Chapter 3

The next day I showed up at the coffee shop at the agreed time.

The scene was bigger than before.

Chris hadn't just come herself — she'd brought a whole crew of so-called relatives who filled two large tables.

They were decked out in gold and jewelry, thick-necked, eyeing me like I was a meal.

Samantha was standing in the corner. She looked even paler than the day before, like she didn't know what to do with her hands.

Chris spotted me and lifted her chin.

"Bold of you to actually show up. You got the money ready?"

Stockton stepped forward with a warm smile and held out a document. "Mr. Johnson, this is the prenuptial agreement we've prepared. Take a look — once everything looks good, we'll sign and head to the bank."

I took it and skimmed through.

The terms were absurd.

The groom voluntarily transfers all assets under his name to the bride.

All monthly income after marriage must be surrendered to the bride for her exclusive management.

The groom may not interfere with the bride's social activities in any capacity.

In the event of divorce, the groom shall vacate with nothing and pay the bride ten million dollars in emotional damages.

This wasn't a prenuptial agreement. It was a bill of sale.

"Everything look okay?" Chris asked, smug.

The relatives behind her started chiming in.

"Chris is one in a million — you're lucky to have her!"

"Stop stalling and just sign it, we're waiting to celebrate!"

"A military boy landing Chris? You've hit the jackpot, friend!"

The jering and laughter filled the coffee shop. The other patrons were staring.

In the corner, Samantha looked like she was about to cry, her lip white where she'd been biting it.

I decided the curtain had gone on long enough.

I picked up the agreement and tore it apart, page by page, in front of all of them.

The pieces drifted down through the air. The entire coffee shop went silent.

The smile froze on Chris's face. Then she exploded.

"What the hell are you doing?! Are you out of your mind?!"

Stockton charged toward me, jabing a finger in my face. "You're playing us?!"

"Security Security! Throw this broke loser out!"

The relatives swarmed in, shoving me, screaming.

"He doesn't know what's good for him!"

"A nobody like you trying to marry Chris — dream on!"

"Hit him! Show him what happens when you mess with us!"

They shoved me back hard. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. The old shirt tore at the shoulder.

I didn't pay attention to any of it.

My eyes moved through the chaos and found Samantha — huddled in the corner, arms over her head, crouched on the floor, her thin shoulders shaking.

I pushed through the crowd and walked toward her, one step at a time.

Everyone froze, unsure what I was doing.

I stopped in front of her.

And then, in front of everyone, I got down on one knee.

I reached into my pocket and took out a velvet box.

I opened it. A pink diamond ring caught the light and threw color across the room.

It had been my mother's. Worth more than anything in this room.

I held it out to Samantha, and though I didn't raise my voice, every word carried clearly across the coffee shop.

"Samantha, I don't have a luxury penthouse. I don't have a Porsche."

"All I have is a past that involved a uniform, and future that might be worth something."

"Will you marry me — a broke soldier?"