Rain slid down the black umbrella, pooling in tiny streams at Lila Hale's feet. She stood before the freshly turned earth, a white carnation—her mother's favorite—clutched tight in her fist. At twenty-two, she wore an ill-fitting black dress, bought on the fly from a department store, its tag still scratchy under her collar, feeling like a child playing dress-up as an adult.
"Lila, dear." A wrinkled hand settled on her shoulder, Grandpa Hale's voice rough as sandpaper. "Time to go home."
She nodded but couldn't move. Her parents' smiles still flickered in her mind: Dad's terrible jokes, Mom's mock-annoyed swats at his arm. Now they were sealed in ash boxes, two feet square, sleeping forever under this damp soil.
"Just… a little longer." Her voice was a whisper.
Grandpa didn't press. He stood beside her, silent as an oak weathered by storms but still standing tall. Rain soaked his graying temples, trickling down the creases of his face—was it rain, or tears?
After the funeral, the Hale family's old house buzzed with mourning relatives. Lila accepted hugs and condolences on autopilot, her ears ringing with "I'm so sorry" and "They're in a better place." Her throat felt clamped shut, like someone had tied a knot there.
"Lila." Grandpa Hale waved her over from the study door. "Jim's here. Can you come a minute?"
Inside, another old man stood at the window, back to the door. He turned at the sound, and Lila recognized Grandpa Carter—Grandpa Hale's war buddy, the one who sent handwritten Christmas cards every year. He looked sturdier than in photos; even nearing eighty, his shoulders were broad as a young man's.
"Lila." Grandpa Carter strode over, pulling her into a hug. His coat smelled of cedar and leather, warm enough to make her want to cry. "Goodness, you're all grown up. Last time I saw you, you were playing with dolls."
Lila managed a weak smile. "Hi, Grandpa Carter."
The two old men exchanged a look. Grandpa Hale cleared his throat. "Lila, Jim and I need to talk. Could you fetch us some tea?"
"Of course." She nodded, closing the door softly. Halfway to the kitchen, she realized she'd forgotten to ask what kind. Turning back, she froze at the study door—left ajar, voices leaking out, low and urgent.
"…can't leave her alone, Charles. She's twenty-two, just graduated, and now…" Grandpa Carter's voice.
"I know, Jim, I know." Grandpa Hale sounded exhausted. "But this old body… the doctor says my heart…"
Lila's breath caught. Grandpa's heart? The tray in her hands trembled.
"Listen, old friend." Grandpa Carter's voice hardened, sharp with resolve. "Remember our promise in the trenches? Your family's mine. I'll take care of her. I swear it."
"How? You live three hundred miles away…"
"Ethan." Grandpa Carter said the name like a vow. "He's built the company up good, has the means. And that boy… cold as he seems, he's got more heart than he lets on."
Lila's pulse raced. Ethan? Grandpa Carter's grandson? The tall, suited man from family photos? Were they talking about… her?
A clink from the teacups on the tray silenced the study. Lila stepped back, scuffing her shoes deliberately, then knocked. "Grandpa? I brought Earl Grey…"
Three days later, Lila sat in the Hale's living room, across from Ethan Carter in a crisp suit. He was taller than she remembered, thick dark hair slicked back, sharp gray eyes that seemed to see right through her. He sat rigid, hands folded on his knee, like a businessman waiting to sign a contract.
"So." Ethan spoke, his voice low and measured. "My grandfather and yours think we should… marry."
The word hung heavy, almost audible in the air. Lila twisted her fingers. "Sounds absurd, right? Arranged marriage in the 21st century."
To her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted. "Absurd, yes." He paused. "But given the circumstances…"
Lila looked up. "What circumstances?"
Ethan's expression softened. "Your grandfather didn't tell you? His heart… the doctors give him a year, at most."
The world tilted. Lila felt dizzy, like the rug had been pulled from under her. No wonder Grandpa had seemed tired lately, why he'd insisted she move back to the old house…
"I… I didn't know." Her voice broke.
Ethan's tone took an unexpected warmth. "I'm sorry for being blunt." He hesitated, then did something surprising—pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his suit pocket and handed it to her. Lila hadn't realized she was crying.
"Look," he said, rare softness in his voice, "I get you need time. But my position's clear: if it's what my grandfather wants, I'll do it. Not for romance—for duty." He met her gaze. "I can give you a comfortable life, a safe home, financial security. In return, I ask only for respect… and a convincing show of marriage."
Lila pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, trying to think. Parents gone, Grandpa fading… she was truly alone. And this man, cold as ice, might be her only shelter in the storm.
"Why you?" she blurted. "You could've said no."
Ethan was quiet a moment. "I owe my grandfather everything. My parents… weren't around much. He raised me." He looked at her again, steady. "And I don't break promises."
Rain tapped the windows again, just like at the funeral. Lila took a breath. "I need a week."
Ethan nodded, standing to leave. At the door, he paused. "Whatever you decide, Miss Hale, I understand." He hesitated. "But remember—you're not out of options."
After he left, Lila curled on the couch, staring at her parents' faces in the fireplace photo. She thought of Mom's favorite saying: "Sometimes the most unexpected roads lead to the nicest places."
A week later, she dialed Ethan's number. "I have a condition."
Pen tapping on a desk came through the line. "I'm listening."
"A prenup." Lila said. "Clear terms on assets… and an exit clause."
Silence, then: "Reasonable. I'll have my lawyer draft it. Anything else?"
Lila bit her lip. "We have to pretend it's… normal. Like we fell in love. For the grandfathers."
"Of course." There was a hint of something she couldn't read in his voice. "Commit to the role."
Hanging up, Lila stared at her reflection—pale skin, red-rimmed eyes. She was about to marry a stranger, all because of a promise made in a trench. It felt less like real life, more like one of those old romance novels she used to read.
But that's life, isn't it? The wildest stories often start with the simplest moments: a chance meeting, a choice made, or a marriage born from a promise.