Chapter 2 #3
Trigger's eyes never leave mine. "I do." His voice is steady, certain, like he makes life-altering decisions in front of crowds every day.
"Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do."
Two words. So simple. So binding. So completely false.
Reynolds turns to me, and suddenly, I can't breathe.
"Do you, Asha Fairfield, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The room spins slightly. Trigger's hands tighten around mine, grounding me. This is it. The moment where I either commit to this lie entirely or lose everything I've been working toward. No going back after this. No undoing these words once they're spoken in front of everyone who matters.
I look at Trigger, really look at him, and something in his expression shifts. The practiced charm falls away for just a second, and I see something else there. Vulnerability, recognition that we're both about to cross a line we can't uncross.
His jaw is set, a muscle jumping there that betrays his own tension despite his steady voice moments ago. And those eyes…they're not mocking or amused now. They're...asking something. Checking in. Making sure I'm still in this with him.
"I do." My voice comes out quieter than I intended, but steady enough.
"Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
Lies. All lies. This is a business arrangement. This is temporary. This is—
"I do."
The words hang in the air between us, and Trigger's eyes darken with something I can't quite name.
"The rings?" Reynolds asks.
Rings. We don't have... The thought I had is paused as Trigger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring.
Where did he get a ring? He must catch my expression because the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, just barely.
Always prepared. Always three steps ahead.
The ring is simple, a thin band of white gold that catches the light. Nothing elaborate, nothing showy.
Reynolds nods to Trigger. "Repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."
Trigger takes my left hand, and I watch as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. How does it fit perfectly?
"With this ring," Trigger says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, "I thee wed."
The metal is warm from being in his pocket. Or maybe my skin is just cold. Everything feels surreal, like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
But then Trigger's fingers linger on mine for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the ring he's just placed there, and the gesture is so unexpectedly tender that my breath catches.
Stop. Stop reading into this. It's an act. All of it.
But God, he's good at it. The way he's looking at me right now—like I'm the only person in this room, like this matters, like we matter—I almost believe it myself.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Kentucky," Reynolds says, and my stomach drops because I know what's coming next, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Husband and wife.
The words echo in my head, bouncing around like they're trying to find purchase, trying to mean something.
"You may kiss the bride."
Shit. Trigger's eyes meet mine, and I know he can tell I forgot about this part.
He can see in all my plans that this is the one thing I left unaccounted for.
I know he said I'd need to get comfortable with his touch, to learn to like it, that his mouth would have to cover mine if we were going to sell the lie.
But with everyone watching, waiting, expecting, and my father still standing somewhere behind us, calculating, this isn't how I wanted it to happen.
It's not how I wanted to learn to like it.
Then, surprising me yet again, Trigger doesn't miss a beat, pulling me flush against his chest, one hand sliding to the small of my back, the other coming up to cup my face.
To the crowd, it must look like the beginning of a passionate kiss.
But instead of closing the distance, he dips me away from the audience.
His forehead presses against mine as he takes a second to gaze into my eyes, to let the weight of what just happened between us settle.
For a second, it feels real, like we both actually want this, like maybe there doesn't have to be an end date.
He angles his head, his cheek brushing mine as his mouth hovers just beside my ear. "Relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. "I'm not going to kiss you."
My hands come up instinctively, fisting in his shirt.
To anyone watching, it looks like I'm pulling him closer.
Really, I'm just trying to stay upright as my knees threaten to give out.
His fingers thread through my hair, and he tilts us just so.
From every angle in the room, it would look like our lips are locked, like we're lost in a deep, intimate kiss.
The crowd erupts in cheers and applause.
"Breathe," he whispers, and I realize I've been holding my breath. "Just a few more seconds. Need to make it believable, and I take my time."
"You're enjoying this," I accuse, my lips barely moving.
I feel his smile. "Immensely."
"I hate you."
"I know." His forehead presses against mine, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate despite the space between our mouths. "But they don't need to know that."
He holds us there for another heartbeat, then two, letting the moment stretch just long enough to be convincing before he slowly pulls me upright.
His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable, and there's something in them that makes my stomach flip.
Then he opens his mouth and ruins it. "Don't worry, sweetheart.
" His voice is low, meant only for me, with just enough edge to remind me exactly who I've married.
"You might have my last name now, but I won't kiss you until you ask me to. "
Heat floods my face. "That will never happen."
"We'll see." He pulls back, and there's a challenge in his dark eyes. "You never mentioned monogamy was one of the conditions."
My blood turns to ice then immediately boils. Perhaps it wasn't discussed, but it was implied, given we have to sell the lie. We have to make the people who are closest to us believe we are madly in love. How can we possibly sell that if he is sleeping around?
He mistakes my error for something it's not. "Jealous already, Mrs. Hale?"
"Practical," I correct. "If someone sees you with another woman—"
"They won't."
"The whole charade falls apart, and we both—" I stop, his words finally registering. "What?"
Trigger's hand is still at the small of my back, and he uses it to pull me infinitesimally closer.
To anyone watching, we're lost in newlywed bliss.
But his voice drops, and becomes something darker.
"They won't see me with anyone else. Because, despite what you think of me, I don't do things halfway.
" His gaze holds mine, steady and certain.
"When I commit to something, even a lie, I'm all in. "
My breath catches.
"Besides," he continues, and now there's definitely amusement coloring his tone, "you're the one who'll be begging me for a kiss soon enough. I'd hate to ruin that moment by being seen with someone else."
"You're delusional."
"And you're my wife." He says it like a challenge. Like a promise. Like a threat. "So I guess we're both stuck with our delusions."
The crowd is still cheering around us, oblivious to the war we're waging in whispers.
"For now," I remind him, my voice sharp.
His smile sharpens to match. "For now," he agrees.
But the way he's looking at me—like he knows something I don't, like he's already three steps ahead in a game I didn't know we were playing—sends a shiver down my spine.
Trigger takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and turns us to face the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, his voice carrying across the room, "Mr. and Mrs. Hale…again."
People are on their feet with applause, and all I can think about is the space that existed between our mouths moments ago. The kiss that didn't happen. The kiss he's now dangling like bait, waiting for me to break first.
I won't, I tell myself firmly. I won't give him the satisfaction.
As he pulls me through the reception, I feel a shift as his grip changes from performative to purposeful. Even his smile when he nods at well-wishers, doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore. Something's changed.
"Trigger—"
"Time to go." His voice is pleasant and easy, but his hand is already pulling me toward the exit.
"We can't just leave. Laney will—"
"Now, Asha." The pleasantness evaporates. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear, and to anyone watching, it looks intimate. Loving. But his words are steel. "It's time to start playing the role you signed up for. Wife."
The word sends a chill down my spine. The way he says it, not teasing like before, not challenging. Final. Possessive. Real in a bone-deep, terrifying way.
"What are you talking about?" I try to pull back, but his arm slides around my waist, holding me against his side as we move through the crowd.
"Smile," he murmurs. "Wave. Look happy."
I do, because what choice do I have? People are watching, congratulating us, but my heart is hammering against my ribs.
"Trigger, stop." I dig my heels in as we reach the corridor. "Tell me what's happening."
"What's happening," he says quietly, his dark eyes locked on mine, "is that you're my wife now.
Legally. Binding. You wanted everyone to believe we're madly in love.
Well, that starts now. Tonight. No more plans and negotiations.
" His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "From this moment on, you're mine. In every way that matters."
"That wasn't the deal—"
"The deal," he interrupts, his voice dropping even lower, "was that we get married and make it look real. Did you think 'real' meant we'd go back to our separate lives?"
The corridor suddenly feels too small, too dark. "Where are we going?"
"We have a plane to catch, and you have a role to play."
"I didn't agree to…"
A door slams open behind us. Voices echo down the corridor. It’s my father's, angry and commanding. Trigger's expression shifts, urgency replacing the cold calculation. "Time's up. Choose now, Asha. Come with me willingly, or I'll carry you out. Either way, you're leaving with your husband."
My husband.
The word feels like a trap closing around me. Behind me, I hear footsteps and my father's voice calling my name. But if I let my father interfere, everything falls apart. The plan. The arrangement. Every carefully constructed plan I’ve yet executed, answers I still need. This can only go one way.
"Fine." The word tastes like surrender.
Trigger's hand finds mine, and this time when he pulls me toward the exit, I don't resist. A black car waits at the curb, engine running. The door is already open.
"Get in."
I do, and Trigger slides in beside me. The door shuts with finality as the car pulls away, and I catch a glimpse of the entrance. My father bursts through the doors, his face a mask of fury, but we're already turning the corner, the taillights disappearing into the night.
Trigger's hand rests on my thigh, possessive and warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Relax," he says, but there's no comfort in the word. "You're exactly where you agreed to be."