I had to hand it to him, though—unlike anyone else, especially my mother’s proposals, Spencer did seem to understand what my biggest fear was. All this time, I didn’t hold off on getting married because I hadn’t found love. I’m mature enough to know that love plays a very tiny part in building a life together, like my parents have. I didn’t want to get married because I didn’t want to lose the life I had.

I mean, unmarried-woman problems aside, I’d be an idiot not to appreciate the setup I have going for me. I was my own boss (I mean, I know my father kept up pretenses, but let’s face it, I had a free hand to do as I liked with my charity), I could travel, I wasn’t burdened with any of the mundane family duties that my married friends had thrust on them.

Spencer presented marriage to me in a way that made sense. It was an agreement. I could keep doing whatever I wanted, with no threat to my lifestyle or career. He wouldn’t be possessive and lock me up in an ivory tower like most Sri Lankan men would, he wouldn’t make demands of me to have children (we’d have to do that at some point for the sake of appearances, I supposed, but we’ll cross that bridge later), he wouldn’t need me to do anything except what I wanted to do.

And he would get what he always wanted. A family. More specifically, mine.

I knew he had it rough after his parents died, even though he had been provided for, but he was probably not as smart as I thought if he believed the Fonsekas were as picture-book perfect as we made ourselves out to be. But hey, it was his funeral.

He loved Sri Lanka, he claimed, and that was easy to understand. Sri Lanka was the perfect place to live if you had enough money to spend. A five-star lifestyle for a fraction of the price you would pay in the US. A four-course meal like the one we were having tonight would cost as much as a monthly salary for the average Sri Lankan, but was still less than a round of appetizers at the Hilton in Union Square.

He wanted to set up a base, he said. Lay down roots. Start over.

And what better way to start over than as my husband, in a city where my family was equal to royalty. That was a good deal if I ever heard one. There have been marriages that took place for far less.

We’d just have to keep the pesky little detail that he was Amaya’s ex-boyfriend under wraps. She’s pretty much vanished from Colombo society, but it still wouldn’t be a good look for me at all.

“I’m sorry I caught you off guard; I truly am.” His eyes glittered in earnest. “But I know you. If I’d spoken to you about it beforehand, you would have overthought it and come up with a million reasons why you shouldn’t go through with it. You’d have thought I was crazy.” He was right. I was still not convinced this whole thing wasn’t absolutely ridiculous.