Chapter 9
9
[Ruthie]
“ I do.”
Within forty-eight hours, I’m standing across from Bolan in a Vegas chapel, accepting a list of promises with two little words.
There’s something a little seedy about our location, but I don’t comment on my surroundings. I’ve hardly had time to think since agreeing to be Bolan’s wife.
In the interim of my acceptance was Jared’s concern and Nylah’s objection. She’s aware of Bolan’s reputation and I’m aware that his mother Joanna was not an active part of his life.
Her objections included her worry. “Is this a grief thing?”
A grief thing? Like I’m rebelling against the emotion. Little does my mother-in-law know that I grieved Clifton and his love long before he died, and it was something I wasn’t willing to discuss with her.
“I’m just ready for a change of scenery.” My response wasn’t a total lie. I’d be getting out of California and away from ISM, at least physically.
Thanks to my agreement to be his wife, Bolan got the three-year contract he wanted with the Chicago Anchors. I got a way out of Los Angeles. A chance to escape people I adore but need a break from.
When I answer the officiant, Bolan’s smile widens, and his broad shoulders hoist him taller. Like the weight of the moment had been pressing down on him, but with this simple phrase I’ve lessened the pressure.
When I first entered the chapel, Bolan stood at the end of the short aisle, looking rather anxious. His left leg jiggling. Nylah and Jared are present as witnesses. Floyd is here as well with a woman beside him holding Tulane. She’s dressed in an innocent white dress like a miniature cherub. A part of me wanted to demand the woman hand that sweet baby over to me. Tulane did not look happy being confined by someone who was clearly a stranger to her.
As I strode down the aisle, Bolan didn’t take his eyes off me. That deep emerald gaze called to me, like it had done on a few occasions, not knowing the power of their pull.
When I reached the end of the aisle, he finally smiled. A bit crooked. A lot pleased. Dimple present.
“You wore white?”
“I did.”
Bolan and I had minimal interaction in the whirlwind of events leading up to this moment, but one thing he asked me was what my dress looked like. Originally, I’d planned to wear a dress I’d only worn once before for some other special occasion hosted by Imperial Sports Management.
When I told him it was light pink, his responding text was simple. Oh .
The single word led me to doubt my decision. At first, I thought he might want me to wear something vibrant, like the scarlet dress I wore to The Red Dress Affair. Then it occurred to me that Bolan might want his bride to wear white. Even if this was all pretend, it’s still his first wedding.
“You look beautiful, flower.”
White didn’t exactly scream exotic or enticing, but the way Bolan looked at me, I felt beautiful. Like that whimsical flower dancing in a breeze.
My dress isn’t half as stuffy as my first wedding dress. This one floats to my knees with a fuller skirt and a tight-fitting bodice that culminates at my neck with a giant bow wrapped just off center around my throat.
Bolan looks stunning as well in the same tux I saw him wearing the night of the fundraiser.
The night he bent me over a balcony railing and slid into me from behind.
Despite it being my wedding day, there is no place for reminiscent thoughts like that. This is an arrangement.
The deal will be sealed with a kiss like Bolan teased roughly forty-eight hours ago in Jared’s office, because the officiant ends the ceremony with the suggestion that Bolan may kiss his bride.
He leans forward. My mouth waters.
He chews at his lower lip. I lick mine.
Then he presses a butterfly-soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.
Disappointment floods my belly. He didn’t kiss me . It’s our wedding day and he didn’t kiss me.
Bolan pulls back, watching me, assessing my expression, which I’m certain shows shock and discontent.
With a soft smile, he offers, “Patience.” He pauses and his grin grows, the tweak of his dimple showing. “I haven’t earned the kind of kisses I want yet.”
What kind of kisses? A wedding kiss? A seal that binds me to him? Or one of those over-the-top displays that border on making out at the altar?
I want over-the-top!
But the disappointment in me turns to butterflies, wondering what Bolan will do to earn kisses from me.
Ones that would leave me breathless and craving more, like when I was only eighteen.