“For crying out loud, we don’t know anything about one another,” she whispered.

“So do a Google search on me.” He stood up, towering over her. She couldn’t see his face with the sun shining behind his head, but she felt the derision rolling off him landing like heavy rain in her lap. “Roscoe can draw up a prenup and send it over tonight. We can have a civil ceremony as soon as I get a license. I’ll make the arrangements. Don’t bother with one of your gowns, though. This isn’t going to be a party.”

* * *

Later that evening, Julianne sat on the hard sofa in the waiting area, her bare feet tucked beneath her. Sebastian, Nicky, and Stephen were seated around the table, debating the prenup forms Will had sent over. His lawyers had worked quickly. Still, they’d have to wait forty-eight hours for a marriage license, even with her brother pulling strings.

“It’s a pretty straightforward agreement,” Sebastian explained to her brother. “When they dissolve the marriage, both leave with the monies they came in with. Until then, Will provides for Owen’s everyday care while Julianne provides for her own expenses. He’s establishing a trust for Owen for his education and so forth. As prenups go, it’s really standard.”

“I really don’t like the way you keep saying when they dissolve their marriage. You’re dooming it to failure before it even begins.” Nicky had been singing the same tune all day.

Sebastian refrained from commenting. Like Carly, he’d never been a big fan of Nicky. Besides, they all knew the marriage was a farce and destined to end in divorce. She and Will just hadn’t gotten around to discussing that part of their ridiculous plan.

I really don’t like the way no one told me she’d sold the company.” Stephen had not taken that news very well.

“It is . . . was . . . my company. I didn’t need your approval to sell it.” Julianne was getting tired of this whole discussion.

Stephen turned in his chair to face her directly. “Julianne, after you pay everyone off, you won’t have that much left to live on. A couple of years, tops. Then what are you going to do?”

“I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I just need to take care of Owen.”

“That’s my point! Seriously, Julianne, you have such a Scarlett O’Hara complex.” Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will’s agreed to take care of Owen, but how are you planning to take care of yourself if you don’t have any money? Are you willing to start another design business from scratch?”

Julianne doubted she would design again at all, since she hadn’t been able to sketch anything worth producing in nearly a year. If she told Stephen that, he’d have a coronary. “I have Mom’s paintings. I could sell them if I needed to.”

Stephen’s face grew redder, if that were possible. “Your mom’s paintings? Are you kidding me?”

She never understood Stephen’s attitude about her mother’s art creations. “Nicky and I think they could sell for quite a lot.”

“You and Nicky? You two are the only ones who’d buy them!” Her brother’s voice was so loud, she was surprised security hadn’t come to investigate.

“Daria’s oil paintings are fantastic and incredibly unique. A knowledgeable collector might pay a great deal for them.” Finally, Nicky said something that made sense.

Stephen directed a frosty look at the priest. “You would say that.” He turned back to Sebastian. “As long as Owen is taken care of under this agreement, you can let her sign it. My sister is going to do what she wants. She always has.” He stood to leave.

“As long as your nephew becomes legitimate, you mean!” She and Stephen had never been close, but his contempt was more than she could emotionally handle tonight. “Heaven forbid my life interferes with your campaign!”

“For God’s sake, Julianne!” Stephen’s rant had Nicky clearing his throat. “This isn’t about me. It’s never about me. You’re my sister and I want to see you protected. Taken care of. Except you won’t let anybody do that for you. You make it impossible. I only hope Will Connelly knows what he’s getting himself into.” He pushed out a heavy breath before he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Are you coming back to the town house tonight? Faith and the kids are there. They wanted to be here for your wedding.”

Julianne’s stomach clenched. She didn’t want Stephen’s family at the wedding. Truth be told, she didn’t want anyone to witness the ceremony. Especially her niece and nephew, who were too young to understand it wasn’t real. But Stephen was her half brother, one who obviously had finally decided to take his role seriously. So she kept her protests to herself. She was all in now, and there was no stopping.

She shook her head. “I’ll probably get there after everyone’s asleep. I want to feed Owen again tonight.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. Instead he nodded at Sebastian and Nicky and headed out the door.

Just as she had the day before, Julianne put a shaking hand to paper and signed the prenuptial agreement. It was the first step; in a few days, she’d be married to Will Connelly.

Seven

It should have been a simple thing, getting married. Theirs was to be a marriage based strictly on a business arrangement, a perfunctory step to legitimize Owen. When the words had shot out of his mouth at the hospital the other day, the idea made perfect sense. They could rusticate in North Carolina and no one in town would dare question Owen’s legitimacy. Problem solved. All that was needed was a license and the brief utterance of a few select pro forma words to make the whole thing legal. No flowers, no music, no cake, no wedding and all the inane crap that went with one. Easy.

Instead, the process took two full days to pull off. Two days in which everyone had equal opportunity to throw their two cents at Will. Starting with his mother.

“Are you sure about this, Will?”

The question, posed in his mother’s soft, unassuming Southern drawl, had begun to burn a hole in the side of his head, he’d heard it so many times in the past forty-eight hours. Teammates, his coach, Hank, Roscoe, and now his mother were all questioning his sanity with the same five-word refrain.

Was he sure about marrying Julianne Marchione? Hell no! But since she was his son’s mother, it was a necessary step.

“I’d think this would make you happy, Mom. Finally, there will be a marriage in the Connelly family.”

He hadn’t meant for his words to wound, but his mother’s mouth tightened ever so slightly as she clasped and unclasped her fingers in her lap. With a sigh, Will sank down on the leather sofa beside her, taking one of her hands in his. They were holed up in the study of Hank Osbourne’s house. Maryland’s marriage license requirements were the least restrictive in the D.C. area, so the ceremony would take place in front of a judge who happened to be one of Hank’s golfing buddies. Best of all, they’d be away from the glaring eyes of the media.

Despite Will’s attempts to keep things simple, Julianne’s brother seemed determined to turn the nuptials into a three-ring circus, repeatedly asking Will if he wanted to invite any special guests. Will was used to people who wanted to rub shoulders with famous jocks, but he wasn’t going to invite any of his friends to witness a pretend wedding. That would only make a joke of their own marriages. He certainly wasn’t going to ask his teammates to participate in this farce. And he couldn’t ask Coach Zevalos, the one man who’d been like a father to him all those years ago, not while the senator’s name was linked to the mob of media and senate committee staff trying to bring him down. Instead, his mom would stand up as his only witness.

“What I’m sure about is this is the best thing for Owen.” He brushed a strand of soft brown hair off her cheek. Attractively dressed in a shimmery peach dress that wrapped around her narrow waist, his mother looked younger than her age of forty-six. But then, she’d always been pretty, oftentimes the object of many leers and taunts from the teenage boys she’d transported to school during her days as a bus driver. If she knew how many times he’d fought over the suggestive remarks other boys had made about her, she never said.

Whereas Will was brawny and muscular, she was small-boned and delicate. The only similarity between mother and son: emerald green eyes. Today, Annabeth’s glistened with unshed tears.

“Lots of professional athletes father children with women they’re not married to. It’s not like you’d be a pariah. Sadly, I think it’s actually become socially acceptable.”

“Not for me,” Will growled. “I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it.”

His mother patted their joined hands. “I’m not. Truly, I’m proud of you for taking responsibility for this. But you don’t know this woman. Not really. How can you trust her enough to marry her?”

“I don’t trust her. It’s like that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And I don’t need to trust her fully because it’s not that kind of marriage. I only have three months before I have to be in training camp and then the season starts. I can’t waste that time arguing over who’ll have custody on which days. I want to bond with my son instead, which means we need to live together in the same house. Being married shields Owen from the negative stigma you know he’ll face.”

“He’s a baby! Do you think he really cares?”

“I care.” Of all people, his mother should have understood that. Will was annoyed that he had to defend his decision to his mother. “We’ve both signed a prenup, which will make the process easier when we separate after the season starts.”