Hitched(58)

“But the man from Atlanta you were ready to pay five thousand dollars to marry you isn’t,” her mother states, her words making Hope shrink inside her clothes.

“You know about that?” Hope whispers while I flinch.

I don’t like to think about her marrying someone else.

“We know about that,” her mother confirms. “Frederick Boucher is Canadian and was only too eager to forward your emails to our private investigator. I imagine he’d be just as eager to hand them over to the authorities. It’s a disgrace to the family. On top of everything else you’ve done. Or rather, not done.”

“But I didn’t know he was from Canada,” Hope says, glancing Tweeledum’s way. “He has an Atlanta address. And I was going to pay him, not the other way around. And can we please talk about this later? Chewpaca is missing, and we have to—”

“You can get another llama,” her mother says with an eye roll.

“No, I can’t, Mom,” Hope says, “and he’s not—”

“I’m afraid it might not matter what you knew, or didn’t know, about Mr. Boucher,” the lawyer cuts in cheerfully—too cheerfully, making me wonder if he’s drunk. I would swear I’m smelling whiskey again, but that could be Kyle’s stench still burned into my nostrils. “They’re cracking down on marriage fraud these days. Handing out huge fines and even jail time for the people they really want to make an example of.”

“But I didn’t marry Frederick.” Hope’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, as if she, too, is having a hard time reconciling Tweedle’s upbeat tone and his doom and gloom news. She reaches for me and I take her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “I married Blake, and I didn’t pay him a dime.”

“That’s the truth,” I confirm, but my smile petrifies on my face as Mr. and Mrs. St. Claire keep their focus on Hope, acting as if I haven’t spoken at all. Jaw clenched, I direct my next statement to the lawyer. “I married Hope because I love her, and I want to spend my life with her. That’s all there is to it. Now, if you’ll please excuse us. We have a crisis to deal with.”

“Some might say that liquor license you recently obtained is a form of payment,” Tweedle says with a grimace of commiseration that’s still absurdly chipper. “And also a crisis, I’d say. The fact that Hope finagled that for you so soon after the marriage looks pretty fishy. Potentially fishy enough to be deemed fraud.”

“Even if that were true,” I say, quickly adding, “though it’s not, I was born right here in Happy Cat. My citizenship isn’t affected by our marriage and neither is hers.”

“True, but there are other factors to consider.” Tweedle’s head bobs and another whiskey-scented breeze drifts my way.

He’s definitely been tippling. It would make me wonder what the men of Happy Cat are coming to, with so many of them drunk by breakfast, but if I had to work for Hope’s parents I’d probably be hitting the whiskey first thing too. They’re a miserable pair, both of them oozing judgment and anger so intensely I can feel it shoving at my shoulders, snarling in my stomach, making my skin itch with a discomfort so intense that if it were anyone but Hope beside me, I would have already excused myself.

But I’m not going to leave her alone with these dismal, disapproving people. The poor thing already had to spend her entire childhood at the mercy of Cranky and Crankier, she doesn’t deserve another moment of pain or suffering.

“Later,” I say. “Right now Chewpaca is our first priority.”

“There are significant assets at stake,” the lawyer continues. “It might be enough to get law enforcement involved. And with confirmation of your attempt at bribery in his back pocket, if your cousin decided to bring a civil suit against you, he’d almost inevitably win.”

“Just because I tried to pay one man to marry me doesn’t mean I paid Blake.” Hope turns to her parents. “And no one ever would have known about Frederick if you’d trusted me. And Blake’s right. We need to find my missing alpaca. All of this can wait.”

Hope’s mother makes a sound that could be a laugh or a cough. Whatever it is, it’s unpleasant. “Trust that you’ve made an informed decision about a life partner you randomly married one morning? Please, you barely know each other.”

“That’s not true,” Hope protests. “He knows me better than either of you ever will.”

Both St. Claires snort in response to that, and my outrage bubbles over.

How can they treat her like this?

“I know her and I love her,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to my side. “If the liquor license is the problem, I’ll give it back. She’s more important to me than opening a tasting room.”

Hope’s head jerks my way and her jaw drops. “No, Blake, it’s your dream, I can’t let you—”

“You’re my dream.” I gaze into her sweet face, wishing I could turn back time and rescue the little girl she was from the horrible people who raised her. But I can’t take away that pain. All I can do is make sure she has a home filled with love from now on. “Nothing else is ever going to matter the way you matter.”

Her eyes fill and her lips part, but before she can speak, her father cuts in.