Chapter 1 GENEVIEVE #2
I sucked in a breath, not allowing the threat of tears to ruin my mascara. I shoved those feelings deep, to a dark place where they’d stay until I could afford the breakdown needed. Now was not that time, no matter how fucked my life had become.
First, there was my job. By quitting, I’d killed my dream to one day become a lawyer and work alongside the great Reggie Barker.
Did Clifton Forge even have lawyers? If so, I doubted any specialized in pro bono work for abused women.
There certainly wasn’t a law school nearby.
Which meant if I did find a job, I’d be stuck as a paralegal.
Goodbye, dream job.
Next, there was my condo, the one I’d picked out meticulously. The one I’d drained my savings account to buy. The one I’d been slowly decorating, taking care and patience to pick things that were perfect, not just things that filled empty spaces.
Goodbye, home.
It was agony to think of selling my condo, especially while I was stuck in a studio apartment, and not the swanky kind. No, this was the bachelor kind with white, cracked walls and old tan carpet.
Goodbye, life.
I trudged out of the bathroom, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. My heels clopped down the metal stairs as I gripped the handrail to keep my balance. When my shoes hit pavement, I hustled for the car, not risking a glance at the garage.
I’d been avoiding my half brother, Dash, and his girlfriend, Bryce, since I’d arrived yesterday. They had questions about what I was doing here. Why I was living in Isaiah’s apartment. How long I was staying.
I had answers but wasn’t ready to give them yet.
When I pulled out of the parking lot undetected, I breathed a long sigh, then followed my phone’s navigation toward downtown Clifton Forge.
I passed a wide river along the way. It meandered along the edge of town, bordered by trees that swayed in the breeze. The sun gleamed off its flowing currents. The mountains stood proud and blue in the distance. It was . . . picturesque.
Maybe I’d been a bit harsh in my judgment of Clifton Forge. It actually had the same country, quiet feel as some of the rural areas in Colorado, places Mom had taken me for weekend getaways. The garage wasn’t all that shitty either but fancy, like the garages you saw on car-resurrection shows.
Maybe, in time, I’d get to know the town and its people and not feel like a prisoner.
Today was not that day.
Today was day one of my sentence.
The closer I got to my destination, the faster my heart raced.
Parking in one of the few open spaces in front of the Clifton Forge courthouse, I dug through my console for a handful of change to slot into the meter.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used change instead of my credit card to pay for parking.
With it maxed out at two hours—I really hoped this didn’t take that long—I walked up the stairs that led to the red brick building. When I reached the door, my eyes caught sight of a familiar form waiting, and I stuttered a step.
“Hey.” Isaiah pushed off the wall.
“Hi,” I breathed, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress.
He was in a black button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, the same as he’d been in at the garage. They were clean jeans, a bit faded, and they fit him nicely. Still, they were jeans. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me. Maybe I should have just worn jeans too.
“What?” He glanced at himself.
I snapped my eyes away from those long legs, waving it off. “Nothing.”
“You look nice.” He ran a hand over his short brown hair, avoiding my eyes.
“Thanks. So do you.”
His black shirt was buttoned down to his wrists, covering the tattoos on his forearms. The one that ran behind his ear trailed down his neck before it disappeared under his collar.
I wasn’t sure if he had any on his back, legs or chest, but each of his fingers had a different design.
Ten small tattoos made of lines and dots, all situated across his knuckles.
“Ready?” I asked.
He nodded. “Are you sure about this?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“No. I guess we don’t.”
Isaiah opened the door for me, but inside, he took the lead, guiding us through the courthouse hallways by the wooden signs hung on the walls.
The floors had been freshly polished and the overwhelming smell of lemon filled my nose.
We disappeared down a series of turns until we reached the door emblazoned with Clerk of the District Court.
Underneath was a judge’s name. Below that was Justice of the Peace.
We were here. We were really doing this. I was marrying a stranger today. I was marrying the man who’d saved my life.
It was my turn to return the favor and save his.
Isaiah greeted the clerk at the front desk, speaking for us both because I’d forgotten how to work my tongue. I stood by his side, frozen and dazed, waiting as he filled out the marriage license application. When it was my turn, my hand shook as I filled in the blanks.
“Do you have your IDs?” the clerk asked. She took them both along with the application, then pointed to the row of chairs behind us. “You can have a seat.”
I clenched the arms of the chair as I sat, taking a few long breaths to stop my head from spinning.
This was not how I’d imagined getting married.
This was not special. I was in a green dress because I didn’t want to wear white when this marriage was a farce.
I didn’t know my fiancé’s middle name or how he liked to be kissed.
I didn’t know if he drank coffee or what side of the bed he slept on.
My mom wasn’t here to walk me down the aisle.
Blood pumped loud in my ears and the hammering in my chest hurt like crazy. I’d never had an anxiety attack before. Was that what this was? I’d gotten kidnapped just over a week ago and hadn’t flipped out then. If I could survive that experience, then this was a piece of cake.
It’s temporary. It’s only temporary. Eventually, we’d get a divorce and I’d be free to move home to Colorado. A few years here and then I’d get my life back. I could do this for Isaiah.
“We don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“We do,” I insisted, finding the same determination I’d had when I’d suggested marriage in the first place. “We do.”
“Genevieve . . .” My name sounded so smooth in his deep voice. Each syllable was evenly spaced. He didn’t rush through it like a lot of people did.
I looked up at him, meeting that gorgeous gaze, and my heart softened. Isaiah was a nice man. A good man. He didn’t deserve to suffer because of my mother’s mistakes. “We’re doing this.”
“Isaiah and Genevieve?” The clerk waved us up, sliding a marriage license across the counter. “You’re all set. Just go right through there.”
We followed her finger through a door to our left, finding a man shuffling some papers on his oak desk. His glasses were perched low on his nose. His head was bald except for the ring of gray hair that ran from ear to ear.
“The future Mr. and Mrs.”—he scanned a paper on the desk—“Reynolds.”
Mrs. Reynolds. I gulped, then forced a smile. We were supposed to be in love—a couple who’d met and fallen in love on the same day—so I slipped my hand into Isaiah’s, tensing as the heat and callouses from his palm hit mine.
He didn’t flinch but his frame tightened.
“Shall we?” The judge motioned us to the middle of the room. We stood in front of him as he took up his position and gave us both a kind smile. If he could sense our fear, he didn’t comment.
“Do you have rings?”
Panic hit hard. In everything I’d done this past week, I hadn’t thought to get rings. “I, uh—”
“Here.” Isaiah fished two rings out of his jeans pocket. One was a simple band. Not gold or silver but a dark gray, like titanium. And the other was a thin platinum band with a halo of small diamonds in the center.
My mouth fell open.
“It’s not much.” Isaiah swallowed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
“It’s beautiful.” I squeezed his hand, then took the ring. Beautiful was the truth. The diamonds weren’t huge, but I didn’t need huge. He’d already done enough. “Thank you.”
“Excellent.” The judge smiled. “Isaiah, Genevieve, please join hands.”
We did, facing one another. Direct eye contact was fleeting at best. Mostly, I focused on Isaiah’s nose and its wide bridge. It was an admirable nose, strong and straight, set perfectly between those haunted eyes.
“By joining hands, you are consenting to be bound together. Husband and wife. You are promising to honor, love and support each other. Do you, Isaiah, take Genevieve as your wife?”
His eyes found mine. “I do.”
“Do you, Genevieve, take Isaiah as your husband?”
“I do.”
Two words and it was done. I was married.
“Then by the authority vested in me by the great state of Montana, I pronounce you husband and wife. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.”
Marriage.
It was done.
Isaiah was safe. No one in the world could make me tell them what had happened at that cabin in the mountains. Because now, I was his wife.
I turned to the justice, ready to say thank you, then make my escape. But he opened his mouth for one last statement that made all the color drain from Isaiah’s face.
“Isaiah, you may now kiss your bride.”