Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ASHA
My hand jerks back from his chest like I've been burned. "What?"
"You marry me tonight." He says it so casually, like he's suggesting we order another round.
A disbelieving, laugh bubbles up. "You're joking."
His gaze doesn't waver. Doesn't even flicker with amusement. Oh, God. He's not joking.
My pulse kicks into overdrive, and suddenly, the bar feels too small. "Trigger, that's…we can't just…" I swallow hard, trying to organize the chaos in my head. Proposing this arrangement was one thing. A strategic plan with a conveniently vague timeline. But now? Tonight? I thought I'd have time.
"Why not?" He leans back, studying me with those knowing eyes that see too much.
"Because." I grab my drink, needing something to do with my hands. "Because this is your brother's wedding. Laney's wedding. Our best friends. We can't just hijack their night and make it about us. That's…" I shake my head. "That's unforgivably selfish."
"Is it?" He tilts his head, considering.
"Or would we be making their night even more memorable?
Think about it." He shifts closer, his voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial.
"They'd get to share their celebration with us.
Everyone we love is already here. The venue's decorated, the music's playing, there's cake—"
"That’s their cake—"
"And an officiant who's probably having a drink in the corner right now.
" He's gaining momentum, and I can see the idea taking shape in his mind, becoming real.
"All our friends and family in one place.
No need for another gathering, another performance.
We do it now, and it's done. Authentic. Spontaneous.
The kind of love story people might actually believe. "
My stomach flips. He's not wrong. The spontaneity would sell it. My hands start to tremble, and I press them flat against the bar. "Trigg, I can't… I need time to—"
"Time to what?" His voice gentles, but his eyes stay keenly tuned on mine. "Talk yourself out of it? Build up more walls? We both know what this is. You said it yourself; it needs to be convincing." He pauses then adds quietly, "What's more convincing than two people who couldn't wait another day?"
I stare at him, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. "They'll think we're crazy."
"They'll think we're crazy in love." The corner of his mouth lifts.
"Isn't that the point?" He leans back in his chair and studies me, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he believes this half-cocked solution to our problems is over before it's ever begun.
That I'm all talk. "That's my condition, sweetheart. Take it or leave it."
"Fine."
"Fine, what?" He narrows his gaze.
"You know what," I bite back.
He quirks a brow, and the bastard actually looks amused. "I'm going to need to hear the words."
My face goes hot, but there's no shame in it, only white-hot anger.
The nerve of this man, sitting there with that infuriatingly smug expression, waiting for me to spell it out as though I'm the only one who needs this arrangement.
He said himself he needs a wife to secure his merger.
However, it doesn't have to be me. I, on the other hand, only have one option for a groom.
I pull air through my nose and swallow my pride, reminding myself that this was my plan. My proposition. Only now, he’s twisting it around, backing me into a corner, forcing me to either commit right here, right now, or walk away entirely.
"I'll marry you." The words somehow taste bitter, like defeat.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part is the way his eyes light up, just for a second, before he schools his features back into that mask of cool indifference.
Like he's won something. The bartender appears, wiping down the section of the bar near us, and I realize how close we're sitting, how this must look.
Two people huddled together in a dim corner, voices low, intensity crackling between us.
From the outside, it probably does look like love.
From the inside, it feels like I've just signed my life away with three words and a man who knows exactly how to get under my skin.
He raises his glass, that damnable smirk still playing at his lips. "To us, then."
I grab my own glass and drain it in one burning gulp rather than toast with him. The burn is still fresh in my throat as he takes my glass and sets it down before sliding off his stool and pulling me with him.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to find the officiant," he says as though the answer is obvious.
His hand wraps around mine, warm, firm, possessive, and suddenly I'm being tugged away from the bar and deeper into the reception hall.
The bar was our quiet corner, our bubble of shadows and tension.
Now we're moving into the heart of the festivities.
The dance floor is packed with bodies, and he expertly winds us around the edges.
My heels catch on the edge of someone's chair, and I stumble, but his grip tightens, steadying me without breaking stride.
"Trigg, wait—" I start as though my trip was some sort of sign that we shouldn’t be doing this. But he doesn’t wait.
We cut through the crowd, and my heart is racing, not just from the sudden movement but from the reality crashing down on me with every step.
He spots the officiant near the back corner, a silver-haired man in his sixties nursing what looks like whiskey on the rocks.
He glances up as we approach, his expression shifting from relaxed to curious.
"Officiant Reynolds," Trigger says, that easy charm sliding into place. "We have one more job for you this evening, if you're willing."
The man blinks. "Another ceremony?"
Trigger reaches into his jacket, pulls out a thick wad of cash, and presses it into the officiant's hand. "Meet us by the windows in five minutes." Officiant Reynolds looks at the money, then at us, then back at the money. Trigger squeezes his shoulder. "Remember, five minutes. Don't be late."
He doesn't give the man time to object before we're moving again.
When I see he's pulling me toward the head table where his brother and Laney sit with their heads bent together in conversation, my stomach churns.
Shit, this is the part where we ruin their night, where we tell them we want to get married too, but he doesn't stop at the table.
Instead, he reaches past a seated guest and grabs an empty champagne flute, then snags a butter knife from someone's place setting. The guest looks startled, but Trigger is already moving to the center of the dance floor, pulling me with him until we're standing in the middle of everything.
The music is still playing. People are still dancing and laughing when he raises the glass and begins tapping the knife against it.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
The sound cuts through the music. A few heads turn.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
More people notice, and the DJ stops the music. The dance floor clears as people step back, creating a circle around us. Conversations die down, all eyes turning toward the center of the room, toward us.
"I apologize for the interruption," he says, his voice carrying across the silent room.
"I promise this isn't a best man speech—I already subjected you all to that earlier.
" A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.
"But I couldn't let this night end without sharing something.
" He turns slightly, pulling me closer to his side, and the warmth of him against me is the only thing keeping me from bolting.
"See, my brother here…" He gestures toward the head table where his brother sits, looking thoroughly confused.
"He's always been the romantic one. The guy who writes love letters and remembers anniversaries without a reminder. Wears his heart on his sleeve."
More laughter. Laney grins, nudging her husband with her shoulder.
"Meanwhile, I'm the guy who, in all honesty, has an exit strategy before the first date ends, keeps people at arm's length like it's my job, and has made a career out of not taking anything too seriously.
" There are a few knowing chuckles from friends who've clearly witnessed this firsthand.
"My longest commitment before this was to my gym membership, and I still found reasons to ghost it half the time. "
The room erupts in laughter. Even I feel my lips twitch despite the panic coursing through my veins.
But then his expression shifts, the lightness draining away. "Here's the thing, though, that was by design." His voice drops. "I had to keep things bottled up, had to keep my heart under lock and key, because it was never really available to give away."
The room has gone quiet again, hanging on his every word.
He turns to me fully, and the look in his eyes steals whatever breath I have left.
"I gave it away a long time ago," he says, and his voice is soft enough that I almost believe him.
Almost forget this is all an act. "And seeing all of you gathered here tonight, celebrating love, has inspired me. It’s made me realize I don't want to spend another day pretending. Another day without my heart."
My throat tightens. This isn't fair. He's too good at this.
His gaze holds mine for one more beat before he turns back to the crowd. "When you know, you know. And I know I don't want to spend another day without calling her my wife."
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. My face is on fire as every single person in this room is staring at us like we've lost our minds. Maybe we have.