2

Mrs. Bianca, having no living children and her husband long gone, left her inheritance to her grandson. I'm familiar with him, not worried but annoyed and eager to conclude this. Handling a childhood bully is nothing compared to kicking someone out of the diner.

Back in kindergarten at the age of five, on my first day, my mom dressed me in a new red dress with white dots despite financial constraints. Trying to stay clean, I even skipped painting, my favorite activity. However, he sneered, yanked one of my pigtails, and splattered blue paint on my dress. It led to tears, a call to my mom, and his continued sneering.

Since high school, I haven't encountered him, thankfully. Surprisingly, the jerk wasn't even present at the funeral.

Colton

Upon my arrival at Gran's apartment, the darkness strikes me as unusual, contrasting my childhood memories of a well-lit home. Placing my bags and helmet by the door, I instinctively turn on the kitchen light, finding immediate comfort in the soft glow. Despite her passing, the familiar scent of her home evokes good memories.

Surveying the apartment, it remains cozy and quiet, adorned with vases, figurines, and personal touches reflecting Gran's personality. The flowery dark-purple wallpaper frames a cherished photo of Gran, me, and my childhood friend Justin. Everything appears as I remember it, with one significant difference—the absence of the familiar scent of freshly baked swirled butter cookies, a cherished treat Gran used to make.

Taking a deep breath, I reflect on Gran's role in my life, raising me after my parents' death and being the one who truly understood me. Her patience was infinite, evident even now as I return to her apartment. My mind drifts to the regret of missing her funeral due to travel complications.

Refusing to dwell on grief, my thoughts shift to the surprise in Gran's will. I ponder the reasoning behind her desire for me to marry Seraphine Gray, a childhood classmate I despise. Wondering why Sera agreed to this arrangement, I speculate on her motivations—perhaps boredom or desperation.

As I hang my biker jacket and adjust my tie, hunger strikes, and I contemplate ordering food. Before reaching for my phone, the sound of keys rattling in the door interrupts my thoughts.

I make my way to the living room, eager to identify the audacious intruder in my grandmother's—now my—apartment, unless she has a key.

The door opens, and I'm met with the sight of a stunning woman, but she's not who I expected. Dressed in black pants and a polo shirt, clearly a uniform, the shirt's blindingly bright pink hue oddly suits her. Her curvy frame is accentuated by the clothes, and a few strands of blonde hair escape her messy bun. Despite my irritation at the heaping mess she's made with her bags next to mine, an impulse urges me to reach out and tuck those strands behind her ear.

She faces me, chocolate-brown eyes narrowed in what appears to be distrust, and utters my name with a tight voice. It hits me—this is Sera. No way is this the same girl who used to roll her eyes at me.

“I used to help Mrs. Bianca from time to time. She made a copy for me,” she explains, twirling the keys provocatively.

“I didn’t know you had a key,” I remark.

Her response carries the familiar attitude, and it's clear she hasn't changed. “Well, I didn’t think you would be here…considering you didn’t show up for the service.”

Her low blow irks me. “She was my grandmother. If I could’ve been there, I would’ve. Not that I need to explain myself to anyone.” I don't need to verbalize it, especially not to her.

Unenthusiastically, we acknowledge the uncomfortable arrangement, and before she can retort, there's a knock on the door. I open it, and Vance, the family lawyer, greets us with a smile and a folder in hand. He's aged but retains his warmth.

“Hello, Mr. Ashton,” Vance says in his thick Italian accent.

“Hey, Vance. Come on in.” I let him enter and introduce him to Sera. Their prior meeting at the funeral adds another layer of tension between us.

“Let’s go over everything,” I suggest as we sit at the kitchen table. "Just so we can make sure we’re all on the same page."

“Certainly.” Vance opens the folder, shuffling some papers. “In her will, Mrs. Bianca Ashton designated both of you as inheritors of her estate, including this apartment, her storage locker in Queens, and approximately 1.5 million dollars—”

“I’m sorry,howmuch?” Sera interjects, wide-eyed.

Vance discloses the surprising amount. While I'm also taken aback, my poker face is more composed. I knew Gran was well-off, but $750,000 won’t drastically change my life. I'm here for Gran's last wish, not just the money. It seems, judging by Sera's reaction and her willingness to proceed, she needs the money more urgently.

“One-point-five million dollars,” Vance reaffirms. “As you know, I was instructed not to disclose the amount until both parties were present.”

“Go on, Vance,” I prompt.

“I know I spoke to you both separately, but it’s crucial that we’re all on the same page and there are no misunderstandings. The sum is to be split equally between Colton Ashton and Seraphine Gray upon the completion of one month of marriage. The marriage must be conducted by Mr. Vance Lombardi of Sanford & Partners. Both parties must remain married and living together in Mrs. Bianca Ashton’s Twenty-third Street apartment for the entire thirty days. Neither party is allowed to renovate or change the furniture due to the value of the apartment. Only after the month is complete will both parties receive their half of the inheritance and the keys to the storage locker.”

“We’re not allowed to renovate or change the furniture?” Sera questions, drumming her fingers on the table. “We can’t even move furniture around or buy new things?”

“That was Mrs. Ashton’s wish. I trust you will respect her wishes.”

“Of course. No problem, but it’s rather…odd.”

“Seems clear enough,” I respond, turning to Seraphine.

She nods, staring at me with a racing mind. Vance pulls out a single sheet of paper and a pen, asking for our signatures.

I sign first, pushing the paper toward Sera, holding out the pen. When our fingers briefly touch as she takes the pen, a strange spark ignites, and my focus narrows. She signs her name, and Vance declares us husband and wife.

“What happens if either one of us doesn’t go through with it?” Sera asks. “You know, moves out before the month is over?”

“Should either party violate Mrs. Bianca Ashton’s last wish, the money goes to”—Vance flips through papers—“Mr. Chad Vondue .”

“Who the hell is that?” I question, slightly irritated.

“Mr. Vondue runs a small YouTube channel about endangered algae and desires to create a heartfelt animated film about them, which requires him to own a custom eighty-two-foot cruising yacht, as well as a film production studio,” Vance explains matter-of-factly.

I'm dumbfounded. “I’ve never even heard of this guy.”

“Your late grandmother was a huge fan of his work, and if you or Ms. Gray renege on the arrangement, there are explicit instructions to give the money—the full amount—to Mr. Vondue .”

Ridiculous as it is, I'm not surprised. Vance departs, leaving us to process what just occurred.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Ashton,” I playfully tease her. “Shall we exchange a kiss to make it official?”

“Hell will freeze over before I kiss you.” She checks her hair, as if to ensure I'm not pulling her pigtails. Then, rolling her eyes, she grabs her bags. “And I’m not taking your last name.”

“Good. Once this month is over, we can move on and act like it never happened.” I pick up my bags too.

“Fine by me.” She shrugs defiantly.

“Fine.”

As we head toward the hallway, there's an awkward moment of shuffling as we each attempt to go first. Eventually, she pushes past me, accidentally brushing my chest slightly. She mutters under her breath, and I let her go, playing the gentleman card. Plus, I get to enjoy the sight of her swaying hips.

A second later, she stops abruptly. “You've Gotta be kidding me.”

“What’s the problem?”

Slowly, she turns to me. “There’s only one bedroom.”

Indeed, there are two doors at the end of the hall—one leading to the bedroom, the other to the bathroom. I glance over her head into the room, spotting a neatly made queen-sized bed with a stitched rose floral comforter and an ornate mahogany headboard. Remembering Gran’s instructions about not changing furniture, I chuckle with amusement.

“Well, shit,” I say, smirking at Seraphine. “I guess we’re sharing a bed, Mrs. Ashton.”