2. Paolo

CHAPTER 2

PAOLO

I sigh and lean back on the chair, the front two legs swinging up into the air. I always used to get told off for doing this as a kid. They used to try and scare me, telling me that I would lose my balance and crack my head open like an egg. I guess that was a lesson that never stuck.

PI Schultz fixes me with an even stare over the table. He has thick brown hair, a thick beard, and a thick German accent, and he’s in the middle of telling me about some options I have for getting back into Bellamare.

“The issue with your country,” he’s telling me, “is its size. It would be much easier to sneak your way back into a larger country. But Bellamare is very tight about their immigration numbers and keep a close eye on the citizenship register.”

“So, it’s hopeless then,” I sigh.

“We do have a couple of options,” says Schultz, “though neither is ideal. I wouldn’t recommend trying to become an illegal immigrant — you seem like you’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“Yeah. Hopeless.”

He fixes me with that hard look again, and I get the distinct sense that he was born in the wrong decade for the job that he has. This is a guy who would have been way more suited to the noir twenties than the modern day. It’s almost jarring to see him working on a computer. I feel like he should have a typewriter in here.

“Your best option, as far as I can see it, would be to marry a Bellamari citizen under a pseudonym, and then by extension gain rights to reenter the country.”

“So you want me to commit identity fraud against myself?” I say, frowning. That makes no sense at all.

“Not at all,” he says. “Fraud suggests malicious intent. You’re just trying to get home. You can renounce the marriage and the fake citizenship as soon as everything blows over. Besides, the marriage won’t count once they realize it’s a false identity. It’s not like we’re aiming to make you a full-time resident — we’re just trying to get you access back to your own country.”

“I guess… but I’m not exactly everyone’s favorite person right now, and it’s not like people don’t know who I am. There’s no way one single Bellamare woman is going to want to marry me.” I slump back in the seat, all the hope I’d had that things might be looking up draining away. “It doesn’t matter how nice I can be, or how much money I wave in a woman’s face. Nobody likes me enough to agree to this.”

“I suspected this much,” Schultz says, not missing a beat. “So, I compiled a list for you.”

He drops a file full of printouts on the desk in front of me, and it lands with a dull thump. I flip open the file to see several résumé-style pages of women, with small bios and headshots.

“Here are several eligible women who all have Bellamare citizenship in some way,” Schultz says. “You could talk to any of these women, explain your case, and see if they would be amenable to the idea of an arranged marriage.”

I bark a laugh. “I can’t explain this to anyone,” I say. “I’d seem insane.”

“Then what is your better suggestion?”

I hum thoughtfully. In truth, I really don’t have one. “I do like the idea of marrying someone for the citizenship. I think that could work.”

“So, what will you do? Follow up with one of these girls?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll be my charming self, of course.”

Schultz says nothing but his single raised eyebrow gives his true feelings away. I ignore the reaction.

Instead, I pull the folders towards me and start looking through them more closely. All of the women in here are beautiful, young, single. A couple of them seem to have complicated lives, and I turn those pages over quickly. I don’t need anything more complicated than my own life right now.

It’s amazing to me how many different countries these girls come from and have a dual citizenship with us. There are girls here from England, from Australia, from Morocco. I’d be happy to go to any of those places to seek them out.

I narrow the pile down a little more, dismissing the girls for arbitrary reasons — too blond, not enough of a smile, not enough in the bio, too much in the bio.

The pile doesn’t get any less overwhelming, though. I keep flicking through the pages, waiting for inspiration to strike. I was kind of hoping I’d look at one of the photos and find myself looking at the one . But I haven’t, so I just pull one out at random and place it down in front of me.

I’m going to let fate decide this one for me.

My random selection pulls out a girl from the US, living in New York, working as a bartender. She has a nice smile. Her name is Chloe.

I look at her photo one more time, then smile. “This one,” I say.

Schultz nods. “All right. I’ll compile some more data for you.”

“Great.” I grin, then a flare of doubt makes me add, “You’re sure this is going to work, right?”

“You signed the waiver, did you not? No guarantee of certainty. All I can do is offer you information towards your goal and give you the best advice I have to offer.”

“Yeah, I did,” I sigh.

“For what it’s worth,” Schultz says, “I do think this will work. Is this what I would recommend for a life partner? No. But to get home? This should work.”

“Good,” I say quietly, glancing back down at Chloe again. “That’s all I want.”