Page 29

"So we act like a real couple in love," I say.

"Exactly." He nods once.

There's a steadiness to Christian that isn't mirrored in Everett. A kind of quiet patience that makes me understand why he's the one handling the legal side of this family's chaos.

Then Christian flips a page.

"One more thing," he says. "An annulment can be granted if the marriage was never consummated or considered fraudulent. This is one thing that the trustees could move on if they have just cause."

My stomach dips.

"Fraudulent how?"

"If they believe the marriage was never consummated," he says evenly, "or that the two of you have maintained separate lives in a way that strongly suggests the relationship is a sham."

Heat floods my face.

"Consummated?" I echo. "You mean Everett and I have to..."

I can't finish the sentence. Not sitting here surrounded by three Kauffmans and Jeremy.

"Sleep together," Christian says, because apparently he has no issue saying it for me. "Yes. If you want to eliminate one of the cleanest arguments they could use for annulment."

Across the table, Everett's posture changes. Not dramatically, but enough that I feel it.

"How could they prove that if we didn't?" he asks, his gaze fixed on Christian and very deliberately not on me.

"They'd have to challenge the marriage formally," Christian says. "That means court involvement, testimony under oath, and potentially a polygraph if they can establish reasonable grounds to suspect fraud."

Everly straightens in her chair. "They can actually do that?"

Christian nods. "Washington State law says that a fraudulent marriage can be annulled, and per the trust agreement we all signed when we took control of our inheritances, yes. We agreed to those terms. But they'd need something to support the suspicion first. Separate residences. No visible intimacy. A pattern that suggests the marriage exists only on paper."

He looks at me.

"That's why you need to live here and let go of the lease on your apartment. Everett will pay whatever is left on it because you two need to be seen together. That's why public affection matters."

"Let go of my apartment? We don't have another option?" I ask.

"Not unless one of you can lie convincingly enough to beat a polygraph," Christian says dryly. "Which, statistically speaking, is unlikely."

I glance at Everett, and our eyes meet for half a second. We both know that I can barely lie in ordinary life. A polygraph would ruin me.

Christian turns the page again.

"Then there's the honeymoon clause."

Everett drops his head back slightly. "Why does this not surprise me. Is there a baby clause in there too? Does he expect me to knock her up next? Our father must be laughing from his grave."

"No baby clause that I'm aware of," Christian says. "But the trust requires a honeymoon following the wedding. It doesn't specify a location, but it does require travel together for a minimum duration. The purpose is the same as the other clauses—to encourage bonding between the couple for future legacy building."

"I told you, the psychopath only cares about offspring," Everett mutters.

Everly ignores him. "Oh a honeymoon! That's perfect," she says, her fingers already moving over her tablet. "Built-in optics. A romantic newlywed narrative. This will go a long way in supporting the legitimacy of the marriage and eliminate the appearance of a purely contractual union. I think this is smart even if it wasn't a clause."

"You're not serious…" Everett says to her. "A honeymoon? I have work to do."

"Oh please. You can work from anywhere," Everly says, rolling her eyes. "Take your gorgeous bride on a vacation. Double it as a birthday trip. I'll have my team set up photo ops. It will look less staged with you two 'loved up' on a beach overseas."