One Of A Marriage

Chapter Two

Sebastian

After spending days trying to ignore the consequences of my actions, I was finally back in California, yet far from ready to confront the mess I had created. As soon as Lucas pulled up in front of my building, I swiftly exited the car, bypassed the doorman, and stepped into the elevator. While checking my voicemails, I desperately tried to avoid contemplating who and what kind of situation awaited me in my apartment.

Would I have to engage in conversation with her? Answer more questions?

I sincerely hoped not because conversing with her was the last thing I desired. Not if I intended to stick with my plan of keeping her at a distance.

The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I knew she wasn't there. Experiencing a strange mixture of relief and annoyance—relief because I was alone as I preferred, annoyance because she wasn't where she was supposed to be—I dumped my luggage in the bedroom and slowly made my way through the apartment, double-checking every room. Turning lights on and off, I meticulously inspected everything, searching for any signs of disturbance, attempting to determine if someone had even been there after my departure. When I reached the last room—the room she was supposed to be staying in—and found it exactly as I had left it before heading to London, I massaged my temples, hoping to alleviate the headache that was starting to develop. Stepping out onto the terrace, I gazed down at the bustling city, pondering my next move.

What have I done?

*. *. *.

A FEW WEEKS EARLIER…

As soon as I received the call from the lobby, I exited my office to await her in front of the elevators. My primary objective was to intercept her before she reached the meeting room, where her remaining family members would join her in thirty minutes. A few moments later, the elevator doors chimed open, and Sofia Sinclair stepped out. Her brown hair cascaded in waves, her bangs nearly obscuring her eyes. She wore minimal makeup and donned simple black jeans and a plain white blouse. I stood there, waiting as she approached the reception desk.

"Hello. How can I assist you?" Stella, our receptionist, inquired politely, wearing a smile she usually gives every client.

I caught a glimpse of sofia as she cleared her throat, her fingers gripping the front desk tightly.

"Hi. I'm here for the Sinclair mee—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Stella noticed me waiting and, completely disregarding Sofia , turned her attention to me. "Mr. Hartley ? Is there anything I can help you with? Your one-thirty appointment—"

"No, there isn't," I disregarded Stella's astonished expression and shifted my attention to Sofia Sinclair. "Miss Sinclair." When she heard her name, she glanced at me, releasing her grip on the desk to face me. "Your meeting is with me," I asserted. "If you could come with me."

Stella interrupted as Sofia prepared to follow me. "Mr. Hartley, I believe you are mistaken. The Sinclairs' meeting—"

"Thank you, Stella," I interjected, unconcerned about the offense my tone might cause. "Miss Sinclair," I repeated, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. I needed to conclude this meeting quickly and move on with my day. "This way, please."

After briefly glancing at Stella, Sofia approached. "Mr. Hartley? I think there might be a mistake here. I'm supposed to meet with Mr. Asher—"

"I assure you, there are no mistakes. If you wouldn't mind stepping into my office for some privacy, there are a few matters I'd like to discuss with you." Impatiently, I watched as she contemplated my words.

"I was informed that I needed to sign something, and then I could leave. I have another appointment in Brooklyn, so I can't stay long."

I nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

After a momentary hesitation and another glance at our receptionist, she silently followed me towards my office.

After a lengthy walk, I opened the glass door for her to enter. I reminded Chloe, my assistant, not to transfer any calls, and then I waited until Sofia settled into her seat. Holding her bulky brown handbag on her lap, she gave me an expectant look as I took my own seat behind the desk.

"I believed that Mr. Asher was the attorney for the Sinclairs, at least when it comes to handling the estate affairs. Has something changed?" she inquired before I could speak.

"No, Miss Sinclair. Tim is the one who drafted the will, and he is currently handling everything."

"Then I'm still uncertain—"

"Although I'm not an estate lawyer, I did provide support to the team that managed your father's corporate cases on several occasions in the past year. Can I offer you a drink? Coffee, perhaps? Or tea?"

"No, thank you. As I mentioned, I have another app—"

"An appointment you need to attend," I concluded her sentence. "I understand. That's—"

"He was my uncle, by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"You referred to him as my father. Adam Sinclair was my uncle, not my father."

I raised an eyebrow. This was something I already knew, but apparently, I was too preoccupied to remember every detail. "You're right. I apologize."

"It's fine... I just wanted to clarify in case you didn't already know. I'm afraid it's also the reason why I wasn't mentioned in the will, which brings us back to the beginning, Mr. Hartley . I'm unsure what you could possibly want to discuss with me."

This wasn't unfolding as planned. While I hadn't given much thought to how I wanted to approach this, it wasn't progressing smoothly enough.

"I've read the will," I admitted, observing her rigid posture: perched at the edge of her seat, eager and ready to leave. Perhaps she would appreciate a more direct approach, something I excelled at.

"Okay," she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd like to discuss your uncle's property on Johnson Avenue and find out what your plans are for it," I proceeded. "I understand that you and Adam had signed a contract a while before his passing, stating that you would have temporary use of the property for approximately two years and pay a reduced rent instead of its actual value. After the two years, you would relocate. Is that correct?"

Her shoulders tensed. "What about it?" she asked, her tone guarded.

"I'd like to understand your intentions moving forward regarding the property. The contract was included in the will, but Adam added a provision that you may have recently become aware of. In the event of something happening to him during those two years, he wanted the property ownership to transfer to your husband—"

"If I were married," Sofia interjected, chin held high.

"Yes," I remarked, pointedly glancing at her left hand, and she followed my gaze. "If you were married, indeed."

Her eyes returned to mine, and a furrow formed between her brows.

"I already know all of this," she explained slowly. "Adam was beyond excited about my marriage to John, my fiancé. They got along well, and he trusted him—we both had business degrees, but it seemed Adam had more confidence in Joh—"

"Your ex-fiancé, you mean?" I reminded her.

She paused, her fingers finally releasing their tight grip on her handbag as she tried to grasp the implication of my words. "Yes. Right. Of course, my ex-fiancé. It's still a habit. We only broke up a few weeks ago. And if I may ask, how did you come to the conclusion that he's my ex-fiancé?"

I took a moment, carefully selecting my words. "I conduct thorough research, Miss Sinclair. Please continue."

She observed me intently for an extended moment while I patiently waited. "I had no idea that he would include our agreement in his will. The ownership of the property was never intended for me; it wasn't part of the contract. He allowed me to use the property for only two years, after which I was supposed to vacate. However, after my uncle and his wife, Natalie, died in a car accident, I discovered that he planned to leave the property to my husband."

"Maybe that was his way of presenting you with a gift, like a surprise. Like a wedding gift," I suggested.

"Maybe. There is a chance that he meant for us to inherit the property, but as of now, I am not married to John, am I?" So I receive nothing," she replied, shrugging. "I was aware that Adam thought it was essential for John to be present if I had genuine intentions of starting my own coffee shop. I disagreed. It didn't matter that we had discussed the possibility of me using the space a year before John entered my life. Adam trusted John more than he trusted me because he went to a better school. Besides, there was the archaic notion that women couldn't handle themselves in the business world. However, when we discussed it again and I shared my plans for the place, he agreed to let me use his property. John wasn't part of the conversation or the contract. Adam never imposed any conditions other than the two-year time limit for using the space before finding an alternative location. That was the extent of his support. I was grateful either way. I have no idea why he felt it necessary to involve John in his will concerning something that pertains to me. And I don't know why I'm telling you all this?"

Leaning back in my seat, I settled in more comfortably. Progress was being made. "He is not part of the conversation," I remarked.

"I... Excuse me?" she questioned.

"Adam never mentioned your ex-fiancé's name. He never specified who would become the owner of the property in the event of his passing. There's only a reference to a 'husband.'"

"I fail to see how that matters. I was supposed to marry John sometime this year, and he knew that. However, in the end, it didn't happen. John broke up with me two days after their deaths. So, because I'm not married, Mr. Hartley , and I don't have plans to marry anyone in the near future, I don't get to use the space, let alone own it. I spoke with my cousins, Chris and Emily , but they aren't interested in honoring the contract I signed with their dad, which means I won't be able to open my coffee shop. At this point, I'm just trying to come to terms with the fact that I wasted fifty thousand dollars—money I had managed to save over many years—on a space that was never truly mine. Leaving all that aside, I lost two people who were important to me in the same car accident that day. Even though I was Adam's niece, they never treated me as their own, but they were all I had after my dad passed away when I was nine. Regardless of the circumstances, instead of letting me get lost in the system, Adam agreed to take me in, and that's all that matters. So, to answer your earlier question, I have no plans regarding the property because I'm no longer allowed to use it," she explained, sounding a little breathless and extremely frustrated. She rose to her feet, draping her bag across her shoulder.

"I don't mean to be impolite," she began, her voice filled with irritation. "However, I believe this discussion has been a complete waste of our time. I admit, I was somewhat curious when I followed you here, but I can't afford to go over things I already know for no reason at all. I have a job interview to attend, and I can't be late. I think we're done here, right? It was nice meeting you, Mr. Hartley ."

Assuming our conversation was coming to an end, she extended her hand across my desk, and for a moment, I stared at it. Before she could withdraw her hand and walk away, I took a deep breath, Sofia from my seat, and locked my gaze with hers as I shook her hand.

This was it. This was the moment where I should have said, "It was nice meeting you," and carried on with my day. But I didn't.

In a calm and composed tone, I finally said what I had been waiting to say. "You're not being mocked, Miss Sinclair. However, before you leave, I'd like you to marry me." I released her hand and placed my hands in my pockets, observing her closely for her reaction.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she responded, "Sure, how about we do that after my job interview but before dinner? You see, I already made plans with Gabriel Harper, and I don't think I can postpone—"

"Are you mocking me?" I interrupted, standing completely still.

Her narrowed eyes scanned my face, searching for an answer, I presumed. When she failed to find what she was looking for, the fight drained out of her, and right before my eyes, her entire demeanor softened. She let out a sigh.

"You weren't making a tasteless joke?" she asked.

"Do I look like someone who's joking?" I replied, maintaining a serious expression.