Author's note: I've had several requests for The Proposal kind of scenario applied to Claire and Owen, I've been trying to get somewhere with this idea for months now, so... This is not a movie rip-off. I tried to apply it to the JW-world, so let's see if my Adaptation class is going to pay off :) The whole script of The Proposal is something like 120 pages long, and it's not happening but this story will have, I think, 3 parts (most of this stuff is finished, and it feels too long to be a one-shot?)

There were days when Owen Grady loved his job more than anything else in the world. And what was there not to love? He lived on a tropical island and got to play with honest-to-god dinosaurs all day long. Well, maybe play was a bit of a stretch, but half the time he didn't bother going into semantics. He got to play with dinosaurs. For money.

And then there were days when he wanted to toss the clicker into the ocean and throw himself into their paddock. Contrary to popular belief, his animals weren't dumb killing machines programed to follow the orders. They were living beings with moods and personalities, and just like everyone else, they had their good and bad days, sometime playful and obedient, other times – grumpy and impossible to deal with.

Today was more of a bad day, which only added to Owen's overall frustration. A few days ago, they went through their whole routine without a hitch, and yet today it was one bump after another and a great deal of snapping teeth and low growls.

"Charlie!" Owen barked from his position on the catwalk above the paddock, glaring at the four raptors below him. "Don't give me that shit!"

She ignored him – the way he almost expected she would. Standing in front of her, the Beta of the pack that went by the name Blue, seemingly wasn't aware of Owen's presence altogether, her nostrils twitching as she tried to smell whatever animal they were about to release into the cage.

"Owen!" A familiar voice boomed over the paddock, and when Owen turned around, he saw Vic Hoskins step onto the catwalk, the attention of the raptors scattering instantly. If they were barely into the session before, they sure couldn't care less about it now. He swore quietly under his breath. "Got a minute?"

Owen squinted in the bright sunlight and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Now?"

Hoskins walked over to him and leaned against the railing, watching the animals below. If he heard exasperation in Owen's voice, he chose to ignore it, which made Owen frown – the man knew better than anyone what a big deal this project was, and for all his flaws, he also was the one who wanted it to succeed, constantly pestering Owen about the progress and estimated time frames and other crap like that.

"What can I do for you?" Owen asked, putting the clicker into the pocket of his pants, hoping that maybe he'd have a better luck after lunch. There was a chance the girls would be in a better mood after the feeding. Not necessarily, but he didn't want to write this whole day off just yet.

"You did a damn good job here," Hoskins jerked his chin toward the raptors. "It would be a shame to have it amount to nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

Hoskins straightened up. "Look, Owen, I don't care if you send your progress reports late, but your personal paperwork?" He made a dramatic pause and shook his head. "HR said your visa application had been denied."

Owen's stomach clenched. This was the last thing he expected to hear, his mind instantly jumping to the day a few weeks ago when he filled in and signed everything he needed to fill in and sign. "But I sent in everything," he protested as if it was Hoskins who made the decision.

"Yeah, well…" Hoskins rubbed his chin. "They said something about late submission and processing times… You should really talk to them."

Owen swallowed uneasily, feeling nauseated. "What does it all mean?"

The other man was looking at him with a mixture of pity and a slight disdain now, like he couldn't believe that for all Owen's talk about the raptors, he couldn't be bothered to make sure he stayed with the program long enough to see it actually go somewhere.

"It means you're being deported."

xoox

"But there's got to be some other way," Claire Dearing exclaimed, her voice panicked – something she almost never allowed the world to hear, let alone her any of her supervisors.

Simon Masrani, the CEO of Masrani Global, the owner of Jurassic World, and her direct executive, shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Claire. They want all or nothing."

"But…" She leaped up from her leather chair and started pacing around her office, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "The Indominus Rex project is huge," she turned to him, feeling helpless and two feet tall. "As soon as we launch it, the profit will be monumental. You saw the figures."

Sitting in the visitor's chair, Simon tapped his fingers on Claire's desk, his forehead creased pensively. There was an almost visible cloud over his head, and even before he spilled the news on Claire, outlining every detail he was aware of, she knew he had already given up, and was expecting her to as well.

She hated feeling like this in front of her boss – she was goddamn responsible for this whole park! It was her job to make it work no matter what, and yet here they were, and the news he just broke to her all but knocked the ground from beneath Claire's feet, making her feel like he'd pushed her out of an airplane without a parachute.

"I doesn't matter what I saw," he breathed out at last. "They want the raptors, and so long as I can show the results, they'll pay for the I-Rex. And with Owen Grady leaving-"

"We'll just find someone else then," Claire exclaimed, her hackles standing on end at the mention of the man's name. "Surely there's got to be someone…"

"There isn't, apparently." Simon leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as he watched her zip back and forth in front of a floor-to-ceiling window below which the park was thriving, packed with thousands of people, wringing her fingers. "It's not a gift-shop cashier we're talking about, Claire. The person must have the basic knowledge of the animal behavioral patters-"

Claire stopped abruptly and turned to him. "Okay, that describes half of the staff here. We can train someone, right?"

He heaved a weary sigh. "Not in the provided timeframe, we can't."

The Indominus-Rex was the first hybrid Claire was solely responsible for, her chance to prove that she could do more than simply parade the investors around the park and order toys and t-shirts for the souvenir stores. It could not only become a stepping stone in her career – it could launch it straight to the moon. And now Simon Masrani was seriously telling her that because some raptor trainer failed to meet a paperwork deadline, they would have to scrap it? Hell, no!

She didn't know what the investor wanted with the raptors and didn't care, but she was not going to let it get in her way, even if she had to teach them to jump through fire hoops herself. What she did know was that she had no time to come up with a new campaign and search for new resources. She really, really needed to hook this one, and she was not going to let someone like Owen Grady stop her.

How do you even miss this kind of a deadline, for heaven's sake?!

"I'll see what I can do," she said at last, finally feeling more composed. There's got to be a way to fix it, she decided. There always was a way. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Simon offered her a weak smile that didn't touch his eyes, and Claire knew that even though he appreciate her enthusiasm – it was the one of the things that made him hire her all those years ago, her ambition and confidence about making the park work – he was also not going to blindly trust her to fix the things that couldn't be fixed. He was as excited about the I-Rex project as she was – probably for different reasons, but it didn't matter to Claire, and it pained him to see it being washed down the drain, especially now that there was not one, but two eggs waiting to hatch in the lab below the Innovation Center.

It was incredible, really. Five years ago, when she only started here, people were storming the walls of the park, hungry for a glimpse at a Triceratops. Now, she doubted that anything less than a T-Rex riding a bike on tightrope would catch their attention for more than five seconds. Hence the need for something bigger, louder, scarier, with more teeth. If her calculations were correct, they could open the project for public in about eighteen months from now, and with the right marketing campaign, their profit would skyrocket in a matter of weeks.

She was not going to give up on that.

"Well," Simon rose to his feet. "Keep me posted."

He looked and sounded defiant, and as soon as the door closed behind him, Claire's shoulders slouched too and she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Okay, now what? The man she needed to make her dream come true was being deported in a matter of days. She was not the government of the United States, for Crist's sake! She could not order him to stay, or offer him more money, or—

She might have to talk to the lawyers, she decided in the end. And she would have to talk to Owen Grady.

"Cancel everything scheduled for this afternoon, please," Claire said to her assistant, Zara, as she walked out of her office, a phone in one hand and car keys in another. Zara's eyebrows arched in surprise, but she simply nodded, watching Claire head for the elevators.

xoox

"No, mom, I can't-" Owen let out a long sigh and squeezed his eyes, waiting for the break in his mother's tirade to maybe try and explain everything to her. "I can't come home yet, I need to wrap up something here first."

A phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder, he pulled one of the drawers open and then simply dumped its contents on his bed, half intended to simply throw most of the stuff in the trash and save himself the trouble of hauling it back to Toronto. It wasn't like they didn't have shirts and underwear in Canada.

"I know it's your anniversary and I swear I'm not trying to-" He paused when his mother interjected again. "You're doing what?" He paused. "No, wait, here? You're coming here here? To the park? My park?"

Someone knocked on the door, and for a moment, Owen was convinced he was trapped in some sort of a very elaborate hell. Between his impending deportation – two weeks, the HR told him, unless he finds a way to 'magically fix it' (their words, not his), the fact that his mother just told him she and his father decided to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary on Isla Nublar, and someone fucking pounding on his door, it sure felt that way.

"Hey, can I call you back?... Yes, sure. I'll meet you at the ferry terminal."

He hung up at last and tossed his phone onto the bed before crossing his living room in two quick strides before whoever was on the other side of the door broke it down and yanked it open, expecting to see maybe Barry who caught the wind of the news. Or maybe Hoskins. Or that jittery dude from HR who promised to start working on Owen's 'resignation' paperwork.

The idea made him cringe. It wasn't like he was an illegal immigrant, for crying out loud!

Instead, he saw a very pissed off Claire Dearing.

Squeezed into a straight pencil skirt, two-inch heels on her feet and the bob of her bright-red hair so sharp he was surprised it didn't leave cuts on her cheeks, she was glaring daggers at him, her red lips pursed into a tight line, and her brows furrowed. Caught off guard momentarily, he gave a long studious once-over, half convinced it was the heat playing tricks on his mind. There was no reason in the world for her to be here, certainly not looking the way Blue did when was was hungry and cranky and dreamed of going for Owen's jugular.

Owen allowed his lips to curve into a lopsided smile as he leaned against the doorframe. "Wow. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"What were you thinking?" Claire snapped, squeezing past him into the bungalow, her nose wrinkled at the sight of his stuff strewn all over the place.

After the HR broke the news to him, stressing the fact that there was nothing that could be done, and that he needed to leave the country and to reapply for the work permit after several months, and so on, and so forth, he kind of decided there was no reason to put off packing for much longer. Besides, it didn't seem like there was anything else for him to do. What was the freaking point of working with the raptors if he'd be gone within a couple of weeks anyway?

"Pardon me?" He followed her with his gaze, choosing to leave the door ajar.

Claire turned on her heel, hands on her hips. "Who forgets to file the work permit application on time?" She all but growled.

"If I knew you'd be so heartbroken, I'd make sure not to miss it," Owen hummed and grabbed a stack of books from the shelf to arrange them in two boxes that already housed a few magazines and his laughable collection of DVDs.

"Not funny." She glowered down at him. "You do understand the consequences of your recklessness, Mr. Grady, don't you?"

He looked up at her. "Owen," he said slowly. For heaven's sake, they went out on a date. She might cut down on formalities after basically calling him an ass to his face. "And yes, thank you. I do."

"I don't think so," Claire huffed with a roll of her eyes.

Owen rose to his feet again. "Yes, please, explain to me what I do and don't get," he snorted, wondering if it was too early to start with the kitchen. He could probably leave a plate or two, or maybe he could simply live off beer. "And what's in it for you anyway?" He thought to ask at last. "You, of all people, should be happy I'm getting kicked off the island, Claire."

Her scowl deepened, either because of his implication that she was supposed to care about him in one way or another, or because he pointedly used her name when she refused to say his.

"Believe it or not, but this park is a system and each part of it is as crucial as another," Claire declared.

He gaped at her for a moment or two. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think is going to happen to your precious raptors the moment you leave, Mr. Grady?" She folded her arms over her chest.

That caught Owen's attention alright, his brows knitting together. Oh, he knew what was going to happen – they'd become an attraction. Someone – probably Hoskins – would try to show them off, forcing them to follow the commends Owen had taught them. Not that it mattered, though. People were fascinated with the animals as vicious and smart and deadly as Velociraptors. There'd be no shortage of interest, whether or not they were doing circus tricks.

He hated the idea of it anyway.

"Why do you care about the raptors?" He asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Because if your program gets scrapped, so will mine." Claire admitted. "It's like I said, this place is a system-"

"And what do you want from me?" He interrupted.

"The park needs you to have the Velociraptors project running," she said, and his eyebrows cocked in surprise. "I know, I know, it's what I said. You're hardly irreplaceable. But apparently not on a short notice."

Owen chuckled. "God, this is the nicest thing I've ever heard from you."

Claire leveled him with a heavy look. "There has to be a way to have you stay."

"Well, there isn't. Not to my knowledge." He shrugged even though this pretend nonchalance hurt. If there was a way, he'd already be sinking his teeth into it. "So unless you want to adopt me, I'll probably be back in six months."

He walked around her.

"We don't have six months." Claire followed him, stopping in the doorway to his bedroom that looked like a tornado swept through it. There were clothes everywhere, as well as a suitcase, a duffel bag, and a few boxes. "Can't you, I don't know… marry someone?"

Owen snapped his head up. "Can't I do what?"

"There must be a woman in the continental US who can bear dealing with your-" Claire looked him up and down critically "—wits and wardrobe choices," she finished. "Maybe there's even one on this island."

He straightened up. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm not saying it has to be real," she added quickly, a hope in her voice.

"Still thank you, but no, thank you." He turned his back to her and reached for a pile of folded shirts he then deposited into one of the boxes. "Now, if you'll excuse me… My parents are coming over for a visit and I gotta-"

"Marry me," Claire blurted out.

He froze, and then turned to her slowly, uncertain if he heard her right. "What did you say?"

"Marry me," she repeated firmer, her face pinched like she'd bitten into a lemon. "You'll get to stay and do whatever it is you're doing here, I'll get my funding. Everyone is happy! After the appropriate period of time we'll get a divorce and pretend it never happened."

"This… is the most romantic thing I've ever heard," Owen scoffed, pushing his hair from his forehead. Maybe he could turn on the fan or something. His house came without air-conditioning, and even though it didn't bother him most of the time, there was days when he wanted to crawl into a freezer until the weather broke, making it easier to breathe again.

"I'm serious," Claire told him. "What's the big deal? Are you saving yourself for someone special?"

"I'd love to think so," he retorted. "Besides, what you just described is a federal offence."

She sneered. "So you'll just forget about two years of your work because of some technicality?"

Owen dropped the act and turned to her again. "You really are serious, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am serious. My career is on the line. Why would I be joking about it?" She threw her hands up.

"Okay." He approached her slowly, sizing her up with his gaze, a part of him still waiting for her to start laughing and tell him it was a joke. She didn't. "Since I'm facing some serious criminal charges here-"

Claire cocked her head to her shoulder. "You do understand that I'm the one who's doing you a favour, right? If anyone's going to deal with repercussions here, it'll probably be me."

"Still." Standing not even a foot away from her now, Owen allowed his gaze to travel along her body as he tried oh so hard not to notice everything that drew him to this woman in the first place. She smelled faintly of vanilla and jasmine, and it felt oddly out of place in his house. Everything about Claire Dearing felt out of place here, and he hated knowing it, and even more than that – he hated knowing that she knew it, too. Even on his turf, she seemed to be having an upper hand, and it was infuriating, to put it mildly. "I want you to ask me nicely."

"Ask you what?"

He added some wattage to his smile. "Ask me to marry you, Claire."

Her lips curved into a cold smile. "We're meeting the migration officer tomorrow."

Owen shrugged and stepped back. "Nope. I don't feel like you mean it."

"Oh, for Crist's Sake, Owen!"

"Owen?" He echoed. "Wow, that's a… that should go into our vows, or something."

She huffed through her nose and rubbed her forehead in frustration, the desire to set him and his house on fire so evident in her eyes it would've been scary if it wasn't so funny.

"Fine," Claire spat at last, then took a steadying breath. "Owen, dearest Owen, would you please kindly do me an honour of becoming my husband?"

He arched an eyebrow. "How about one more time, and with feeling?"

"You know what? Go to hell!" She turned around and headed for the door. "Enough feeling for you?"

Owen swore under his breath and tripped over a gym bag he left on the floor in his haste to catch up with her. "Wait! Claire, wait a second."

"What?" She turned to him, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

He exhaled sharply, hating the idea of teaming up with her, but thinking about having his raptors do party tricks after all the time and effort he'd put into making them more than just an attraction was like having someone stab him in the heart and twist the knife for good measure.

"You really think it can fix anything?"

Claire lifted her chin. "The ferry leaves at 8. Don't be late."

xoox

The first text came about 10 minutes after she left.

Seriously, man?! Owen could feel Barry's eyes pop out of his head. With HER?!

You dog, Grady! Greg, his drinking buddy from the paddock sent shortly afterwards.

Speak of selling your soul to the devil lol

After the 5th one, Owen stopped reading. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan, wondering how Claire managed to set the gossip mill running so fast. It wasn't until this moment that he sort of hoped they'd breeze through the whole thing unnoticed by anyone. This? This was the opposite of that. Like working with her was not bad enough – no, apparently he also needed to shout about their fake engagement from the rooftops.

Annoyed, he tossed his phone aside and sank heavily onto the couch, overcome with conflicted feelings. If this worked, really worked, he wasn't going to leave the raptors to the mercy of hungry park crowds. All things considered, he loved his job. Hell, it was the best gig he'd ever had in his life. But the plan was in motion for half an hour, at most, and he was already sick to his stomach over the idea of carrying on with the rest of it.

What was it that this woman valued so much that she was willing to join forces with him, of all people, even though she'd never bothered to hide her contempt? Well, not after their date at least.

His phone chirped again, and Owen angrily stuffed it between the couch cushions.

xoox

"So, Mr. Grady," Nathan Hendricks, an immigration officer assigned to their case, started as his gaze darted between Claire and Owen sitting in hard plastic chairs across from him. He was in his mid 40's, with thin-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and trained to see right through bullshit – that much Owen could feel with his skin, "is there anything I need to know before we proceed?"

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, acutely aware of the fact that his poor attempt at a smile probably looked more like a grimace. Not to mention that the small office in the US embassy in San Jose was hot and stuffy as hell, making him feel suffocated, especially in a suit Claire insisted he wore to the meeting.

"Nope. Just here to apply for the fiancé visa." He flashed that very same grimace at Claire who nearly flinched at the sight of it. "With my… um, honey."

Claire reached for his hand and squeezed it, although it was hard to tell if she was trying to be encouraging, or simply wanted him to shut up. He did the latter anyway and beamed at Agent Hendricks instead.

The man pushed the glasses further up his nose and flipped through the manila folder lying before him on the cluttered desk, the crease between his eyebrows deepening with every second, and Owen felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.

"Mr. Grady, it says here," the agent tapped his pen on the page before him, "that your work visa had been denied recently." He peered at Owen over the rims of his glasses. "Is this," he pointed his pen in Claire's direction, "your attempt to stay in the country?"

"No!" Claire assured him quickly, her smile widening by the second. "Not at all. Why would you even…" She cleared her throat and glanced quickly at Owen. "Owen and I are just… victims of circumstances. We're two people who were not meant to fall in love-"

"Because if it is," Hendricks interrupted her, "and I find out about it, you, Mr. Grady, will be deported from the United States of America indefinitely. And you, Ms. Dearing, will be subjected to a fine and a time in federal prison." He made a theatrical pause, his gaze shifting from one to another if he expected them to spontaneously combust under his scrutiny. "Shall we proceed?"

Claire nodded, and he sighed.

xoox

"He wasn't serious about the prison, was he?" Claire asked, flipping through the folder of the interview questions Agent Hendricks gave them as they stood on the upper deck of the ferry taking them back to the island, the breeze ruffling her hair and the paged in her hands.

"Sure he wasn't." Leaning on the railing next to her, Owen was looking at the horizon and the growing form of the island, its hills rolling in gentle slopes before his eyes, so bright-green it was hard to believe they were real. "It's what they do in official government institutions – joke around."

Claire gave him a dirty look and stuck her nose back in the folder.

Agent Hendricks explained to them that they would be invited to an interview, each of them asked a number of questions regarding everything a real couple would know the answers to about one another, and if their answers didn't match, point for point, Owen would never step on the American soil again, and Claire would have to start a new career – sometime after her time behind the bars.

On top of that, Agent Hendricks was going to check their phone records, talk to their families and colleagues, and dig as deep into their relationship as humanly possible without getting into bed with them.

The thought made her cringe.

And if that wasn't fun enough, Owen's parents were coming here for a week, so not only would they have to carry on with this charade in front of the employees of the park, but they would also have to convince his family that they were an item. Just thinking about it was giving her a massive headache.

"This is ridiculous," Claire muttered under her breath, turning the page. "Are we supposed to know all of this about each other?"

He snatched the folder from her hands. "Let me see." His eyes skimmed over the page. "Piece of cake."

She frowned. "You cannot know all of this about me."

"Please!" He scoffed. "Everyone knows all of this about you, Claire. This whole island is all about you."

"Don't be absurd." She reclaimed the folder again. "Okay, let's see… Where I was born?"

"Madison, Wisconsin," Owen responded promptly.

"Do I have any siblings?"

"Older sister. Two kids and a rocky marriage."

She glowered at him, puckering her lips. "There's got to be something here… Whose place do we stay at yours or mine? Mine, obviously."

"And why wouldn't we stay at mine?" Owen demanded.

"Because I live in the penthouse at the Hilton, and no one would ever believe I'd voluntarily stay for more than five minutes in your unsanitary bungalow." Claire snorted. "Oh, this is a good one. Do I have any birthmarks?" She stared at him expectantly.

Owen studied her for a long moment. "No, but you do have a tattoo on the small of your back."

Her jaw dropped. "How do you…"

"Last year at the Christmas party? You were wearing that dress with an open back that ended just below… What is it? I didn't get a good look. It was something angular, like a Celtic Cross?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" She regarded him darkly.

"You have no idea," Owen drawled. "Come on, tell me. I gotta know."

"Forget about it," she muttered and closed the folder, tucking it under her arm and straightening her hair that flew right back into her face the very next second.

"I might have to see it, too," he suggested.

Clair smiled sweetly at him. "Don't make me hurt you."

Owen stepped toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Don't jump into the water… sweetheart," he muttered. "There are people from the park here. Might as well start pretending this farce has some substance to it."

She glanced around surreptitiously, noticing that there were, in fact, several of the employees on the deck, strikingly different from the overly excited tourists. Most of them held to the back, no longer losing their minds over the prospect of seeing dinosaurs. Their eyes, however, were on her and Owen, an she felt herself go stiff immediately.

"You might want to relax a little," Owen whispered into her ear. Form this close, she could smell his aftershave on his skin and faint scent of laundry detergent from his clothes, and the warmth of his body made her shiver despite the head of the day.

"If you touch my ass one more time, I'll feed you to something and make it look like an accident," she whispered back. "Dear."

"See?" He turned to her, his face not even an inch away from hers and his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "You can be nice."

xoox

"Why am I doing this, again?" Claire asked for the tenth time, sipping her coffee as she stifled another yawn. The morning was cool and fresh, unlike so many of them that started with a blast of humid heat, threatening to squish her under its force. "I already arranged their stay at the hotel."

For whatever reason, he called her last night as asked her to come meet his parents at the ferry terminal in the morning. Distracted by the budget reports she was only halfway through and desperate to get it over with before sunrise, Claire said yes just to get him off her back. It was only later that it occurred to her that it was a monumental waste of time – certainly the one she couldn't afford. For all she cared, all she needed to do was memorize a few facts about him, not immerse herself deeply into his life.

Besides, now that the funding was practically in her pocket, she could actually greenlight the building of a new paddock. Dr. Wu told her that the Indominus Rex would be bigger than the T-rex when fully grown, and they didn't have suitable facilities on the island. And this was a complicated process – the paddock needed to be approved by the ACU first, then she needed to hire the contracts, order the materials, make sure the project was complete within established period of time.

The animals were expected to hatch in a few weeks. It would take them several weeks to a couple of months to grow enough to survive on their own. It wasn't that long a time, Claire was beginning to think now. And even though the blueprints of the new paddock were already sent to the ACU, she was starting to get anxious.

"Well," hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, Owen was peering at the water stretching before them, waiting for the ferry to appear in the harbour, "it wouldn't hurt you to make a good first impression on your future in-laws."

He was surprisingly upbeat for this early hour, which only added to Claire's annoyance. He certainly didn't stay up until midnight poring over the budget figures.

"Owen?" Someone called from behind them, and he and Claire turned at the same time to see a slender dark-haired woman approach them, a smile on her face.

"Danni!" He beamed and gave her a quick, and if a little awkward, one-armed hug. "I… um, haven't seen you in a while."

"Well, you know me," she shrugged, and then her eyes darted toward Claire.

"Oh… this is Claire-" He began, as if only now remembering she was there.

"I'm aware," the girl nodded.

"Claire, this is Danielle."

"From the Petting Zoo, right?" Claire shook the other woman's hand.

"You got me," she smiled, then glanced at Owen. "I'm hearing the congratulations are in order?"

He shuffled toward Claire and threw his arm around her shoulders, and the fact that this gesture lacked the easy familiarity with which he treated the Petting Zoo girl didn't escape Claire's attention, making her stomach twist for some reason.

"I guess you could say that," he confirmed.

"Congratulations, then." Her eyes lingered on Owen for just a second longer. And then she looked past them. "And there's the ferry. I gotta go, I'm picking up—I gotta go."

"You could've married her," Claire muttered when Owen dropped his arm and stepped away from her almost instantly.

"No, I couldn't." His lips twisted a little. "Why would I do it to her? I actually like her."

Claire rolled her eyes, a quip rolling on the tip of her tongue, but this was when a crowd of newcomers spilled off the ferry, loud and noisy and seemingly everywhere at once, and before she could so much as blink, there was a couple in their mid-60's hugging and kissing Owen, talking over one another.

Elaine Grady was a small woman with a bright, sunny smile, her hair deep auburn-red. She was ah-ing and oh-ing like she hadn't seen her son in a century, hugging him every few seconds, while her husband, Jack, clapped him on the back in all the moments in-between. Almost as tall and broad in the shoulders, he certainly made it clear who Owen got his looks from, their eyes identical blue, their smiles mirroring each other's.

And then all three of them turned to Claire who was beginning to feel like she'd crashed someone's private party, inferior and so out of place she'd much rather jump off the dock than observe their hearty greetings for another minute.

"Mom, dad, this is Claire," Owen introduced her. "My fiancé."

There was a long pause during which Jack's eyebrows crept all the way to his hairline. "The itinerary girl?" He asked, although it was hard to tell whether he was addressing her or his son.

Claire gave Owen a pained look. You told him? You told your FATHER about that date?

And he was looking away, and hiding his smile, and fumbling with his parents' luggage while she shook hands with them, not bothering to interrupt the flow of news they were pouring on both of them about the people Claire had never heard of. It was an endearing thing to witness, she had to admit that much. And also nerve-wrecking, making her wonder why did it all have to happen this weekend.

"Where are you going?" Claire demanded when Owen turned off the main road and headed deeper into the island and away from the resort.

"Don't worry, dear," Elaine called from the backseat of his jeep. "Owen told us you booked the room for us, but we wouldn't want to trouble you. We'll just stay with you two."

Claire turned around, the belt digging uncomfortably into her chest.

"Us two?" She asked dumbly.

Jack waved his hand. "The more the merrier," he announced. "Plus, we'll get to know you better."

"But I actually-" Claire began –live in a 1,400 . penthouse with a Jacuzzi.

"Don't mind at all," Owen finished for her, his eyes on the bumpy mud road. "She doesn't, dad. Right, honey-bun?"

Claire glared at him and turned away to look at the green blur of trees outside her window, fuming. One weekend, she reminded herself. One weekend to be convincing enough to sell this stuff during their interview on Monday, and then they'd sign the papers and never talk to one another until it was time to get a divorce. She could do it. It was just for three days.

"I am not staying here for the weekend, Owen," she hissed when he parked by his bungalow and his parents spilled out of the car.

He leaned closer to her over the console. "It was your idea, Claire!" He hissed back. "My parents want to stay here. It's their goddamn anniversary, I'm not going to force them to stay at the resort if they don't want to." He breathed out through his nose and rubbed his eyes. "You want to sell this nonsense to anyone? Start acting like it."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am not staying here," she repeated firmly.

To be continued...

A/N: Well, I hope this is fun! Let me know what you think :)