Page 11 of The Malibu Arrangement

I nod, my vision blurring as tears well up without permission. It's always the kindness that breaks me—never the tragedies, just the unexpected moments of grace. My throat tightens around the words. "Thank you," I whisper, the sound barely making it past the knot of emotion.

For the next hour or so, Joseph and I sit and talk. I tell him about my job, about my sister Lexi and how proud I am of her for excelling in the UCLA film program, and, of course, about my mother. I tell him about how Mom worked 12-hour days between her three jobs when Lexi and I were younger. How Mom sacrificed her whole life to make sure Lexi and I could eat and have shelter. How I feel guilty because Mom only had to work that hard because she had us kids at home, and if we were never around, she could’ve had more of a life. And maybe she wouldn’t be sick today if she could’ve taken life easier.

There’s something about this kind-hearted man that makes me feel comfortable opening up about my deepest fears and insecurities. In return, I gain a wealth of information about him. He shares stories about Ruth and their grandchildren, but he deliberately avoids revealing his profession. I suspect he’s retired, but I have no idea what he did during his working life. He seems to be deliberately withholding that information.

Despite this, I found it acceptable.

At some point, I feel the need to stretch my legs, so I descend to the coffee shop to grab a cup. I return with a cup of coffee for me and one for him even though he didn’t request one, and he smiles, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“You’re a lovely young woman,” he says. “You’ll find a suitable husband someday.”

I shrug. I've dated here and there, but, aside from one jerk I dated for a year, nothing ever stuck past the third dinner or the awkward morning-after coffee. When they ghosted or I let the texts fade away, I never found myself crying into ice cream, driving past their home or drunk-dialing at 2 AM. They were all wrong anyway—too loud, too quiet, too ambitious, not ambitious enough.

Finally, the doctor arrives and informs me that Mom is awake. I can see her and talk to her.

I extend a grateful handshake to the kindly older gentleman. “Thank you so much, Joe,” I say. “You truly made a difference today, more than you’ll ever know.”

As I leave that day, I anticipate never seeing Joe again. He undoubtedly served as one of those angels sent to provide comfort during my time of need.

He did offer me comfort, more than he could ever know.

Iris's eyes glisten as I finish telling her about my mother. "Oh, Celeste," she whispers, reaching across the desk to squeeze my hand. "I had no idea about your mother. Would it be alright if I sent her some flowers?" I watch as she jots a quick note on her planner, drawing a little star beside it for importance. A smile tugs at my lips. In a world of Maxes, it's the Irises who make the unbearable somehow bearable.

Now, I’m crying, but I nod. “My mother loves flowers. She likes orchids the best. Also sunflowers. Reminds her of our life in Kansas.”

"The state flower of Kansas," Iris says with a nod. "Okay, then, done. Orchids and sunflowers." She inhales sharply, her fingers twisting the silver ring on her right hand. Her eyes dart to the window, then back to me, then down to the floor. The smile she attempts doesn't reach her eyes. My stomach tightens—something isn't right.

“Celeste,” she gently says. “I feel weird even asking you for this, but, again, Joseph Kensington called and was adamant that I bring this…offer…to you.” Then she shakes her head and mutters under her breath. “What am I doing here?”

“Iris, what is it?”

“Well, here’s the thing. I don’t know what your financial situation is, but I know you have a sister in film school at UCLA and a mother who’s not working. I have an offer to make things more comfortable for you.”

“What kind of an offer?”

She glances at me, then back at her desk, which she’s now sitting on. Then looks out the window and back at me. “Joseph Kensington wants you to marry his son, Max. If you stay married to him for one year, you’ll receive $250,000. He says he wants a year commitment because he’s afraid that you’ll turn around and run from Max if there’s not a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, as it were. And he feels that a commitment on your part for a year would be enough for you to see what a great guy his grandson is. And, I’d like this conversation to stay between us, if that’s okay with you.”

I’m just staring at her. What.the.hell? Me, marrying that beast of a man I met last night? The one who made me feel three inches tall? Who cut me down where I stood, telling me how incompetent I was? She’s staring at me like she’s dead serious. As if the words that just came out of her mouth were not the batshittiest words in the history of the English language.

The "proposition" hits me, and suddenly I'm bent double, a burst of laughter exploding from somewhere I'd forgotten existed. My stomach muscles clench as tears stream down my face. I gasp for breath, manage to compose myself for half a second, then collapse into fresh peals that echo across the room. The release floods through me like a dam breaking—when was the last time I'd actually laughed? Not since before Mom's diagnosis, before "Stage 3” became the center of our vocabulary. My body remembers what it's like to feel something besides dread. I wipe my eyes, thinking of Joe Kensington with something close to gratitude. First, he came through for me when my mother was in the hospital and I thought I might lose my mother. Now, he’s inadvertently come through for me in introducing this ridiculous proposal that’s given me the first real laughter in what seems like eons.

Iris nods. “Yes, I think your reaction is realistic to say the least. But I want you to know that this is not some interoffice prank. I wouldn’t put one over on you or anybody else in this office like that. Nobody would respect me if I did that. So. I know you’re literally laughing this proposal out of this office and I don’t blame you. But if you change your mind, you only need to tell me and I’ll get word to Joseph.”

I shake my head. “Max is on board with this?” I think about last night. About how he scowled at what I was wearing, then berated me about the Nora Davis thing. About the mere fact that he summoned me out of the blue, giving me no choice but to grovel to him on his turf, on the pain of losing my job if I dared beg off. I somehow think that he doesn’t want this anymore than I do.

“I don’t know,” Iris admits. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have brought this to you, except that Joseph Kensington was adamant that I do and he was adamant that I do it this morning. And, since he’s scheduled to be one of our overlords in the near future, although Max Kensington will be more of our overlord than him….I don’t want to get on his bad side.”

"Tell Joseph I said absolutely not. There's no scenario where I'd ever agree to marry Max Kensington. I'd rather—" I stop myself, my fingers pressed against my temples. "Look, I can barely stand being in the same room with him. Marriage? That's beyond absurd." I cross my arms, then uncross them. "And what's Joseph's angle anyway? Why is he so desperate to marry off his grandson to a complete stranger?"

"Joseph's worried sick about Max. On paper, the guy's got everything—billions in the bank, Forbes covers, that whole People’s ‘Most Beautiful People' nonsense. You've seen how people jump when he walks in a room. The press eats up his quotes, women throw themselves at him, men want to be him—the whole cliché. But Joseph sees what the cameras miss. There's something... hollow behind those magazine smiles. Joseph's tried everything to reach whatever's buried under all that success. Nothing's worked. So now he's grasping at straws. Hence this whole arrangement. I'm sorry you got caught in the crossfire."

So, Prince Charming has demons lurking beneath that flawless facade. Welcome to humanity. I've been wrestling my own monsters since breakfast, except I do it from a tiny condo with a roommate, not a beachfront mansion. If his soul is as twisted as Joseph suggests, signing those marriage papers would be like locking myself in a gilded cage with a wounded animal. Hard pass.

“Please give Joseph my condolences, but my answer is a definitive no. I’m content with my life as it is, and I have no interest in marrying someone I don’t know, let alone someone like Max Kensington. I understand an arranged marriage worked out for Robert and Cora on Downton Abbey, but they’re fictional characters who had the luxury of a scriptwriter guiding their lives. I prefer to take my chances in the real world, thank you very much. So, please tell Joseph I appreciate the offer, but it’s a hard no from me.”

Iris nods. “I don’t blame you. I’ll call him. Now get back to work.” She smiles and makes a shooing motion with her arms and I leave and go back to the office.

When I push open my office door, the lights are off and I find Max sprawled across the love seat, a damp towel draped over his face, his chest rising and falling with each rumbling snore.