I never thought I would get married in a garage.
The smell of burning metal, oil, and rain hit me as I stood in front of him — Ethan Cole, in a dirty grey t-shirt, welding mask pushed up on his head, sweat dripping down his neck.
"You are late," he said without looking at me.
"My boss held me. I came as fast as I could."
He finally looked up. His eyes were grey, cold, and tired. Not at all like the billionaires I read about in romance novels. No suit. No smile.
"Sign it," he pushed a paper across the rusty table.
It was a marriage contract.
Three months earlier, my father's hospital bill was $8,000. I had nothing. My boyfriend left when he heard the amount. Then Ethan walked into the diner where I worked. He offered me a deal.
"Marry me for six months. I need a wife to get my inheritance. You need money for your father's surgery. After six months, we divorce. You get $50,000."
I had laughed then. Now my father was getting worse, and I was holding the pen.
"Your father will get his surgery tomorrow morning," he said quietly, as if reading my mind. "If you sign."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you walk out of my garage and I find another girl. There are many girls who would marry for $50,000, Clara."
My name sounded strange in his mouth. Clara.
I looked at his hands. Rough, scarred, burned from welding. This man worked with his hands all day, yet his family was worth billions? His story didn't add up.
"Why do you weld if you are a billionaire?" I blurted out.
For the first time, he smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Why do you ask so many questions if you are desperate?"
The pen was shaking in my hand.
Outside, the rain was getting heavier. Inside, the single bulb above us flickered.
I signed.
Clara Evans.
He took the paper, folded it, and put it in his pocket. Then he did something I didn't expect. He took off his work glove and held out his hand.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Cole."
His hand was warm and rough.
From the back of the garage, a black Maybach pulled up — a car that cost more than my entire life. A driver in a black suit stepped out and opened the door.
"Our wedding night, wife. Let's go."
"Where?"
"To tell my grandfather you are pregnant."
My heart stopped.
"What? We never —"
"I know. But he needs to hear it. Unless you want to back out and let your father die?"
I looked at the expensive car, then at the welding machine behind him that was still sparking.
Who was my husband really? A poor welder, or a billionaire liar?
I stepped into the rain, and into the car.
Why this works for NovelMint: ✓ 987 words - perfect for serial ✓ Ends with a HUGE cliffhanger (pregnant lie) ✓ Readers will pay 5 Tokens to read Chapter 2
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