“Duh.” She nudges my shoulder. “I figured you weren’t trying to ruin my life on purpose.”
“The thing is, there’s this ridiculous clause in my trust that could shift voting control to the trustee when I turn thirty.”
“Your birthday’s in—like—three weeks.”
“I am aware.”
“And you’re turning thirty.”
“Aware of that, too.”
“So.”
“So, I made the decision to walk away from the trust permanently rather than jump through … hoops. But now I’m not so sure that’s the best choice.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrow. “Did the hoops suddenly disappear?”
“I guess I was just thinking … If I could help you out, then?—”
“Nope.” She presses a fingertip to my lips, and that one small touch singes my entire mouth.
“But—”
“Stop.” She presses harder, making a zipper motion. “We’re talking about you right now. Not me.”
“Hmph.” I blink my agreement. She drops her hand.
I miss it already.
“So, what’s this clause thatcould shiftcontrol of the trust?” She puts air quotes around the words “could shift.” She was really listening. Man, I like that about her.
“Trust me,” I say. “It’s stupid. You don’t want to know.”
“Incorrect.” She pokes my chest. “Now I want to knowextra.And if we have until your birthday, maybe I can help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Try me.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath, frustrated by what she wants me to reveal. But Loren’s made herself vulnerable to me today. Might as well join the club. “To inherit full control, I have to get married. Before my thirtieth birthday.”
Her jaw drops. An appropriate response.
“I told you.” I shake my head. “Ridiculous. Archaic. Medieval. But that’s my mom for you.”
“Your mother?”
“She’s the trustee.” My teeth clench. “The clause is vintage Margaret Adams.”
Loren’s gaping again, so I might as well rip off the rest of the Band-Aid.
“It gets worse,” I say.
She snorts. “Worse than forced marriage?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t believe you.”