Chapter 4
Chapter Four
I didn’t bother trying to sleep. Sleep isn’t something I’m known for anyway, but I didn’t sit in front of my monitors playing with the system I’ve been trying to penetrate either.
I was edgy, uncomfortable, turbulent. I went for a run in the middle of the night, and then I lifted weights until my muscles screamed and threatened to give out.
That wasn’t new for me either. It’s how my brain works things out.
It’s always going. Never quiet unless I push it to the point of exhaustion.
But by the time dawn rolls around and I’m showered and dressed and sipping on coffee, I’m no longer agitated.
If anything, I’m resigned. It’s a few days of bullshit with Georgia, and then I’m back to Maine, and she’ll be somewhere else.
I’ll keep my promise to Zax. I’ll stay the fuck away from Georgia after this.
I text Brooklynn and tell her she’s going to have to rebook everyone and hold onto my dog, Alice, for a bit longer.
I don’t tell her I’m getting married. This is Georgia Monroe we’re talking about, and it’ll be on the news soon enough.
The only good thing to come out of this might be getting the town matchmakers off my back.
Then I text Georgia.
Me: I’ll see you on the plane at nine.
She replies immediately, and I drag my thumb along my bottom lip, watching the bubble and the three dots dance.
Georgia: Ah! Thank you. Thank you! I could kiss you, but I won’t. Incidentally, how did you know what time we’re taking off?
I don’t bother responding to that as I slide my phone into my pocket and head upstairs to pack, only by the time I reach the top step, my phone vibrates.
Georgia: Zax came by my hotel room late last night.
He told me he spoke with you and is glad you’re going to do this for me.
He was worried about me, but I told him I hated you, so he didn’t have to worry about any of that.
Also, he gave me something that might upset you.
I thought you should know I have Suzie’s ring, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
Fuck. Why did he go and do that?
The engagement ring Zax was never able to give Suzie because she died right before he could has made the rounds recently.
Callan gave it to Layla when he needed her to be his fake fiancée so he could secure guardianship of his niece Katy.
But once that ruse was over—and now that they’re actually engaged—Callan gave it back to Zax.
I know what Zax is doing. I know what he’s thinking. A woman like Georgia Monroe, with her money and social presence, doesn’t get engaged or married without a rock on her hand, and he wants this to appear as authentic as it possibly can for Georgia’s sake.
But fuck.
Suzie’s ring on Georgia’s hand.
I wipe my hand across my brow and enter my bedroom, where I pull out a suitcase and shift through the things I have here.
I don’t go out in Maine, so any events or things I’m dragged to all happen in Boston, which is why my closet here is full of expensive items—most with the Monroe label since Zax owns Monroe Fashions, a designer brand.
Finally, I manage a reply.
Me: You should wear it.
Because it would give Suzie the biggest fucking kick to know I was getting fake married to Georgia and that she was wearing her ring.
She would have laughed and teased me relentlessly—as only she could.
She would have said something along the lines of “Don’t fall in love the way they do in my romance books.
” And I wouldn’t have said anything in rebuttal because it wouldn’t have been necessary.
Falling in love isn’t a natural part of who I am.
Except the only woman to ever challenge that is the woman I’m about to marry.
Two hours later, I’m through security at Logan Airport and walking toward the terminal when I spot her red hair. The plane is just about to board, people are standing all around, but Georgia is sitting, her face cast down toward the industrial carpet, two black suitcases upright beside her.
I take the seat next to her, but she doesn’t move or speak. She’s simply breathing hard, her eyes pinched shut.
“We’d now like to welcome our first-class passengers,” chimes out through the PA system, but Georgia is still unmoved despite us now being able to board.
On her hand is Suzie’s ring, a big fucking diamond sparkling almost mockingly at me.
There isn’t a moment of any day that I don’t miss my sister. That I don’t wish she were still alive.
I’d give anything for that.
I tap Georgia’s finger with the rock on it. “You can’t ever tell Zax this, but Suzie would have hated that ring.”
Her head slowly rises, her face pale and clammy, even as her eyebrows pinch together, confused by my statement. I stand, take the handles of her suitcases, and start to head for the boarding area. She quickly scurries to her feet, clutches her mammoth purse to her chest, and starts to follow me .
“What do you mean she would have hated it?” she asks, only to indignantly squawk, “Hey. What are you doing?” at me as I grab her phone from her hand, use her face to unlock it, and swipe her boarding pass to get her on the plane.
She starts to resist, but I push her in front of me, forcing her along as I drag our suitcases behind me, giving her no room to escape.
“Suzie didn’t like flashy or ostentatious.”
Georgia takes exception to this, turning her head over her shoulder to give me a scathing look. “It’s not flashy or ostentatious. It’s beautiful.” She holds up her hand, admiring the ring.
“It’s a mafia bride ring.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Is that what I am then? Because I would have loved a ring like this.” It is a beautiful ring. I helped Zax pick it out, and Suzie would have loved it.
She falters at the edge where the walkway meets the plane, and I shove her on, practically making her stumble onboard.
“Good morning, Miss Monroe,” the flight attendant greets her, but Georgia is a hot beat from losing her shit, so I thrust her down into the window seat and then block the aisle as I toss her heavy fucking bags up into the overhead bin.
I take the aisle seat, watching as passengers board, eyeing Georgia as they walk past us because everyone in the country knows her face and not just from what she’s been through in the last six months.
She’s been a celebrity her entire life. The girl was in a dozen films between the ages of fourteen and eighteen and before that, she was a fixture at award shows with her mother.
I turn to her, noticing how she’s wringing her hands and how her knees are bouncing. “You didn’t like what Ezra picked out for you?”
“Huh? Oh.” She stares down at the ring and shakes her head. “It was pretty, but if you think this ring is ostentatious, you should have seen that one. It’s single-handedly what sank the Titanic but had a ring of large yellow diamonds around it.”
“You don’t like yellow diamonds?” I couldn’t care less. I just want her to keep talking as the plane fills up and the flight attendants start going through their safety checks .
“Not really. I mean, on their own, they’re beautiful, but didn’t look good surrounding a large diamond. Or more like getting engaged to him never felt right, and the ring was a constant reminder of that. I honestly don’t know anymore.”
“Good thing you’re marrying me then,” I quip mockingly.
She blinks at me, but right at that moment, the door to the airplane shuts and locks into place, and she immediately starts trembling. I reach across her body and buckle her seat belt for her.
“Can I get you anything to drink before takeoff?” the same flight attendant asks politely.
Georgia shakes her head, her breathing ragged, and the woman goes on to the people behind us, giving me a sympathetic look.
“Where are we getting married? Walk me through this.”
She’s still shaking her head as the plane starts to pull away from the gate. “I didn’t take my Ativan.”
“Why?”
“It made me too groggy on the flight here because I have to take so much of it to calm down, and I… I can’t do this. I need to get off the plane.”
She starts to move to get up, fumbling with her seat belt, and I cup her face in my hand and force her terrified eyes to mine. “Where are we getting married, Georgia?”
Her hand grips my forearm, and her nails dig into my skin as her eyes scrunch closed, making a tear leak out. “No Elvis,” she utters, and I can’t stop my bemused chuckle.
“Elvis isn’t a location?” I deadpan.
“My dad won’t be there. I don’t want anyone to walk me down the aisle.”
Oh.
Her grip tightens, and I wouldn’t be shocked if she was drawing blood as the plane picks up speed.
“Lenox…” A gasp. “Please. I can’t…”
“Breathe, Georgia. I’ve got you.” Only she’s not breathing. She’s rocking in her seat and practically hyperventilating.
“This isn’t who I am.”
“I know, but there is no shame in this. ”
She shakes her head again, her red hair flying about. Sweat coats her brow, her face is growing pale, and she’s trembling like a leaf. “I can’t… I don’t know how to make it stop. I can’t… I can’t breathe. I need to go. Please, I need to go. I need to get out of here.”
Fuck. She’s losing it and all of my distraction attempts aren’t doing anything to stop her panic attack.
I don’t know how to make it stop either.
How do you make a panic attack stop? I can’t smack her or shake her, and they no longer have vomit bags for her to breathe into.
Feeling helpless, I stare at her face in my hand, at her teeth sawing at her bottom lip, and I already know I’m going to regret this, but I genuinely can’t think of anything else.
I don’t want to kiss her—I mean, I fucking do, but I’m not going to—so instead I lean forward and bite her bottom lip, making our teeth tap painfully and jolting her back an inch.
Her eyes flash open, wide and startled, but I hold her face close and bite down harder before sucking her lip into my mouth and forcing myself not to groan at the taste of her.
I chew on it before dragging it out, scraping the soft, plump tissue with my teeth, and then doing the same with her top lip.
She tastes like the vanilla ChapStick she loves and peppermint mouthwash, and my hand on her cheek slides back until it’s cupping the side of her head.
She whimpers into me, her eyes staring directly into mine from centimeters away, giving me full access to their beautiful shades of green, but she’s not thinking about anything other than the fact that I’m biting her.
Her breathing slows into choppy bursts but then gradually becomes more even as color returns to her cheeks. I keep my tongue in my mouth, and I don’t dare close my eyes or press against her. I nibble and chew, and occasionally sink my teeth deeper until I see a flash of pain through her eyes.
But that’s all this is.
Pain. Distraction. Anger at her for forcing me into this. Frustration with myself because just being this close to her and biting her lip has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans.
I never knew how to deny myself when it came to her, but I’m going to have to learn, and learn fast. With that, I bite a little harder, making her whimper and her hand slide down my forearm.
And when the plane is high in the air and that dinging noise sounds, I pull back, releasing her and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Only it does nothing to dispel the taste of her or the way my cock loved every second of that.
She’s still staring at me with those wide emerald eyes, visibly unsure what to think about what I just did or how to react. Good. Let her mind get spun up in that the way mine is instead of all her panic. I give myself a second to get my shit back together and remember my mission and why I’m here.
“You bit me.”
“Are you still panicking?”
She thinks about that for a minute. “No. But you bit me.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, my voice cold and unaffected. “Now, tell me about this wedding you’re forcing me into.”