Chapter 17 – Morgan
Chapter Seventeen
I think that was convincing…
Morgan
Holy shit, I was getting married.
I'd known it for days, of course. Moved back into the loft. Been sleeping next to Lance for nearly a week, waking up every morning with his arm around my waist and his hard length pressed against my ass like a very insistent alarm clock.
But for some reason, today was when it felt real .
As I stood in the center of the couture bridal boutique Lance had arranged, my fingers twitched against the delicate lace of my reception dress.
The boutique was everything you'd expect from a place that charged more for a single gown than most people made in a year—all cream marble, crystal chandeliers, and mirrors that probably cost more than my college tuition.
The air inside was too warm.
Or maybe it’s your imagination.
Soft lighting cast an almost romantic glow over the shop's gilded mirrors and racks of silk.
It felt like a prison.
Because this wasn't real.
Because every second I spent here was a lie.
Because Amber was sitting in the corner, watching me with barely-contained skepticism, utterly unaware that I was about to lie to her face for the next several hours.
The conversation from this morning still echoed in my head. When I'd finally worked up the courage to call her with the "news."
"Lance and I are engaged."
Silence. Complete, deafening silence.
Then, "I'm sorry, what? Did you just say—engaged? As in marriage? As in the man you walked away from because he broke your heart?"
I'd managed to convince her—barely. Fed her a story about how we'd worked things out at Gwen and Atticus's welcome home party. How we'd talked through everything. How I finally understood why he'd kept secrets.
All lies. Necessary lies to keep me breathing, but lies nonetheless.
The thing was, Amber didn't particularly like Lance. She'd been polite when they'd met, but I could tell she thought he was too intense. Too controlling. Too much older man energy for her taste.
But she was here anyway.
"If you're happy, then I'm happy for you," she'd said, though doubt colored every word. "But Morgan, this feels... fast. Are you sure you're not rushing into something?"
We'd only been friends for five months since meeting at the co-op, but she'd become important to me. Important enough that her opinion mattered. Even when I couldn't tell her the truth.
And now she was here, bouncing between dress racks with determined enthusiasm, trying to make the best of a situation she clearly had reservations about.
This is my fault. I walked into the lion's den. I agreed to this insane plan, this fake marriage to a man whose family solved problems with bullets to the head.
Lance shifted beside me. Heat radiated from his body even through layers of silk and lace.
"You look beautiful."
My breath caught. Pulse kicked up a notch.
Great. Just great.
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my expression neutral instead of doing something stupid. Like melting into a puddle at his feet.
After everything he'd shared with me, after seeing him vulnerable and broken in his own loft, the careful walls I'd built around my heart were crumbling like a house of cards in a hurricane.
You're fighting a losing battle, Morgan.
His voice wrapped around me like silk sheets. My nipples hardened. Thighs clenched. Pulse jumped every time he got within arm's reach.
Get it together.
It would be so much easier if I could still hate him.
But after seeing the boy forced to witness torture at fourteen? After hearing about his mother's death? After watching him break down those walls and show me something real?
Hate had become impossible.
What I felt now was infinitely more dangerous.
You're so screwed.
I cleared my throat. Tried to sound bridal instead of breathless. "Thank you."
My voice cracked slightly on the words.
Smooth, Morgan. Real smooth.
We hadn't shown him the actual wedding dress—just the reception outfit. He was here for this part of the performance. The devoted groom who couldn't keep his hands off his bride.
Lance's mother's ring caught the light on my finger. The pink-hued diamond was stunning. It was too big. There was no way I’d be able to wear this walking around.
It felt like wearing someone else's life.
Which, I supposed, I was.
A sharp pang hit my chest as I caught sight of Amber's face. She was trying to look supportive. But I could see the skepticism lurking beneath her bright smile.
She knew me well enough to sense something was off. Even after just five months of friendship.
She's here because she cares about you. Because despite her reservations about Lance, despite thinking this is all happening too fast, she's willing to show up.
The deception sat heavy in my stomach.
Gwen perched rigidly in one of the plush velvet chairs near the window. Beautiful and composed as always, but tension radiated from her like heat waves off summer asphalt.
She'd barely looked at Lance since arriving. When she did speak to him, her voice held a chill that could freeze champagne mid-pour. The betrayal was very obviously still fresh.
Ten years of friendship, only to discover he'd been lying about everything.
I could see it in the rigid way she held herself. The careful distance she maintained. The way her jaw tightened whenever he spoke.
I could also see the sadness in Lance's expression when he looked at her. The weight of losing someone who'd been family to him.
It was there in the slight downturn of his mouth. The way his shoulders seemed to carry an extra burden. The careful way he moved around her like she was made of spun glass.
I forced a smile, lifting my hand to stroke Lance's jaw. The contact sent electricity straight to my core.
Not helpful in this situation.
I could feel the slight bristle of his stubble. The heat of his skin beneath my palm. The way his pulse thrummed steadily beneath my fingertips.
Then I dragged my fingers down to the nape of his neck, tugging him closer.
His breath hitched. Barely perceptible, but I caught it.
Of course you did . I was attuned to every micro-expression, every involuntary response.
His eyes darkened as he looked down at me. When he spoke, his voice carried across the boutique. Clear enough for our audience to hear.
"I cannot wait to make you my bride."
The warning flip of the belly couldn’t be helped. There was something in his tone. Something raw and honest that went beyond performance.
Something that sounded almost... real .
My heart stuttered in my chest.
Don't. Don't read into it. It's just for show.
But the way he was looking at me said otherwise.
I heard Amber make a soft sound. Whether approval or skepticism, I couldn't tell.
I leaned up on my toes, bringing my lips close to his ear. Close enough that only he could hear.
"Just for show," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was reminding him or myself.
Then I kissed him. Really kissed him. Not just a peck. Not the chaste, performative kiss I'd intended for our audience.
This was something else entirely.
Desperate.
Hungry.
Completely inappropriate for a public venue.
Lance responded immediately. One hand slid into my braids, gripping the braids gently at the nape of my neck to tilt my head back. His other hand pressed against my lower back, drawing me flush against him as his mouth claimed mine.
The hunger in his response shocked me with its intensity.
His tongue swept across my bottom lip, demanding entrance I couldn't deny. I gasped. He took full advantage, deepening the kiss into something raw and possessive that made my knees go weak.
His teeth grazed my lip. Just this side of painful. Shivers raced down my spine. Heat pooled between my thighs.
My hands fisted in his shirt. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, I couldn't tell anymore. My brain had short-circuited the moment his tongue touched mine.
Pure instinct and want took over.
His hand slid lower. Dangerously close to the curve of my ass. Fingers splayed wide against the small of my back, pulling me against the hard length of his cock.
Definitely not appropriate for a family-friendly bridal boutique.
I nearly whimpered at the contact. The sound caught in my throat as heat raced through my veins like wildfire.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His eyes had darkened to near-black. Pupils blown wide with desire that definitely couldn't be faked.
His lips were slightly swollen.
I had the insane urge to bite them.
"I think that was convincing," he murmured, his voice a rough rumble that vibrated through me and went straight to my already aching core.
Amber cleared her throat loudly from across the room. The sound cut through my lust-hazed brain like a bucket of ice water.
"If you two are done making out like teenagers," she said dryly, "the seamstress needs to finish pinning the hem."
Lance turned to her with a smirk. His hand was still possessively placed on my lower back. Thumb tracing small circles that made it hard to think.
"Sorry. Couldn’t help myself."
Amber's expression remained skeptical, but there was a hint of amusement there, too. "Yeah. We could see that. I swear you two are acting like the only people who will ever get married."
The dry tone was unmistakable.
I pulled away from Lance, forcing my thoughts to clear. My body protested the loss of contact.
My lips felt swollen. I could still taste him—coffee and heat and something darker that I couldn't identify but wanted more of.
"Sorry," I mumbled, smoothing down the front of the dress.
My hands shook slightly. The silk was wrinkled where he'd pressed against me.
Lance slid his arm around my waist. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of the dress where it dipped low on my back. Skin-to-skin contact that made me jump.
The touch was electric. Sparks raced along my nerve endings. I barely stopped myself from flinching away.
Or from pressing closer.
"When you’re finally ready, all you want to do is sprint toward the finish line," he said smoothly. His thumb traced small circles against my bare skin. Hidden from our audience but causing goosebumps to erupt across my flesh.
He knew what he was doing.
I needed to my heart to figure my shit out, because my pussy was in a battle with my head and I knew my head was going to lose.