Chapter 11
RAPHAEL
Idid not sleep. Well, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. I slept intermittently. Every creak of the house drew my attention. The storm passed sometime before dawn, leaving the estate unnaturally still.
Belle was downstairs. I had chosen that room deliberately.
It was on the first floor, so there were no stairs.
Plus, it would give her more privacy. I told myself it was logistics.
By seven-thirty, I had already reviewed the marriage statutes for the county, contacted my attorney, and confirmed the process could be expedited.
Paperwork was straightforward, but waiting was not.
I stood outside her door . . . well, pacing more than standing.
Yet I found myself counting seconds between sounds from within.
At precisely 8:02, I heard movement. Fabric shifted, and floorboards adjusted under cautious weight. Then the door opened a fraction.
Belle’s hair was loose, slightly tangled from sleep. She blinked against the hallway light. She looked soft.
“What are you doing?” she said immediately, pulling her arms around her soft curves.
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?” she asked.
That was a good question. Why was I lurking outside her door? I didn’t even have the answer to the question. I thrust the crutches toward her.
She stared at them. “Absolutely not.”
“You require stabilization.”
“I require caffeine.”
“Both are possible.”
She looked down at the crutches again. “Where did those even come from?”
“I had them delivered.”
A little huff of laughter sounded from her as she shook her head, “Of course, you did.”
She leaned against the doorframe instead of taking them. “I am not hobbling around your estate like Tiny Tim.”
“You’re currently hobbling around my estate like a liability.”
I prepared for snark, but what I got was a laugh. A full loud laugh. “You really are something else.”
I stepped forward slightly and placed the crutches firmly into her hands. She took them, and her balance shifted immediately, more stable. She took a tentative step. The crutches absorbed the strain. Her expression shifted, just slightly.
“Don’t say anything," she said.
“I didn’t say a word.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Where are we going?”
“My office.”
“Why?”
“To proceed,” I said plainly. I wasn’t sure where the confusion was. She said last night she would marry me this morning. It is morning.
“With what?” She looked up at me with questioning eyes, and her pink plush lips parted. My attraction to her, coupled with this wedding, could be a problem, but this was for her.
“The marriage.”
She blinked at me. “It’s eight in the morning.”
“Correct.”
“I haven’t had coffee.”
“That is not legally required.”
She stared at me like I had personally offended her ancestors. “I am not marrying anyone before caffeine,” she said firmly.
“You require coffee first?”
The standoff lasted approximately four seconds.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Coffee. Then you can drag me into your corporate matrimony.”
I exhaled through my nose.
“Kitchen,” I conceded.
Her lips twitched in victory as we made our way slowly down the hallway.
The kitchen smelled faintly of last night’s rosemary. She maneuvered carefully toward the coffee machine, adjusting her balance on the crutches. I hovered, and of course, she felt it.
“Stop hovering,” she said without looking at me.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” She glanced at me.
“You’re very sure about a lot of things,” I said in amusement as I watched her pull the coffee down from the shelf above the coffee maker.
“Yes,” she said without even a glance, she just scooped the coffee into the filter as I took the pot and filled it with the filtered water at the sink.
“Except me,” I said
The comment landed softer than I intended. She cocked her head as she considered it.
“I don’t think so,” she said. She stilled slightly.
“Oh?”
She looked at me with a smile I hadn’t seen before, one that lit up a place in my heart that had been dark for a long time. It was a place I wasn’t even sure was still there.
“I may not be certain why you are doing this, but I am certain you are about to become overbearing.”
It was playful, not an accusation.
“I’m equally certain you’ll attempt to minimize your injury within the next hour.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I am also certain you would leave this house without treatment if I permitted it.”
She didn’t argue.
“I am certain,” I continued, “that you do not like needing help.”
She scooped the grounds slowly, deliberately.
“And I am certain,” she said quietly, “that you don’t like not being able to fix something.”
That stopped me. The machine clicked on. The silence between us shifted. She didn’t look smug. She looked . . . observant.
“You’re not wrong,” I admitted.
She looked up at that. There it was. That spark I had been trying to deny. The recognition that she saw me more clearly than anyone had in a long time.
“See?” she said softly. “We’re both insufferable.”
“That is not the word I would choose.”
She smiled at that. And something in my chest loosened in response.
“Did you sleep at all?” she said, studying me more closely now. She poured us each a mug of coffee.
“I slept some. I also reviewed documentation.”
“You also paced outside my door.” The playful look on her face had me aching to put my arms around her and kiss her. I was starting to question if this was a good idea. I liked her entirely too much to be around her like this. But I was a selfish man. I was going to keep her as long as I could.
“That is unverified,” I shot back at her, keeping our playful banter alive.
“I could feel it.”
“You could not.”
“I absolutely could.”
She handed me a mug. Our fingers brushed.
It was brief and accidental, but that spark sent a jolt right through me.
Every small touch with her felt like a jolt to my system.
I was beginning to crave her touch. I had not had the touch of a woman in a very long time.
But this is contractual, nothing more. I would do better to remember that.
She took a sip of coffee, closed her eyes and exhaled like someone who had survived a small war.
When she was done, she opened her eyes and caught me observing her. “You’re a little terrifying,” she said.
“Maybe that’s why they call me the Beast.”
She laughed. Actually laughed. The sound settled somewhere deep and permanent.
“I think it’s because you’re so broody . . . and hairy.”
I gave her a playful growl.
“And yet,” she said, softer now, “you got me crutches.”
“You needed them.”
The coffee machine hissed quietly behind us as we both stood there, unsure of what to say next.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay,” I echoed.
“Let’s get married.”
My pulse shifted again.
“But if you rush me out the door without letting me finish this coffee,” she added, “I will absolutely leave you at the altar.”
“No altar, just my desk,” I replied.
She smiled into her mug.
“How romantic.”
“It’s a very nice desk,” I said as I sipped my own coffee.
When we finished, we made our way to the office.
I fought my urge to pick her up and carry her there.
If I knew how, without further risk to her knee, I might have done it.
But I also didn’t want to scare her. It seemed like we were reaching an unlikely agreement, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.
When we entered the office, Chandler stood near the fireplace, legal paperwork in hand, expression hovering between disbelief and professional commitment.
Geoffrey stood beside my desk, posture immaculate, hands folded neatly.
Belle leaned on her crutches beside me. She was wearing soft gray joggers and one of her faded band T-shirts. Her hair was pulled back loosely.
Not bridal. Not ceremonial. Just . . . real.
“And now we start our morning with wedded bliss,” Chandler said, smiling at Belle. “You sure you want to marry this–”
I huffed, stopping his sentence. “You agreed to officiate.”
“That I did. I just didn’t realize it would be before 9 AM, sir.”
Belle leaned slightly toward him. “He’s been like this since dawn.”
“I’m afraid he is always like this, ma’am,” Geoffrey added.
“I am standing right here,” I grumbled.
“Yes,” they replied in unison.
Chandler cleared his throat and pulled up the digital form. “Alright,” he said. “Under the authority granted by the extremely flexible laws of Ohio and a sketchy internet site . . . we’re doing this.”
Belle looked at me.
“You’re sure you don’t want flowers?” Geoffrey asked lightly. I shot him a glare, but he ignored me.
“Nope, I’m all set.”
“Cake?” He asked again.
“ . . . I do like cake, but I’m all set.”
“A promise of love to be taken back at a later date?”
“Absolutely not,” Belle said with a small chuckle. “All I need for the wedding of my dreams is the promise of health insurance.”
I beamed down at her. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Chandler glanced between us like he had just been let in on a secret. I was too distracted by Belle to think anything of it.
He began. It was efficient. The legal language stripped down to essentials. When it came time to answer, Belle glanced at me. A flicker of nerves there now.
“Do you, Raphael Renault,” Chandler began dryly, “enter into this marriage of your own free will and with full awareness that this woman is absolutely out of your league.”
“I do,” I said.
Belle’s lips twitched.
“And do you, Isabelle Blythe,” Chandler continued, “enter into this arrangement knowingly, voluntarily, and with complete awareness that this man will be overbearing but in a loving way.”
She giggled. God help me, I would do anything to hear that again.
“I do.”
The words were steady.
Geoffrey stepped forward with something small. He had two simple bands. They were plain and unadorned, yet they held so much weight. I had gone into this thinking only of Belle, but the sight of the rings did unsettle me.
Belle looked down at them.
“We’re doing rings too?” she asked.
“I guess so,” I said, taking the rings from Geoffrey
He stepped back as I slid the band onto her finger.
I did the same. The metal felt unfamiliar.
The plain gold band on my finger glinted in the morning light and stirred up a mix of emotions.
The weight was settling in of what I had just done.
It was the right thing to do, I was oddly certain of that.
Still, the sight of the ring pricked at the past.
“And now you may kiss the bride.” I turned to Chandler. “For it to be legally binding, of course,” he said with a smirk I knew all too well.
Silence.
Belle looked up at me and gave a little shrug. My heart thudded in my chest as I lowered my head.
It’d been so long since I had kissed anyone. Anticipation bubbled barely bridled inside of me. Letting someone in my space hadn’t happened in so long. It was a foreign feeling. I hadn’t even hugged anyone in recent memory, let alone kissed them.
She put her hand on my shoulder and reached up.
My heart beat as if I were being chased by a predator.
And then our lips met. It was the briefest of pecks, but something happened, I was sure of it.
There was a shift. I opened my eyes and saw the same look on her face.
I ached to wrap her in my arms and kissed her thoroughly.
“Interesting,” Chandler said.
Geoffrey stepped forward, signing as a witness with precise, elegant penmanship. Chandler tapped the final confirmation on the tablet.
Geoffrey inclined his head slightly. “Congratulations.”
Chandler sighed. “I need coffee.”
Belle adjusted her grip on the crutches, and I turned immediately to the desk.
“You will be added to my insurance policy this morning. I’ve already taken care of that.”
She blinked. “Of course you have.”
“You have an appointment at 11:30 with an orthopedic specialist.”
She groaned softly. “Raphael.”
“You will attend.”
“Bossy already.”
“This is non-negotiable.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought we were partners.”
“We are.”
“Then why are you ordering me?” I could see the twinkle in her eye as she appeared exasperated. This woman would keep me on my toes.
“So there will be no delay.”
She opened her mouth, then promptly closed it.
I continued. “You are injured. You now have coverage. There is no longer a barrier.”
She studied me for a moment.
“Fine,” she said.
Chandler looked between us. “You two are a formidable couple.”
“We are not a couple,” I said automatically.
Belle glanced sideways at me.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Chandler said.
Geoffrey cleared his throat gently. “Will you require transportation to the doctor, Mrs. Renault?”
The title hung in the air. Belle inhaled sharply. Her eyes flicked to mine. Mrs. Renault. I did not look away.
“Oh, I’m not changing—”
“Yes,” I interrupted her.
She swallowed.
“Fine,” she said softly.
The room settled. As Belle shifted her weight on the crutches and looked at me with something that wasn’t fear, and wasn’t resentment.
It was something else. I realized this no longer felt procedural.
It felt significant. I had married her for stability.
And as she turned toward the door, I felt something entirely illogical take root.