Chapter 5: Collision Course

The reason I agreed to play along with Natalie wasn’t just her looks.

At least, not entirely.

The main reason was the money.

I told myself I was doing her a favor, but the zeros on that transfer made it hard to pretend.

But I didn’t expect this decision would pull me into an abyss I could never escape.

After signing the contract in the morning, Natalie transferred a $75,000 advance to me that afternoon.

I thought, she really is a rich little lady.

My first job as her fiancé was to accompany Natalie to meet her cousin.

I wondered what he’d think, seeing a man fifteen years older than his cousin suddenly become her fiancé.

I was a little nervous, and a little excited.

The meeting was at Natalie’s home, which definitely looked like a wealthy person’s house—big, with a long driveway and a mailbox with her name in gold letters.

I drove up in my battered Civic, feeling out of place between a couple of Audis and an immaculate black F-150 parked by the curb. The porch had a faded welcome mat and a couple of plastic flamingos stuck in the flowerbed—pure suburbia. Her house looked like it belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—flowerbeds perfectly pruned, a Stars and Stripes waving on the porch, wind chimes tinkling in the warm spring air.

When her cousin shook my hand, he nearly crushed it.

After we sat down on the couch, he stared at me like a lion whose territory had been invaded.

Natalie couldn’t see, but she could sense the tension in the air.

“I don’t agree.”

Her cousin spoke first.

“Cousin, I’m an adult. I don’t need anyone’s approval for this.”

He said gently, “Natalie, anyone can see this guy is only after your money.”

She replied, “I’m blind, not stupid. If he’s not after my money, what—he wants my cane collection?”

Her cousin was silent for a long time, but his clenched fists bulged with veins.

Finally, he deflated. “Are you mad at me?”

Natalie said calmly, “Cousin, I think you’re overestimating yourself.”

I didn’t say a word the whole time—just sat there feeling like I was on pins and needles.

Suddenly, her cousin glared at me fiercely.

“This is all your fault.”

He lunged at me and we immediately got into a scuffle.

His fist caught my jaw—white-hot pain shot through my head. I swung back, more out of panic than skill. Though he was younger, I still took a few punches. In the end, he lay on the ground panting.

Natalie’s anxious voice rang out:

“Get out! Get out of my house!”

Her voice trembled just enough to let the hurt show.

I shot him a triumphant look. He got up, looking defeated, muttered as if he wanted to say something, but in the end said nothing.

He walked out the door like a beaten hyena.

“You should go too. I want to be alone for a while.”

Natalie tried to keep her tone steady.

“Okay. Remember to take your medicine,” I reminded her, watching her mood.

She nodded, and I watched her feel her way along the wall to her room, the click of her cane echoing in the silence. I hesitated, then let myself out, the heavy front door slamming behind me.

...

Outside, I reached into my pocket for a cigarette and found a slip of paper.

During the fight, her cousin had slipped something into my pocket.

On the paper, it said: Don’t believe what Natalie says. I’m not her cousin. Please come find me.

And a phone number.

I took a deep drag on my cigarette—and immediately started coughing hard.

Damn, I held out until now.

That guy really packs a punch. My jaw ached, and I spit blood onto the curb, half-laughing, half-cursing the whole ridiculous turn of my life. The setting sun caught the gold lettering on the mailbox as I stood there, torn between dialing the number and running far, far away.

I stared at the phone number, the paper trembling in my bruised fingers. One call could blow up everything I thought I knew about Natalie—and about myself.