“I know.”
“I’m forty-three. I’m your employee.”
“I can hire someone else.”
“You are grieving, injured, lonely, and angry at oatmeal. That is not a proposal. That is panic with paperwork.”
His jaw flexed. “I’m not asking for romance.”
“Marry me, Kirsten.”
“That makes it worse, honey.”
“Vivian controls most of my trust until I’m twenty-one. She refuses what she calls emotional spending.”
“Lisa isn’t emotional spending.”
“I know.” His voice dropped. “My personal medical account and household fund are separate from the main trust. Vivian can delay almost anything I request alone. But if I’m married, my spouse can co-sign emergency medical expenses with me. She can still fight it, but she cannot bury it quietly.”
I stepped back. “No.”
“That makes it worse, honey.”
“Kirsten.”
“No. I won’t marry a man for money, especially one with his entire life ahead of him. You deserve more, Adrian. You deserve to live.”
“You wouldn’t be using me.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Then use me.”
He said it like the words cost him something. Like he already knew I would hate him for offering.
