Will & Patrick Wake Up Married (6 page)

“Nope, not at all,” Joe agrees. “Sorry, honey,” he tells Will with a sympathetic smile. “But you’re not a very good liar.”

“Do you know who I am?” Will changes tactics and Patrick groans, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Just his luck to marry a cute-as-a-button wanna-be thug.

“You’re Guglielmo Michael Patterson-McCloud, according to your marriage certificate,” Joe waves the piece of paper in the air.

“Gugli-what-mo?” Patrick hiccups out a laugh.

“My father is Tony Molinaro.” Will ignores Patrick, pausing as though allowing Joe to feel the gravity of offending a scion of the Molinaro family. “I’m sure you recognize that name.”

“I don’t care who your daddy is, honey. There are no grounds for annulment since ‘changed my mind’ isn’t on the list and you’ve already said you were of sound mind, not intoxicated, and there has been no fraud.”

“Oh my God.” Will finally snaps, his voice rising hysterically. “We don’t want to be married anymore! What do you not understand about that?”

Joe shrugs patiently. Clearly this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with a hysterical bridegroom wanting out of his vows without consequence. “Them’s the breaks. Speaking of, it’s my lunch break. Oh, and just in case you thought you might come back later and try this on a different clerk? I’ve put a little note next to your names in the computer.” Joe winks at them.

“Why, thank you, Joe,” Patrick says. “You’re an ass.”

Joe grins good-naturedly. “You should get some diaper rash cream for your husband’s ass. It’ll help with that ache.” He winks again and puts up a
CLOSED
sign.

Patrick and Will don’t look at each other as they retreat from the courthouse and flag another cab.

Back in Patrick’s hotel room, Will paces back and forth. “What are we going to do now?”

“We’re going to get a divorce,” Patrick says matter-of-factly from where he’s sprawled on the bed.
He’s got his laptop open, and he’s found no fewer than five sites that guarantee a divorce in Nevada within two days. He’s already fired off an email to one of them, and their automated reply gave them an appointment for the next morning.

In the meantime, he’s got room service on the way, and he needs to get the word out to his shortlist of prestigious clinics about his availability. He can’t wait to start poaching patients from Schaeffer, Morris, and the whole Atlanta team. As far as he’s concerned, now that he’s decided to move ahead without concern for Will’s issues, everything’s set. It amazes him that he can solve a problem in ten minutes when it takes other people days and gobs of worry to never solve the problem at all. Being a genius in an idiotic world is either very tedious or very awesome. Most days he can’t tell which.

“I cannot
get
a divorce, Patrick,” Will grits out, long fingers tugging at his blond hair in frustration.

“You need to learn the difference between can’t and won’t. And, lucky for me, you don’t have a choice in the matter.” Patrick tracks Will’s progress along the strip of floor between the bed and the window. His ass looks marvelous, and on his way back across the room his broad shoulders and dimpled chin command Patrick’s attention.

Will glares. “What do you mean?”

Patrick shoves the laptop his direction, showing him the email he’s just sent off to Three Step Divorce dot com.

“Oh my God, what have you done, Patrick?”

“I’ve started down the path to freedom. I’m getting rid of my ball and chain. What do you mean, ‘what have I done’? Do you really expect that I’m going to just stay married to you? Because of some
money
?”

“It’s not just
some
money, Patrick. It’s hundreds of millions of dollars that can go to charities like Doctors Without Borders, or to help kids with leukemia, or to provide the research grant for a scientific breakthrough that can save thousands of lives. It provides healthcare for hundreds of Native Americans on the reservations in South Dakota, and it’s building a whole new neurology unit in Healing, which is upgrading our hospital to a regional facility to benefit the residents of four states. Doesn’t that mean something to someone like you, Dr. McCloud? Or are you really so cold that you’d rather see all that money go back into the hands of a crime family, where it’ll be used to pay the salaries of assassins, or to set up drug cartels, or—”

Patrick holds up his hand. “Fine, fine, fine. You can stop before you get to the part where you turn on the waterworks. What exactly do you want from me?”

“Time.” Will steps forward, his hands in his pockets, and he’s obviously put on his big boy pants, because he’s sounding reasonable for the moment. “Look, I need a little time, that’s all. I’ll figure out a way to get around the rules and then I will
happily
grant you a divorce.”

Patrick is more convinced than he wants to be by the strangely compelling expression on Will’s face. “And what am I supposed to do until then? I have a life to get back to in Atlanta.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” Patrick’s offended at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t have picked you up if I did. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Well you don’t have a job anymore, and you don’t have a boyfriend. So there’s nothing urgent you need to get back to.”

“Logic is clearly not your strong suit.” Patrick scowls. “You know, I could say that you owe me compensation. Loss of income.”

Will stares at him incredulously. “You have
got
to be kidding.”

“Hey, I lost my job because of this marriage. How am I supposed to pay my bills?”

“You lost your job because of
you
. If you’d been at all civil—”

“Civil? Who needs civil? People with nothing to do with their time, that’s who. I’m a busy man and this whole thing is wasting my time. I want out of this marriage and I want on the first plane back to Atlanta. But if I can’t have both, I’ll settle for one. So consider me out of here.”

Patrick snaps his laptop closed and stands up, deciding to call a cab and get to the airport as fast as possible. He’s not going to spend another second with Will. Nothing good is going to come of it. “I’ll have my lawyer contact you.” Patrick opens his suitcase and throws in his socks and underwear.

“Wait.” Will sounds conflicted. “Just hear me out.”

“I think I’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime.”

“You can’t leave.”

Patrick doesn’t understand why he’s still discussing this. He doesn’t want to care about the money or the people Will claims to be helping with it. He just wants to get back to where he feels safe: an operating room. “Oh yes, I can, and I am. Get out my way.”

“Dr. McCloud—Patrick, I’ll lose Good Works. People will die because of this choice. People who could be saved with medical treatments funded through my foundation. Can you really live with that?”

Patrick sighs. He doesn’t know if he can, actually. It’s just that without his job, without work to do, and patients to save, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. If he doesn’t get a new position soon,
feelings
might crop up. He hates feelings. Especially the old ones lingering from his childhood. Memories. Fears. It’s best when he’s too busy to think.

“Mr. Patterson, I’m still going to be married to you for at least three days, and probably more, no matter if I’m in Atlanta or Antarctica. My immediate departure from the hell of this hotel room and your endless angst about our mutual mistake isn’t going to affect your precious money just yet. You can have that time you asked for with me in Atlanta, and you in…wherever you hillbillies like to call home.”

“No—I can’t.”

“Yes. You can.”

“But there’s something else I didn’t tell you.”

Patrick looks up to the ceiling. “Oh, for the love of… Fine, what now?”

“The Molinaro rules. They don’t just cover the divorce or the annulment, but the circumstances of the wedding too.” Will swallows hard. “We need to have married for love.”

“What?” Patrick asks, like that makes any kind of sense at all. Like any of this does.

“No other reason is acceptable. Lack of consummation was our only out.”

“I hear you speaking, but it’s all nonsense.”

“Patrick, my great-grandfather insisted on a love match.”

Patrick rubs the bridge of his nose. Dear God, he’s saddled himself with a lunatic.
 

Chapter Three
 

It takes a few more minutes of explanation while Patrick stares at him with his mouth open and eyes wide before Patrick yells, “You have got to be kidding me! Who the hell is this demented Molinaro patriarch? The Mob-qui de Sade?”

“Well, he’s dead now, but he strongly believed marriage should only be for love and divorce should never happen.” Will knows it’s ridiculous. He agrees it is. Well, kinda. He sort of values the same things too. Not that anyone would know that after last night.

He closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

He’s not sure he’s ever had a conversion experience, the mythical moment that changes everything for an alcoholic and opens the path to true and lasting sobriety, but he suspects that the clarity of purpose he’s experiencing now might be close. He has to find a way to keep Good Works and he needs a way out of this marriage. Drinking will accomplish neither.

“What I hear you saying is that not only do I have to stay legally bound to you for you to keep all this money, but you want me to act like
I’m
in love with you
? For how long?” Patrick’s twitchy all over as he stares at Will.

“As long as it takes?”

“That’s insane! Do you know how ludicrous this sounds?”

“Yes, of course I do.” Will reaches his hands out, hoping that if he stays calm, Patrick won’t jump ship. “But it doesn’t change the reality of our situation.”

“
Our
situation? No.
Your
situation—”

“I know, I know,” he says soothingly. “You’re right.” He hopes he can placate Patrick, because he’s not sure he’s physically strong enough to restrain him if he tries to leave the room. He might be bigger, but Patrick’s wiry and more powerful than he looks. “Look, seriously, this will all go so much more smoothly if we just work together.”

Patrick stares at him like he’s grown two heads. That’s good in Will’s book. At least he’s not slamming out the door with his suitcase.

“So,” Will says. “Let’s work together. What should we do next?”

Patrick’s eyes trail down Will’s body and back up again. He says nothing for a long moment, his right hand tapping against his pant leg in a nervous staccato. Will holds his gaze and tries to appear open, ready to listen to Patrick’s ideas.

“We could recreate some of last night’s activities?”

“You can
not
be serious.”

“Why not?” Patrick shrugs. “After all, we’re
married
. No sin in it any which way you slice it. And I could stand to blow off some steam in a healthy, athletic, orgasmic way. Frankly, so could you. You were pretty relaxed after we screwed. Limp even. And you liked it.”

“No! No way. Oh my god, what are you doing?”

Patrick is unbuttoning his shirt.

“Stop that!”

“Oh come on,” Patrick scoffs. “I had you spread out on the bed last night begging me to lick your ass. You can stop with the false modesty now.”

Will’s burning up with mortification, but can’t deny it’s true. He remembers it vividly. Patrick’s tongue on his hole had been amazing. Rimming was something Will had always wanted to try, but Ryan had been reluctant, saying ass play was too much of a trigger for his drinking. Patrick wasn’t squeamish about it at all, though. He’d loved it. And, yes, Will had begged him for more, and then begged him not to stop, until he’d finally screamed for Patrick’s cock inside him. Oh yes, Will remembers. His body does too apparently, because his dick is hard.

Will discreetly turns to face the window, taking a deep breath and staring at the silver, red, and green Christmas decorations all along the sun-drenched Strip. “Okay, this is what’s going to happen. We’re going back to South Dakota. My grandmother will know what to do.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you—”

Will whirls around. “But you’re willing to go to bed with me?”

“Well, yeah, we’re husband and husband. May as well get a little something out of this marriage.”

“No.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but leaves his shirt unbuttoned. “Looks like what they say about married sex is true after all.”

Blood rushes to Will’s cheeks. He stares out the window again, gritting his teeth until he’s able to talk without even a hint of waver to his voice. “My grandmother will be able to help us, but this isn’t the sort of thing I can talk to her about over the phone. I’ll need to meet with her in person.”