“I’m notnotdoing it for you,” he says. The words comes out gruff. “But this is about way more than that, Loren, so you can relax.”
“I cannot relax.”
He rakes a hand along the back of his neck. “Just think of what I could accomplish with unchecked control of my trust.” The muscles of his forearms flex. Biceps too. But right now is a terrible time to be noticing his muscles.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I avert my eyes. “New programs at Stony Peak High. College scholarships. I get all that. And it’s noble, but?—”
“I could invest in wildlife preservation and the national parks system,” he adds. “Medical advances. Disease prevention. There are unlimited causes beyond the school system. And they’re important.”
“Right, sure. Still?—”
“Havenwood,” he says.
I blink. “What about Havenwood?”
“They could probably benefit from more funding too.”
Now there’s a mic drop.
Of course Bridger would use a memory care community tomake this idea make sense to me. That’s how determined he is to be generous. But can I really sit back and let my friend martyr himself?
For me?
“Be logical,” I urge. “It’s not like your mother’s just going to disappear once Rosalind is the new Mrs. Adams.”
Even as I say this, my stomach goes queasy. Bridger with a wife whose maiden name is Winthrop Barrington? Ugh.
“She won’t disappear, no. But as long as I fulfill the terms of the trust, she’ll have no reason to challenge me.”
I shake my head. There has to be something I can do to steer this ship away from Bridger making a lifetime commitment to a virtual stranger.
“Believe me,” he says. “I was up all night thinking. And this is the best option. For everyone.”
“But … but …” I sputter. “What if you weren’tableto marry Rosalind?”
“Moot point,” he says, kind of hastily if you ask me. “Iamable to marry Rosalind.”
“Do you have to marry her specifically? Or just anyone in general?”
“I—” He pauses for a moment. “Hmm.” Twin lines form between his eyes.
At least I’ve got him thinking now. Am I stalling? Maybe. Is it working? Also maybe. “What does the trustactuallysay?”
“That I have to be married before my thirtieth birthday,” he admits. “Rosalind wasn’t in the picture when the trust was established. My mom definitely landed on her after the fact.”
“So that part can’t be forced?”
“I guess not.”
Wow. You’d think a detail like this would've occurred to a man as smart as Bridger. Then again, he’s Bill Nye the Science Guy, not Romeo. Or whatever.
“Okay. This is good.” I drain the rest of my coffee andalmost gag on the grounds. “Here’s what’s going to happen instead.”
He ducks his head, calmly meeting my gaze. Waiting for me to elaborate.
Which means I need to elaborate.
“You aren’t marrying Rosalind, all right? We have to agree on that first,” I say. My insides are a wind tunnel, desperately whirling in search of a different answer to cling to.