Page 10 of Branded

Margaret clears her throat. “Shall we proceed with the paperwork? I’m sure you’re both eager to finalize things.”

“By all means.” Sebastian gestures for her to continue, but his attention stays on me. “Though I think we need to update more than just the documentation. My family will want to know I’m marrying Montana ranching royalty, not some anonymous girl from guest relations. We will need to do a press release.”

Ranching royalty. The phrase makes my skin crawl, even though it is technically accurate. The Briggs name carries weight in Montana. My great-great-grandfather built the ranch from nothing, and every generation since has expanded it, protected it, turned it into an empire that rivaled some of the biggest operations in the country.

And I walked away from all of it to serve coffee to tourists and smile at arrogant assholes.

“My family doesn’t know I’m here,” I say tightly. “And they’re not going to. I will not agree to a press release, and since it wasn’t part of the contract, I’m not bound to it.”

“Really?” Sebastian’s tone is amused. “You don’t think your father is going to wonder where his daughter disappeared to?”

“I’m twenty-nine years old,” I say. “I don’t report my every movement to my father.”

“No, you just flew across the country to escape him.” Sebastian’s eyes are too knowing. “Let me guess, he wanted you to marry some neighboring rancher’s son. Continue to build the empire. And you wanted nothing to do with arranged marriages or duty or any of the things that come with being born into a legacy like that.”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He can see the truth written all over my face.

“The irony here is delicious.” He smirks. “You ran from one ranching dynasty straight into another.”

“Can we please proceed?” Margaret’s irritation is fully displayed through the tone of her voice. “Miss Briggs, we need to update the documentation with your correct legal name. Do you have identification with you?”

I shake my head. “It’s back at my apartment.”

“We can retrieve it later,” Sebastian says. His voice is calm, measured, like we are discussing dinner reservations instead of marriage. “Let’s proceed.”

Margaret pulls out another set of documents, thicker this time, multiple pages stapled together. She sets them in front of me with a pen.

“This is the standard contract,” she explains. “It outlines the terms of your arrangement with Mr. Drake for the next twenty-four months. You’ll need to read and sign each page.”

I pick up the papers with numb hands. The first page is dense with legal language, full of “heretofore” and “party of the first part.” I force myself to focus, to actually read what I agreed to.

1. Agrees to provide exclusive companionship and service to the Purchaser for a period of twenty-four (24) months from the date of execution…

2. Will reside at the residence(s) designated by the Purchaser and will not leave said residence(s) without express permission…

3. Will comply with all requests made by the Purchaser regarding appearance, behavior, and availability…

4. Understands that refusal to comply with the terms of this agreement may result in legal action and financial penalties…

It goes on for pages. I’m signing away my freedom. For two years.

I think of Janie on a plane to Montana, safe, away from this. That’s worth it. It has to be worth it.

Even if it means becoming exactly what I ran from, a woman whose life was determined by a man’s plans for her.

I sign the first page and continue until my hand feels like it’s going to fall off.

“Excellent,” Margaret croons. “Now, there are several additional documents that require signatures. Medical release forms, confidentiality agreements, financial disclosures.”

“And the marriage license,” Sebastian adds casually.

My pen stops halfway through signing the second page.

My mother married my father in a church ceremony with half of Montana in attendance. White dress, flowers, the whole production. It was a love match at the time, rare in large ranching families, but even that came with expectations. She’d become a wife, which meant specific responsibilities, certain behaviors, certain sacrifices.

This isn’t even that. This is a transaction with a marriage license stamped on top to make it legal and the auction emcee as the witness to sign.

“I need—” My voice comes out strangled. “Can I have a minute?”