Chapter 6
Meirna
“As one would expect, I’d never consider the woods as an appropriate place for a wedding.
The insects and dirt alone for such an occasion would ruin all the hard work and money thrown into it.
I’m not surprised she’s getting divorced.
I’d never put my only son into such a stressful and undeniable failure.
Tomorrow is going to be spoken and modeled after for weddings to come.
Oh, Marcia, I can’t wait for you to see it all. ”
Catherine did and said everything but forgot to add my name in the mix.
Because that’s what I originally wanted.
A scenic, woodsy wedding with twinkling white lights and wooden chairs lining the ground for all to witness Bobby and my special day. A giant Christmas tree adorned in gold and silver ornaments with a few purple ones thrown in for a pop of color.
Catherine shot another one of my ideas down quicker than someone asking her if she could afford her next Botox appointment.
Immediate.
Vital.
Too common.
I’ve never brought the subject up again. So, why she’s talking about it with her friends who are currently surrounding me, I can only construe as her getting a quick jab.
To show me that, in this world, I don’t know a thing, nor will I ever have a say.
“Abigail was always a stupid little twit,” Marcia responds, bringing her wine glass to her lips. “Divorce was inevitable. Why I allowed Jordan to marry her…I beat myself up every day about it.”
“Oh, darling, you can’t expect yourself to know what these women are going to do,” Catherine assures her as if she truly cares that her friend has mentally been going through it. “You can only hope and plan for the best.”
Planning for the best would’ve been Catherine taking over the whole wedding process.
But I digress.
“She’s taking him for half he owns,” Marcia whisper-spits out as I stab an innocent crouton and try to focus on my plate. “That little bitch thinks she’s going to get away with it, too.”
Catherine scoffs haughtily. “Not with your lawyers, she won’t. She’s out of her mind if she believes she’s going to win.”
“It’s all in the press, you know? All this invasion of privacy, and these reporters constantly call my phone for a comment. It’s exhausting and, frankly, uncivilized.”
“How quickly can you get rid of her?”
Oh, my God.
They sound as though they’re going to off her and dispose of the body.
Downing the rest of my wine, one of the waitresses immediately refills it before my glass hits the table.
“We’re gathering evidence,” Marcia explains in a hushed tone as if we’re not amongst other guests. “Of an alleged affair. She won’t get a dime.”
“You told Jordan to get a prenup?”
“Ugh, you know how men are when they see a pretty little thing all dressed up, batting their long eyelashes at someone.” I flick my focus to Marcia for the first time since she’s been speaking, and she’s already looking at me as if I was the one that told Jordan’s wife how to nail him down in marriage.
Message received.
I’ve felt it before in social gatherings like this. I don’t fit in here. I’m studied under a microscope on what’s so special about me that Bobby Harding would want to waste his time.
When our engagement went out, I really was put under scrutiny. I’ve heard women talk about me in bathrooms. I’ve had snickers and unimpressed scowls thrown my way.
I wasn’t bred in millions of dollars and private schools.
I’m as normal as they come.
“Meirna knew the importance of security and financial stability,” Catherine chimes in as if she’s trying to save and protect me instead of the other way around. “She had zero problem signing a prenup for the good of their marriage.”
Marcia still doesn’t seem elated by the news. Since her son is going through a divorce, all women like me are condemned as pieces of shit.
I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me. I’d rather watch her choke on her wine while Frank Sinatra sings about mistletoe and holly.
“Well, aren’t you already the perfection of a soon-to-be wife?” Marcia drawls, picking up her fork, finally to eat her salad. “I can’t wait to see your dress tomorrow.”
“Ugh, it was a disaster,” Catherine moans. “They messed up her hem. Had to start all over.”
No, I had to buy a whole new dress and told the seamstress I’d pay her double if she said there was a mess up.
God knows Catherine would lose her shit if I said it was ripped and Bobby was the one who did it.
“It’s always something,” Marcia says with a click of her tongue. “Nothing is ever easy.”
I steal a look down the other side of the table, finding Bobby at the head of it, already looking in my direction.
Catherine made the seating arrangement for our rehearsal dinner, and I’m on the other side of it with her and her stupid friends.
Alan is leaning over the table, scotch in hand, talking to Bobby, but I obviously can’t hear what he’s saying.
Bobby couldn’t appear less interested if he tried, not bothering to spare him a glance when our eyes meet and remain there.
“I’m just happy it’s almost over,” Catherine claims. “Next, we’ll be planning a baby shower.”
“Oh my God,” Marcia exclaims, a loud clank sounding right after and alluding that she dropped her fork. “Are you pregnant, Meirna?”
“No,” Catherine laughs. “Not yet. We have a two-year plan, and then she’ll have our first grandchild.”
We’ll have them whenever we want, you obsessive pain in the ass.
And there’s no we.
Bobby suddenly rises from the table slowly, holding my gaze as he does before turning to walk toward the lobby.
Alan glares up at him, still talking, when Bobby begins striding away.
But not before stealing one more lingering glance at me before disappearing out of the dining room.
There’s my rebellious husband.
“A boy first,” I hear Marcia say. “Of course. At least two.”
“Three,” Catherine retorts. “Then, if a girl comes, that’s always welcome.”
“Makes the family stronger. I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Alan can’t wait to teach them everything he knows.”
Oh, God no.
Placing my napkin on the table, I quietly move my chair to stand. “Ladies, will you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course,” Marcia chimes in as if she can’t wait to get rid of me and ask Catherine how she really feels about my marrying Bobby. “Hurry back.”
Not on your life.
As casually as I can, I move for the lobby, knowing a silent follow me from Bobby like the back of my hand.
We’ve snuck out of dozens of events together.
I can’t see this being any different.
Except, we can’t really leave because it’s our rehearsal dinner that’s torturously playing out.
Inside the beautifully decorated foyer of the five-star hotel we’re at, Bobby is nowhere to be seen.
I take in the floor-to-ceiling Christmas trees decorated in all white lights and ornaments, but not my husband dressed in all black again.
“What’s my quota of ripping dresses?” a deep and familiar voice asks from behind me, sending a little shiver running up my spine. “I love everything about this one that hugs your ass and curves, Daydream, but I need your pussy like I need my father to disappear.”
Figured it was that bad.
The whole wedding rehearsal was Bobby staring at his father like he was the biggest piece of shit that ever walked the face of the Earth. I’ve never seen him bore daggers in his father’s skull so many times in one hour. Something really must be ready to explode between the two of them today.
“Depends,” I mutter. “Are you going to make it worth my while?”
A hard chest presses into my spine, and I inhale cedar with an infusion of vanilla, which is something newer to my senses. “Then some.”
I smile and begin to turn around, but Bobby’s arm wraps around my middle and pulls me flush against his firm chest. His hard cock presses possessively into my ass as his thick fingers splay against my stomach from behind.
Fuck.
“Then, since you’re my husband, I think it’s only right you get special privileges.”
“Even if I were your mailman, Daydream, you’d still be mine. And I’d get all the fucking special privileges.”
I chuckle lightly, rotating around to face him and threading my fingers between his dress shirt and suit jacket, feeling all his hard muscles along the way. “You seem like you’re having fun over there.”
Bobby’s face is flat and his voice monotone when he replies, “A blast.”
“Your father can’t shut up about business for one night?”
“Not in his DNA.”
“We’re almost done there. It’s just four more courses and—”
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” he grinds out through pinned brows. “Is this a joke?”
I hand him a weak smile because he knows damn well it’s not. “Your mother went to lengths, and of course, we’ll be dining like the royal family in the process.”
“What say did you get in this?”
“None. Remember, we decided to let her do the rehearsal dinner because she wouldn’t stop bothering us about main plates and appetizers?”
Bobby stares at me before mumbling, “Right. Another waste of time.”
“Yes, well…one more day and we can fly to Paris. For our honeymoon.”
“One more day and I might shoot myself.”
“You’ll get to see me in another wedding dress,” I try to encourage, like he mentioned earlier when I asked if we were still doing this. “Almost to the finish line.”
“I’d like to speed that up, Daydream. Remember my asking if you trusted me earlier?”
“I do.”
“I’m kidnapping you. We’re leaving tonight.”
“We’re leaving tonight,” I repeat slowly. “Like…we’re leaving to head back to—”
“We’re leaving for Prague.”
My eyes bulge because he said Prague.
Prague.
He said Prague!
When I said our secret wedding was Christmas magic last night, the magic started in Prague because it is beyond the most beautiful city in the world around my favorite holiday of all time.
I’ve wanted to go since I was a teen, and researched everything there is to do there around this time of year. It’s where I wanted my honeymoon, but Bobby was so excited about Paris that I let him have it.
But he said Prague.
Speechless because I haven’t wrapped my head around the change of plans, I jump and wrap my legs around Bobby’s waist, almost headbutting him in the jaw in the process, before my mouth collides with his in a slow and thankful kiss.
My tongue meets his because we’re both speaking the same language when it comes to lust and longing now.
I’m freaking going to Prague.
After several seconds of my appreciation toward my new husband, Bobby mutters against my lips, “You happy, Daydream?”
I suck on his bottom lip, earning myself a bearish growl from Bobby’s throat. “So happy. I’m so excited.”
“There’s a catch.”
My whole body sags because I don’t want any extra nonsense. I want my honeymoon and him.
“You dealt with all this bullshit from my mother today,” he continues.
“But we’re not getting married tomorrow.
We have a flight at four in the morning, and we’re skipping the damn thing.
I don’t want a day with a bunch of nobodies and not your legs wrapped around my head while I devour your cunt. We’re married. I already have you.”
I blink at him because…he said—
“You said we were still doing it. That—”
“You were talking to Bobby,” he mutters, stealing another long, sinful kiss. “Not your husband, who’s fucking obsessed with you.”
Wrapping my arms tighter around his neck, as I smile and whisper, “You’re talking about yourself in third person. You really need a break.”
“You gonna give me one? This is our life. We get to do what we want. No one else.”
I bob my head excitedly and say off an elated sigh, “I’m so in.”