"I'll just need you to sign here, and here, and here." The lady leaned over her desk, fountain pen tip pointing at blanks all over the top sheet. She looked oddly off-balance, feet anchored behind the giant wood spread and blazered torso hovering over the surface of the desk. Considering how easily she held up the foot-high stack of documents, she probably had more upper-body strength than he did.
Gotta start working out soon.
He smiled politely. "We can sit down."
The lady, straight black hair grazing her jaw, nodded gratefully. She set the pile down and slipped into her chair.
"We'll take good care of your money," she promised confidently, swiveling side to side in a 45-degree arc, pen in the air. "Clients have praised our indicative rates for decades."
"Right," he acknowledged, hands flipping the pages carefully, scanning thoroughly for every neon yellow 'sign-here' sticky note.
Miss one spot - come here again.
Considering the conspicuous display of those giant, glass front doors - he'd rather not.
"Do you want some coffee?" Megan Choi, world's most classy female personal banker, leaned forward slightly. "I'll have my assistant get some."
"No, thanks. I'm good." Logan swallowed and put on that small, polite smile again.
The less fuss we make the better.
Of course, he couldn't blame the bank for treating them like VIPs. It wasn't everyday that someone would try to invest three million dollars - in cash.
Big wedding.
He shrugged at his own thought. If Veronica didn't want a lavish ceremony, then he wasn't about to let that kind of money go stale. Being born rich meant being taught how to stay rich.
"And you, Mrs. Erickson?"
Mrs. Echolls.
He couldn't help smiling a little. The world may never know - but he knew she knew exactly whom she was marrying.
"Ms. Mason, actually," Veronica corrected the woman. She smiled - also politely, he could tell - and added, "And I would actually love a cup of Blue Mountain."
Megan nodded, raising her hands to her intercom.
"Actually, I'm really picky with my coffee," Veronica stopped her, 'Amber' smile in full effect. "Could you be so kind as to get it for me? Black and freshly brewed, please."
Megan was obviously pissed - but held it in anyway. "Very well."
And she was out the room.
"You told her we were married?" Veronica whispered the very moment the door clicked shut.
That's what she's upset about?
He tried to appear unaffected. "Does it matter? We're going to be - aren't we?"
She didn't answer.
He itched, ready to spring from his chair.
What was the point of saving all this money if he would never have someone to share a life with?
"Just - nothing," she mumbled under her breath.
"Huh?" He looked at her.
"I just - I always thought I'd never get married. I thought the idea was - well, weak. It's romantic, sure, but it's also - " She sighed. Then she met his eye. "I always thought I'll just be Veronica Mars for life."
She didn't really make sense. He didn't say much, his mind and heart pre-occupied.
"Logan, I've sensed something off for the past two days. Is everything okay?"
No - because you want to leave me.
"Everything's fine," he muttered just as Megan pranced in with Veronica's coffee. He didn't spare a single glance at his fiancée for the rest of their time at the bank.
She heard the door click shut - followed by his signature sigh.
She smiled, opening the oven just in time. "Hey, snookums, ready for Lasagna night?"
She'd worked extra hard at the pasta machine today. Thank God lasagna only required full sheets. The face that met hers when she turned, however, did not look grateful at all.
"Hey." She slipped the piping hot casserole on the counter before skipping around to walk closer to him. "What's wrong?"
He looked at her quietly, half-confused and half-pained. His hands stayed firmly by his side, not even remotely hinting at the possibility of his usual welcome home kissing session.
"Lo?"
Sure, the bank had been a nervous visit - but it had been productive, at least. It didn't seem like anyone followed them, and there had been limited conflict other than Megan's petty annoyance at playing intern. It had gone so uneventfully that Logan declared himself able to work after they came back. She was the one with a day job. Chef's hours had kept him away from home until now.
"Logan?" She reached for his arm.
He flinched back. "What's wrong with Mrs. Erickson?"
What?
"Who's Mrs. Erickson?"
The way his face grew dark told her that was the totally wrong thing to say. His words came out sharp, angry, "Why even bother pretending you want to marry me, Veronica? It's obvious you want out."
What now?
She stepped forward, standing inches away from him. "What are you talking about?"
"You. Mrs. Erickson. Leaving. Whatever." He stormed over to the sofa, dropping down like an old, tired soldier.
She frowned, thinking. Then she cocked her head. "Is this about this morning? When I corrected the banker? I just didn't want to come across as a gold-digger, you know."
"Yeah, sure, that's why," he threw back at her.
"It's true!" It was her turn to march over, hands on her hips. "Why would you think it's anything else?"
"I dunno - maybe I've just been too blind to see the signs."
"Signs?"
"You know." He shrugged. "Like someone saying she doesn't want to be Vanessa Mason, and then saying she prefers it over Mrs. Erickson."
For a moment, she really wanted to slap him.
"Grow a pair, Lo. I'm not leaving you." She rolled her eyes and marched back towards the kitchen.
"Ah, she walks out - classic."
She stopped at the sarcasm, eyes stinging.
What's wrong with him?
She threw her head back, talking upwards with her back to him. "Did you really think I'd still be here if I didn't want to be?"
"Thought you were forced," he mumbled.
Is he drunk?
Logan had stayed so sober since they'd met again that she had no idea what kind of drunk he was these days. She spun around and strode back. "You underestimate yourself, Lo. Why would I say 'yes' if I didn't mean it?"
"I thought you did." He looked up at her, eyes glassy and face red. So he had been drinking. "Did you?"
"Of course." Frustration and genuine sadness almost overtook her. "Why wouldn't I?"
He shrugged, still frowning. "You said you'd always be Veronica Mars. And, believe me, to me you are. But - but what if that's not enough? What if you want - more?"
He struggled to his feet; she looked up at the face on top of his staggering form.
"You're born for something bigger than this, Veronica - something bigger than me. I can't expect you to actually love me. I mean - "
Her hand flew to his face before she could stop herself. The slap sounded loud, strong, and painful. He stared down, shocked. She fought her tears. "You can't take every word I say and twist it wrong, Lo. It's not gonna work this way."
"Vero - "
"I do love you, jackass." Her breathing was short, distressed. "But if you refuse to let yourself believe it - then nothing's gonna come of this. Nothing."
He stared at her - face wavering between elation and disbelief. She waited him out.
"Could we get married tomorrow?" His next sentence came out of nowhere.
"What?"
He wasn't about to accept momentary confusion for an answer, apparently, since he just frowned, mumbled incoherently about taking a walk, and rushed out the door.
And I thought that was my move.
The bare trees that looked so dainty and interesting days ago now felt completely menacing. He shrunk his neck to keep more skin covered by his upturned collar. That's the problem with diva fits - you're never really prepared for the aftermath.
He huffed, lungs cold, and kept walking aimlessly.
It wasn't that he didn't believe her - he knew she was genuine in this whole engagement thing.
But not about the wedding.
What kind of serious bride would want to get things over at city hall? In saner moments, he'd be able to assure himself that it was just a personality thing.
But now, tired and hurt and confused, he carried a mind full of irrational theories.
What if she said yes because she's bored? What if she wanted out of the program to get rid of him? What if this? What if that?
Ugh, I sound like a girl.
Not that there was anything wrong with men being emotional - but he felt like a hormonal college girl at the moment, head and heart full of things he knew to be false and yet felt very true.
"Oomph!"
He apologized gruffly as the other man, bundled in a coat, scurried away. This barren Northeast winter was gonna be the death of him yet.
He stumbled onwards, not really caring where he was headed. He just need to get away - to order these thoughts and feelings. He needed to think. He needed to mourn. He needed to -
The sound of a crisp, broken branch behind him stopped him in his tracks.
He looked left and right. The night was still - harsh and lonely. He turned around slowly.
Is that a man hiding behind a tree?
He moved - and the shadow moved too.
What?
The shadow shuffled before it melted into the tree's silhouette. Then everything grew eerily still.
He gulped. This felt awfully familiar - particularly from senior year. And when he's on the verge of town - this far away from the hustle and bustle, then he was in big, big trouble.
A/N: Deep, heartfelt thanks to irma66, who takes time to help me despite her own busy writing schedule. If I can be half the friend and beta she is, this fandom would get a lot more stories more often. Thanks for reading! :)