

I’m no closer to having any sane idea how to handle this.

I set the picture on the desk, facedown, and slide the file folder closer. The newspaper articles Mr. Briar left behind slide along with it.

Another pompous ass I don’t want to deal with. I’m not surprised he swooped in to buy the company so soon, and I’m not surprised my parents were ready to hand him the keys.

They can’t just hand over everything overnight, though.

Neither can I. Not for six months.

That was in the will.

Which makes me think, Mr. Sheridan! I could call him. Find out what I can do about this will, my rights, and this utterly insane proxy marriage. I still don’t even know what the hell that is, or why it’s a thing at all.

I flip open the file folder and lift out the will, so I can tell the lawyer exactly what it says while it’s fresh in my mind. Then I turn to the back page, where someone obviously forged my signature.

My heart stops. Reynold Sheridan wrote the will. Jonah Reed signed it as a witness.

Inhaling sharply, I grab at the marriage certificate.

Same thing. Reynold Sheridan and Jonah Reed signed this one, too. And the one behind it, a certificate of marriage from the state of Montana.

Montana?

My signature’s there again, and it isn’t forged. That’s my handwriting. No mistaking it.

It had to be tucked into some of the paperwork I’d signed last night.

Utility companies. Notices. Fake married.

That sneaky, sneaky SOB. Make that several SOBs.