9. Paolo

CHAPTER 9

PAOLO

E ven though Chloe assured me she was going be here, I still have a moment of fear that she won’t show up.

I arrived at the courthouse thirty minutes early and immediately started freaking out that she wasn’t going to be here. Not that she had any obligation to arrive early.

But I don’t know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work out. There’s no way I can make myself do this again. Meeting Chloe was fun, but hunting down someone else with Bellamari citizenship just to pay them off seems like far too much work. Plus, my bank account isn’t infinite. It’s not sad, for sure, but it’s not going to be able to handle too many more of these big purchases.

No. It’s either Chloe or I’m just going to have to think of something else.

As the time for our appointment grows closer, I get more and more nervous. The woman at reception throws me a sympathetic look, and I wonder just how many people like me she’s seen.

Just how many people have promised to sign their lives away and never showed up?

This whole thing is making me really reassess how I feel about marriage. Not that I felt particularly favorable towards it before, but this is just the worst. I don’t think I could handle the stress of depending on another person, let alone the big fanfare of a real wedding.

At least if I’m by myself, I know I only have to look after me .

What am I going to do if I have to start genuinely worrying about her too?

I guess I had assumed that any girl I tried this on would just agree to the paperwork and then leave immediately, not wanting to be any further part of my life. I would understand that. After all, if someone paid me a fortune just to sign a piece of paper, I wouldn’t feel any obligation to them at all. Gratitude, perhaps.

But it doesn’t seem like any real basis for a relationship.

And it wouldn’t be, except me and Chloe just seemed to click so well. I’ve spent a long year chatting up girls, going home to their beds, giving them a really good time. It’s been fun getting to know them a little. Some of them I’ve even gone back to a bunch of times.

Plenty of them were very nice. Plenty of them made me laugh. But none of them clicked like me and Chloe did.

I’m not any sort of believer in true love. None of that destiny, or knowing at first sight, or anything like that. But that is almost what this feels like. Like something real.

It’s not real, though , I remind myself. All this is just a way to get home .

I look at my phone again. Maybe she’s let me know that she’s not going to show up. My heart freezes when I see that I do have a message from her. Stuck in traffic, be there in five.

It’s a cold, efficient message. Nothing like the kind of thing you would expect two people about to get married to say to each other.

But it does soothe my nerves. She hasn’t forgotten.

I really am going home.

When Chloe walks through the door, I jump to my feet and I can’t help but grin at her.

She’s wearing white. It’s not exactly a bridal gown, but it does make her look absolutely beautiful. The fabric clings to her waist, and the skirt billows around her knees, drawing my attention to her long legs and the plunge of her cleavage.

“Hello,” I say.

She smiles back at me. “Hello.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“Were you starting to worry I wouldn’t?”

I don’t say anything, letting my silence be answer enough.

“Come on, then,” she says, holding out her hand. “Are they ready for us yet?”

I glance up at the receptionist, and she nods with a small smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Have you been waiting for long?” Chloe asks.

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was bored.”

She doesn’t comment on the fact that I must have gotten here really early, but I can see the thought glistening behind her eyes.

Carefully, and desperately wanting to change the conversation, I take hold of her hand. She nods at me, and together we step up to the reception desk. The receptionist glances down at her computer. “Paul and Chloe, yes?”

“Yes,” we say in unison.

The woman clicks a few things on her computer, then nods. “Okay. Thanks for waiting. Mr. Hopkins is nearly ready for you. If you take a seat, he’ll get you soon.”

“Thank you,” I say, but before we can go and sit down, a man in a well-fitting suit comes through the door.

“Paul and Chloe?” he asks with a toothy smile. “Come with me.”

We follow him through some corridors into a simple office room. He gestures to us to take a seat. “Welcome,” he says. “I’m glad to have you here.”

“We’re glad to be here,” I say, ignoring the side-eye Chloe gives me.

“All right,” he says, taking his own seat, slapping his hands down on his thighs. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say decisively, then look at Chloe. She nods with slightly less certainty, her smile not quite real.

I hope Mr. Hopkins doesn’t think that we’re being strange or suspicious. I guess he’s probably seen worse than us. At least we have the appearance of liking each other.

“Okay, then. I have some paperwork for you. But before we get to signing, if you want to say anything to each other, now’s a perfect time.”

We turn to each other, staring into each other’s eyes, each waiting for the other to start. I realize that I didn’t prepare one single thing to say about the woman who’s technically about to become my wife. Not that I even know enough about her to start making a speech — but the officiant is looking at us expectantly, so someone has to say something.

I take hold of Chloe’s hands and smile warmly at her. “Chloe, you are one of the kindest, most generous women I’ve ever met,” I say. She blinks in surprise, like she wasn’t expecting me to say anything like this. “You’ve made me feel the happiest I’ve felt in a long while, and I’ve had a lot of fun in the time I’ve known you. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to be my wife.”

The officiant purses his lips, then smiles, and I get the sense that he’s holding back a comment. I guess there are one too many men who fail to say anything nice about the woman they’re supposed to love.

It’s not like I’m even technically lying or anything, anyway. I am grateful to Chloe. She’s giving me everything I want.

Realizing that she should probably say something too, Chloe squeezes my hands. “I’m grateful too,” she starts, then bites her lip, stalling as she tries to summon words to match those I’ve just said to her.

I’m glad I’m not the only one who forgot to write fake vows.

To Mr. Hopkins, I suppose we probably just look like a nervous young couple rather than two people who are doing this for some kind of arrangement. That’s good. That’s not going to raise any suspicions.

This is all going swimmingly.

“You’ve given me more of an opportunity than you can ever know,” Chloe continues. “And if I had to call anyone my husband, I’m glad that it’s someone as caring and giving as you.” She smiles, satisfied with her vow.

“Great,” says Mr. Hopkins in what might be the most businesslike tone ever. “All right. So, because yours is a bit of a special case, unfortunately that means there’s going to be a lot more to sign than is typical. We’ll start with the easy one.”

He produces several sheets of paper, all written in my native tongue. Chloe squints at the Bellamari, trying to decode it. Does she even speak a word of it at all? It’s not a language they teach in schools over here, and it’s unlikely that her dad was able to teach her based on how young she was when he died. I wonder what she thinks of it. It’s not exactly Italian, but to the unpracticed ear it’s close enough.

“Because you are both Bellamari citizens, this is a legal record showing that your marriage will be recognized both here in the US and in Bellamare. It should grant you both all the same legal rights as any citizen would get over there.”

I clench my fist to stop myself grinning too widely. I can’t believe this was so easy.

“Please,” says Mr. Hopkins, gesturing for us to do what we came here to do.

We both pick up a pen and sign the document. I glance over it, and it says exactly what the man said it does: that our marriage is fully legal and recognized in Bellamare. That, as full citizens, we’re allowed unhindered right of entry. The thought of it makes my head spin.

“Okay, great,” says Mr. Hopkins. His face twists into something approaching regret, and he says, “Now, you’ll be surprised to learn the US makes things a bit trickier for dual citizens.” Chloe snorts a laugh. “Here’s the paperwork to pronounce you both married, and here,” he says, producing some more paperwork from his manilla folder, “is the official start of your process to becoming a citizen.”

He pushes the papers towards me, and I pick them up, the words swimming in front of my eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s a little more complex than simply signing a form, but your chances of getting rejected after this are very slim. When it’s a legitimate marriage between two people who love each other, this country has no problem with welcoming new citizens.”

I start laughing, and Chloe glares at me, making me stop. Maybe he wasn’t making a joke, then. I cough awkwardly to cover my gaffe, then say, “Okay, thank you. Brilliant. Let’s sign, then, shall we?”

He gives us a strange look but says nothing else. I’d love to know where we rank on the personal list of weirdest ceremonies he no doubt has in his head.

I sign it quickly. Mr. Hopkins takes the paperwork back, double-checks it, then gets to his feet. “Excellent,” he says. “Well, then, it’s my great privilege to announce that, in the eyes of the US Government, I can officially pronounce you husband and wife.”

He looks at us both expectantly. Chloe and I share a look, and almost panic as we realize that this is the part where most people kiss. Chloe glances down at my lips as if to ask me a question, and to save her any more awkwardness, I lean in and press my lips chastely against hers.

“Congratulations,” says Mr. Hopkins. “You are all good to go as far as I’m concerned. Whenever you’re ready, you can head out.”

“Thank you,” we both say, getting up at the same time and almost scrambling out of the office. His words were saying there’s no rush , but I imagine he has a whole lot of these to do today, and I don’t want to hold him up.

The second we hit the street outside, I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much,” I say. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

Chloe gives me a puzzled look, but doesn’t follow up with whatever question is in her mind. “Thank you, too. I really meant it in there. You have no idea what this money is going to do for me.”

“No problem at all. Anything for my wife.” I wink at her and she blushes.

“Well, I suppose that’s it, then,” she says, grimacing.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it traditional after getting married to go back home and consummate it?”

Her blush deepens, spreading pink right across her nose, and I have to resist commenting on how cute it is. “You mean…” she starts, stumbling as her mind races to catch up. “You actually want me to come home with you?”

I take hold of her hand and squeeze it gently. “As I said, you’re my wife now. And that relationship can mean whatever you want it to mean. If you never want to see me again, I get that. I won’t push for anything. But I do find you very attractive. If you would let me romance you, I would.” She lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Plus,” I add, “I do have to give you that check.”

“Okay, then,” Chloe says slowly. “I don’t think Mom would be too happy at you coming back to our place, though.”

“I bought an apartment,” I say casually, and when her mouth drops open, I quickly add, “I needed a base here. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure…” she says. Then, before I can dig myself any deeper, she says, “Let me tell Mom I’m not coming home. Then we can go back to yours, okay?”

I flag down a taxi while Chloe speaks to her mother, and my stomach twinges as she does. In the short time that I’ve known her, she’s spoken to her mom more times than I’ve even thought about mine.

When we get to my place, I tip the driver well, then take Chloe by the hand and lead her up to my new penthouse.

“Wow,” she says as we step out of the elevator and into the apartment. “This is awesome.”

I close the door behind us and grin at the way she looks around, scanning every inch of the walls as she takes in the sleek grey paint and silver finishes. “It’s all ours.”

“You know, I already had lunch, but…” She bites her lip, her eyes raking over me. “I am hungry for something else…”

With that, she steps forward and kisses me, and I feel myself melting in her hands.

My own hands travel to her breasts without thinking, and I smile into her mouth as our kiss deepens, our lips pressing harder together. She moans as our tongues entwine, and she grinds her hips forwards, pressing against my hardening, aching length.

We push each other back towards the bedroom, shedding our clothes as we go. By the time we fall on the bed, we’re both naked, unable to take our hands off each other.

“Here’s to marriage,” I say crawling up over her to kiss her face.

“To marriage,” she grins, kissing me back then flipping me so she’s straddling my waist.

And that’s the last thing we say for a long time — because we’re too busy making each other see stars.