At first, it made no sense. My father inherited gobs of money from my grandfather, more than one person could possibly spend in a lifetime, and yet poof, now it was gone.

“What about his shares in Diomedica?” I asked her, assuming there was still one last option for them.

“What shares?” my mom spat back with so much venom it almost scared me. “Everything your father had was sold almost a decade ago in his attempt to save his fucking print company. Millions, Elizabeth. He drained millions into a dying industry. Why? Because he believes in print media. He can’t stand the thought of people not reading newspapers anymore. Jesus Christ.

“And you know what else? It’s not just that either. He’s funneled money into dying businesses left and right. Absolutely ridiculous ventures.”

I wanted to point out that she’s at fault too, that she spends and spends and spends as if money grows on trees.

Judge Mathers’ phone dings on the stand, distracting her from the ceremony and me from my thoughts.

She checks the notification and scrunches her face. “Shoot. I’m running late.”

“It’s fine,” Walt says, waving to the man in the glasses. “Why don’t we just sign the marriage certificate. Mason?”

The man steps up to the judge’s stand with a crisp piece of paper in his hand.

“Thank you,” Walt says to Mason, who I now assume is his assistant.

Judge Mathers takes the certificate and signs her name swiftly at the bottom of it. “I feel bad for rushing through this, but I don’t think either one of you minds. You can do all that ‘kiss the bride’ stuff in private,” she says with a wink.

Walt clears his throat, and I turn a nice shade of pink as my eyes fall to the floor. If he’s watching me blush, I don’t want to know.

I think even by civil ceremony standards, ours is rather swift.

Judge Mathers walks with us out of the courtroom, hurrying us along so she can get back to work. No one else seems to mind, so I tell myself I don’t either.

She departs down the hall, and Mason tells Walt he’ll be waiting for him outside. Then he takes off ahead of us, opting to go down the stairwell rather than take the elevator. I wonder if Walt’s instructed him to do that or if he instinctively knew I’d appreciate a moment alone with my new husband.

There are a million things I want to ask him, but I settle on the question that’s at the top of my list.

“I’m just curious…why marry me? What’s in it for you?”

I probably should have asked him that before we entered the courtroom together, but I’d still like to know.

“It helps both of our families retain majority hold of Diomedica,” he replies as he walks back to the elevator with purpose. He seems to be incapable of slowing down, even when it’s obvious I’m having a hard time keeping up.