22. Dex

Chapter twenty-two

Dex

A pproximately eighteen hours after the most humiliating moment of my life—and I don't have a shortage of humiliating moments—the woman who witnessed it is on the landing. She peers over the railing as I carry my board up the stairs to my apartment.

My team lost the AFL match yesterday, I had to admit to Archie that I'd proposed to Britta and she'd said no, Rhys was bent out of shape about me inviting the girls over—Stella asked him a million and one questions—and I had a crap morning on the waves. So, I'm not exactly excited to see Britta and relive the humiliation of her rejection.

I told Archie all along that it was a stupid idea, then I went ahead and did it anyway, and made myself out to be a desperate idiot. I don't blame Britta for saying no—even though I think I'd make a pretty decent fake husband. It was a lot to ask—tying herself to me long enough for me to get citizenship.

The thing I'm most upset about that I did, though, is mess up the good thing we had going. She's probably decided to leave Monday after all.

"Hi Liam," Britta says when I reach the landing. Her greeting isn't cold, but it's not warm either.

"Morning, Britta." I angle myself and my board around her to my door.

"It's afternoon."

I pause long enough to really look at her, wondering if it wasn't a coincidence running into her. Maybe she was waiting for me. "Good arvo, then."

Her face screws into a question, but I don't have the energy to explain arvo is just a quicker—better—way to say afternoon. That's the beauty of Australian English. We get our point across without a bunch of extra words and syllables.

"Can we talk for a minute?" Britta follows me inside.

I set my board against the wall and sigh. "Can it wait? I'm knackered."

She stiffens, and I notice she's clutching folded sheets of paper. "No, it can't. It's important. But if you can't spare two minutes, I'll go."

She turns to leave, and I feel bad for snapping. It's not her fault I'm embarrassed. I was the idiot who asked her to marry him on our first official date. I can't be mad at her for having brains enough to say no.

"Wait, Britta." I grab her arm and gently tug her back. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and feel like a tool after last night, but I don't want that to get in the way of our relationship. Can we just forget about it and go back to being friends?"

Her eyes dart to the papers in her hands, and she bites her lip. "That's actually what I came to talk about." She meets my eye, and her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. "I want to be more than friends. I want to be business partners too."

I take a second to process what she's saying, but then she hands me her papers. "Here are my conditions."

I unfold them and read the words, Britta Thomsen and Liam Dexter Marriage Contract. My eyes bounce from the paper to Britta's face, then back again.

"What changed your mind?" The words on the paper are a blur, I'm so shocked.

"Long story, but basically, I've decided figuring out who I am means staying in LA, and what I want is a coffee shop close to the beach." She finishes with a clipped, I'm certain, nod.

"Good on ya, Britt." I return her clipped nod, because I'm certain I want her to stay in LA and take over my favorite coffee shop, too.

Her mouth tugs at the corner before she points to the "contract" I'm holding.

"It's not legally binding, obviously." Her voice skitters with nervousness. "But I trust you to give your word until we can have a pre-nup drawn up."

"A pre-nup?"

She waves her hand, like she's brushing away a minor inconvenience. "I want the money you give me to be a loan, so whatever legal paperwork we need to do to make sure that happens."

"I'd rather give—"

Her hand goes up and I stop. "Not negotiating on that one, but I'm willing to work with you on my other conditions… some of them, anyway."

I scan the numbered list, and because my brain can't think of any words to say of my own, I read Britta's out loud.

"Number one: no kissing in private." I nod. Disappointing, but not surprising. "Number two. No kissing in public, with the exception of kissing-appropriate celebrations."

I look up. Specifically, at her lips. "Like under the mistletoe or on New Year's Eve?"

She waves her hand at the list. "We can discuss details later if you agree to these conditions."

I read the rest of the list to myself. It's two pages long and covers a lot of ground like, absolutely, positively, no sex. That one she points out specifically and adds, "In private or public. Just to be clear."

"Public was never on the table. Just to be clear." I pull in my smile. "I hadn't considered holidays together, but I appreciate that you're willing to go to Australia for Thanksgiving."

"As long as my family gets us at Christmas," she says firmly.

"You're aware we don't celebrate Thanksgiving in Australia?"

"Hmm. I guess we'll have to go to my family then."

"No Fourth of July celebrations in Aus either." I raise an eyebrow.

"Paradise has a really great one. I guess we can go there instead." She doesn't crack a smile, and I get a sense of who's going to have the upper hand in this ‘partnership.'

I go back to the list, trying to keep my face as unreadable as hers. Most of her asks are reasonable. Separate bedrooms. Separate bathrooms, with an aside that reads non-negotiable. I shared a bathroom with three brothers. Handholding only when absolutely necessary.

That one stings. Her hand is soft and fits perfectly in mine.

"You want me to teach you to surf?" I raise my eyes to hers. "I'll happily do it, but it will mean breaking the ‘no touching' rule."

Britta leans in and reads the list over my shoulder, then points to rule number eleven. "No unnecessary touching. Touching while teaching is fine."

A thousand thoughts of what I'd like to teach her run through my mind. None of them appropriate. I bite back a smile as her cheeks grow pink.

"Do not say what you're thinking right now." She grabs the list from me. "I'm serious, Liam. We have to keep this arrangement professional, otherwise it won't work and one of us will get hurt."

"How can you be so sure about that? We've got awesome connection. Maybe we should see where things go. We might like being married to each other." I'm wondering if the Olympics are worth giving up anything but a "professional" relationship with Britta.

When doubt skitters across her face, I think maybe she's reconsidering the professional part too, but then she pulls back her shoulders and sets her jaw in a firm line. "We barely know each other, and we're very , very different. If we act on our feelings, what happens if we find out in another month or two that we're not a good fit? We're stuck together until you get your citizenship, because that's the agreement, right?"

I rub my fingers across my forehead and nod. "But if you wanted out, I wouldn't hold you to it."

Britta presses her lips together and moves her head slowly, side to side. "This only works if we both come out with what we want going in, and the best way to make sure that happens is to keep things friendly, but professional."

I school every emotion and put on my most serious face. "I agree, Britta. Whatever you have on that list, I'll do. I want you to feel safe. I never want you to think I'm taking advantage of your generosity or our partnership. I want this to work, but not at the expense of your dignity or our friendship."

"Thank you…" Britta's shoulders relax, but not enough to release the tension still coiled at her neck. "But you should read the entire list before you agree. Especially the second to last line. That's the one I'm most worried about. It's a lot." She hands the list back to me, and I go to the second page, all the way to the bottom.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I read it. It's by far the easiest thing on the list. "Not a problem."

Britta's jaw drops. "It's three hundred thousand dollars. That's how much I need for a down payment on Annie's. "

I reach for her hand, then question whether this is an "absolutely necessary" moment, and let it drop back to my side. "The money part is easy. Except for this apartment, I don't have many expenses. Rip Tide gives me clothes. The Sprinter van belongs to Archie, and I've saved most of my winnings. I expected you to ask for more. You should have, and you still can. My agent has brokered heaps of promotions for me since I won. You don't need to worry about money."

Britta breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you. That means a lot. And I do feel safe with you. We both want the same thing: to reach our goals before getting into any long-term attachments. That's why we'll be excellent partners."

Her words should wipe away any of my worries. Instead, my enthusiasm for this whole thing takes a hit. Then my eyes bounce to the last condition, and my excitement is down for the count.

"This won't work." I fold the list and hand it back to her.

"What? Why?" She unfolds the papers and scans them, so I point to the last line that says annulment proceedings to begin one year from the date of marriage .

"This won't be a one-year thing, Britta. We have to be married for three years for me to get citizenship. I should have told you that. I thought I had."

Her face drains of color, and I feel my own cheeks heat. I was so close. I should have known this was too good to be true. Three years is an enormous commitment for anything, but especially for a fake marriage.

Britta goes to the sofa, sinks into it, and drops her head in her hands. All I can do is watch. The fact she hasn't bolted back to her place is tempting me to hope I might still have a chance.

Finally, she lifts her head. "Three years is a long time."

"Yeah. I get it if that's a deal breaker. I don't expect you to give up three years of your life for me. You've already given up years, taking care of your mum the way you did." I stay planted where I am, not daring to move forward.

She sits up straight and rolls her shoulders back. "It's fine. I can do anything for three years, but we'll need to add another condition. No dating."

"Easy. Archie's already made me follow that rule this season, but either way, I wouldn't want people to think I was cheating on you."

A look of confusion crosses her face before her eyes go wide. "I mean each other, too."

"We can't date each other?" I can go without other girls, but I'm more disappointed about not dating her.

"Strictly professional, Liam." Britta leaves no room for argument there, and I have to be okay with that. I should be okay with that. "Besides," she adds in a softer voice. "We'll be too busy chasing our dreams for anything else. That's the other benefit of this partnership. We contractually can't get distracted by the opposite sex."

A slow smile spreads across my face. She's right, of course. We'll keep each other focused by eliminating the biggest potential obstacle. "I think I'm going to like being married to you."

"You have to." She smiles. "That's number seventeen on the list. Right under splitting housework down the middle. I'll do the cooking, but you get dishes."

I laugh. "Fine, but I have a condition of my own."

"Only one?"

I nod. "That's an even split, right? I get thirty-two rules to follow; you get one?"

"I think so, depending on the size of your ask." She folds her arms across her chest and sits back, like she's planning to stay for a while.

I cross the room to erase the distance between us, but not enough to actually touch. I look down at her, lounging on my sofa, and a shiver of excitement runs down my spine at the thought that soon this will be an everyday occurrence. The two of us hanging out, laughing, teasing each other.

"It's a big one." I raise an eyebrow in a challenge.

She tips up her chin and lifts her own eyebrow, waiting. Then I lay out my non-negotiable.

"No more Liam. Call me Dex."