“Oh, God.”
“Exactly. She won’t listen to reason.” She decided she’d eaten enough olives and nuts. Time for dessert. She opened the chocolates.
“But if you were already married...”
“...there would be no point parading me in front of possible suitors. Her word. And besides, she’d hate Emile.”
“Why? He’s gorgeous.”
Theresa smiled. “Oh, yes. But his hair is too long, his stubble too dark, his tattoos too edgy, and his name appears on the gossip pages far too often. He’s totally unsuitable.”
“He’s rich, famous, and built like a Greek god.”
“Those are not my mother’s criteria. She wants middle class respectability.”
“So you’re getting married...what, to teach her a lesson?”
“He said no.” She’d have been shocked if he’d said anything else, to be honest, and she wouldn’t have gone through with it. Probably not.
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s what Emile said.”
“He’s right.”
Theresa shrugged. “Yes, but it makes sense, kind of, if you think about it. It’s just a legal contract that would be beneficial to us both. We’d only need to stay married for a year and then we could get a no-fault divorce. Maybe if I explained that to him again.”
Julie pointed a finger at her. “Do not explain it again to me. My head hurts already.”
“You don’t need to agree, just Emile.”
Julie shook her head. “Not a chance. More wine?”
Theresa’s phone rang. “Hold on.”
“Thérèse?”
“Emile. Are you okay?”
She could almost hear the smile in his reply. “You watched the match. I’m touched, chérie.”
“Actually, I didn’t. But I’m reading the news online right now. That other player punched you.”
“His bruises will be worse than mine.” There was a definite hint of satisfaction in his voice.
“What was it about, anyway? It wasn’t really because of a towel, was it?”
He laughed, then she heard him wince. “No. The towel was the first skirmish.”
“So?”
Emile sighed. “His girlfriend, Mariella. You have heard of her?”
“No.”
“She is a model. Brazilian. Very beautiful.”
“And?” He’d better be getting to the point soon, and it had better not be what she thought it was going to be.
“She likes to play tricks to make him jealous. To get headlines, also, I think.”
“What kind of tricks?” She took a slurp of wine. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
“She told him she was having sex with me at a party last week.”
“Was she?” Theresa bit out.
“No, Prada trapped me. She cried.” He uttered the last two words with such distaste that he had to be telling the truth.
“Poor Prada,” she said, with a laugh.
“Poor Emile,” he corrected her. “I am the innocent party.”
“Of course.”
“But still, I have a three match ban and an ultimatum. Clean up my act or my contract will be terminated.”
“But it wasn’t your fault!” Her sense of justice revolted at the idea of Emile’s career suffering because of Mariella and Ernestinho.
“Ernestinho is on the same terms.”
“That’s ridiculous. He provoked you.”
“I hit back.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Chérie,” he said with gentle mockery. “I am not on trial. I do not need you to be a lawyer for me.”
“Sorry. So, you have to clean up your act and make sure there’s no more tabloid gossip. How will you manage it?”
“With your help.”
“Mine? What can I do?”
There was a long pause, then an audible sigh. “Your proposal this morning. It was not serious?”
Her mouth fell open. No way. He was really going to suggest they go ahead with it? She shook her head in amazement. “Not completely.”
“If I have a wife, Ernestinho will respect that,” Emile said. “It’ll make the club happy. I’ll have my contract renewed. And it’ll keep Prada from getting her clutches into me again.” The only one of those he sounded remotely enthusiastic about was the last.
“What are you saying, Emile? You want me to pretend to be your wife?”
He grunted. “The paps would see through that in seconds.”
“So?”
“So it has to be real.”
Theresa’s hand gripped the phone. This really was crazy and she should say no now. Instead, she asked coolly, “What’s in it for me?”
“A year of great sex and the chance to irritate your mother. Wasn’t that the deal?”
When he put it like that, it was hard to see any downsides. “We need to agree terms. I can get a friend to draw up the pre-nup for us. No financial obligations on either side. Just a clean, quick divorce at the end of a year, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sex is okay if we both want it, but I don’t think we should promise exclusivity.”
“I’m supposed to be cleaning up my act,” he said.
“Yes, but I’m not.”
“Scandals featuring my wife with other men are not what Gatz had in mind.”
“I can be discreet. Besides, it’ll be easier to get the divorce if there’s evidence of adultery.”
“Maybe after a few months, then.”
“Fine.”
“One more thing, I think we should be clear that neither of us is emotionally involved. This is purely a legal arrangement, which happens to benefit us both. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
“I have the marks to prove it,” he muttered. Theresa glanced down at her nails and remembered raking them down his back while he bit down on her neck.
“We’re really going to do this, then?”
“If you don’t agree, I’ll have to call Prada.”
She laughed. “One day you’ll have to tell me what you ever saw in her.”
It took a moment for him to answer, with unexpected bleakness. “I was lonely and she was there.”
If he hadn’t been at the other end of the phone, she might have reached out to touch him, to take him in her arms and offer herself in Prada’s place. As it was, she kept her voice steady, businesslike, as she sealed the deal. “You don’t have to call her. I’ll do it.”
When she’d pushed the button to end their call, she closed her eyes and screwed her face up. Maybe she’d just done the stupidest thing in her life. Maybe it was the best. Whatever it was, there was no going back on it now.
Julie was watching her in horrified disbelief. Theresa picked up her glass of wine and emptied it. Then she smiled at her friend. “Looks like I need to ask you a favor.”
“Does it involve me wearing peach taffeta?”
“Not if you’re good, but I’d like you to be a witness. Emile can ask one of his teammates to be the other one.
“Theresa.” Julie looked at her sternly. “You’re going to tell your parents first, aren’t you?”
She popped a chocolate truffle in her mouth and didn’t answer.
Chapter Three
The club’s PR machine rolled the news of the engagement out to the press as swiftly as possible to counter the story that Mariella had been spreading. When Emile had hinted to Gatz that he was planning a long engagement, the tall German had looked down his nose and given the smallest shake of his head. Reluctantly, Emile had accepted his fate and told Theresa to organize it as soon as possible.