Bought His Debt, Married His Pain

The wheat was dead. That was the first thing Amahle Nkosi saw when her G-Wagon turned off the R26 into Bethlehem. Not golden. Not beautiful. Dead. Cracked earth where wheat should have been, and a sky the color of dust. The Maluti Mountains in the distance looked like they were watching. Her GPS said: You have arrived. Farm 14, Liebenbergsvlei Road. There was a gate. A rusted gate with a white paper flapping. AUCTION NOTICE: Dlamini - 30 DAYS. COMMUNITY OF PROPERTY DEBT - R2.3M And a man trying to pull that paper down. He was tall. Rough. Shoulders that looked like he carried farms on them. His shirt was open, dirty, sweat sticking it to his back. Amahle got out. Her Louboutin sank straight into the cracked mud. "Ziyalo Dlamini?" He turned. God. Beautiful in a broken way. Late twenties, maybe thirty-two. Short hair, beard that had not been shaved in weeks, eyes that had not slept since his wife died. Zulu, pure. And he looked like he hated everyone, especially her. "You from the bank?" His voice was rough. "I told them. I need more time." "I am not from the bank." He looked at her suit. Beige, Sandton, too clean for this place. "Then you are lost, sisi. Sandton is that way." "My name is Amahle Nkosi. I bought your debt." The wind stopped. Ziyalo stared. "What?" he asked. "I bought it. The R2.3 million your wife left. I paid the bank yesterday. Your farm is no longer being auctioned. I own the debt now. You owe me." He laughed. A bitter, broken laugh. "Is this a joke? Is my life a joke to you?! " "It's not a joke. Your wife, Lerato... she took loans for three years. Vacations. Hotels. With him. Because you were married in community of property, the debt is yours under South African law." "I know," he whispered. "They were going to take your grandfather's farm. I stopped them." "Why?" Amahle swallowed. Kyle's face flashed in her mind. Kyle Van Tonder, the arrogant rich monster her father wants her to marry. "I need a husband," she said. Ziyalo blinked. "What?" "My family is forcing me to marry a monster. If I am married, they cannot force me. You need your farm saved. I need freedom. So... marry me. For one year. A contract. No love. No touch. Just papers." Silence. The dead wheat rustled. "You want to marry me?" He said slowly. "You. Marry me Ziyalo Dlamini? ." "Your farm stays yours. I pay the full R2.3M now. And seed for this season. In return, you are my husband on paper." "I don't want your pity, sisi," he said, voice low but stern. "It's not pity," Amahle said, her voice cracking. "It's business. You hate debt. I hate being owned. We both were cheated by people who were supposed to love us." That hit him. "One year?" he asked. "One year" She assured. He was quiet for a long time. The sun was setting behind the Maluti, turning everything orange. "My wife cheated on me for three years," he said finally. "She died with him. Everyone in Bethlehem knows, I'm a joke now, I'm regarded as a weakling who got cheated on. You want to marry that man?" "Yes," Amahle whispered. "Because that man still tried to fix his farm today, even when the wheat is dead." Ziyalo stepped closer. He reached out, rough hand, and gently pulled a piece of dry wheat from her blazer. "You will get dirty here, Sandton girl." "I don't mind dirty." He stared at her lips. Then at her eyes. "Okay," he said. Amahle's breath stopped. "Okay?" "I will marry you. But I have conditions. One. You live here. In Bethlehem. Not Sandton. Two. You don't lie to me. No secrets. My wife lied enough for ten lifetimes." "Done." Ziyalo crumpled the auction notice and threw it into the dead wheat. "Don't pity me after you marry me, Amahle. I can't take it." He didn't know it yet, but pity was exactly what was going to make her fall in love with him.