Chapter 6 #2
“I’m sorry,” the woman exclaims, still hugging him fiercely even though he’s trying to pull away as gently as he can.
“I just love you so much. Central Square is my all-time favorite band, and you were my favorite member. I love the piano.” She pulls back, her cheeks flushed as she bats her eyes up at him.
“I play the piano too. I could play for you now if you’d like, or even better, we could play a duet. ”
I choke on a laugh and cover it as a cough. It’s almost fun watching Lenox suffer. Still, as the man marrying me, I feel the need to save him. Just a bit.
“Um. I’d rather there not be any music,” I state, and she rolls her head over her shoulder and throws me a scathing look like I’m keeping her from showing off for the love of her life.
She turns back to him. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.
And to a Monroe! That’s just so perfect.
And wow, to do it like this… on the fly.
” She fans her face. “It’s so romantic. I wish the other members were here.
I’d love to meet Greyson, especially. Zax is a bit intimidating.
” She emits a girlish giggle. “But oh, Asher and Callan are dreamy too.” She gives me a brief side-eye, hating me on sight, and then it’s all about him once more.
“You know, I haven’t heard anything about the two of you even being together.
Last I knew, she was engaged to someone else.
Are you sure this is the right thing for you to do? ”
Is she for real?! “Uh, yeah, he is. You know, since he’s my fiancé and we’re about to get married here. That is what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”
“Right. Of course.” Her eyelashes flutter up at him like a hummingbird’s wings. “You must have kept it a secret then. ”
“We did,” I say, my tone short. “But our love was the stuff of Shakespeare for years.” Unrequited and tragic. Lenox throws me an amused look, and I shrug at him. “Anyway, can we get this going? Young love is impatient, as I’m sure you constantly witness.”
More rapid blinking at Lenox, and if she keeps this up, I think she’ll use her lashes as wings and fly out of here like a goddamn fairy.
Finally, she reluctantly peels herself away and takes our bags, promising to have them delivered to our room.
I wouldn’t be shocked if she slips her digits and maybe her underwear in his bag.
After that, we get down to business as she and the officiant proceed to go over everything with us, asking us a few last-minute questions about music—I decline again—us saying our own vows—again, I decline—or if there is anything special or meaningful we want to incorporate in our wedding—that’s a hard no.
We sign our marriage license, which feels so strange to do, and it’s already been requested that it remain private so the press doesn’t get their hands on it before I want them to know about it.
Once all the business is concluded, the planner asks, “Ready?”
No. That’s the first word that comes to my mind.
No, I’m not ready to marry Lenox. Because when I was a little girl and I’d imagine this moment, I imagined it with my father walking me down the aisle, and me in a large Cinderella-style gown, and Lenox smiling at me like he loved me instead of glaring warily at me as if I’m the bane of his existence and he’s suddenly doubting himself.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Even what I was planning with Ezra, though not quite my dream wedding, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me standing in an orange room with awful carpet and a gauche painting of a random building with two strangers marrying me.
I start to tremble. Maybe I don’t need to do this. Maybe I don’t need to actually marry him. I mean, if I keep telling Alfie and Ezra no, eventually they’ll give up and the press will give up and I’ll be fine. I’ll figure out my father’s company and?—
“Yes,” Lenox finally says in a low voice. “We’re ready.” He gives my hand a small jerk, snapping me back and my eyes up to his. “ We’re ready,” he repeats, this time for me, and I swallow hard and force myself to nod.
It’s a year at most. I’ll hardly ever have to see him. Everything will be fine.
“Fantastic,” the woman exclaims, all fucking jubilant like this is the best day of my life, and I’m so tempted to tell her, Honey, this ain’t it . “Do you have rings?”
Rings? I bark out a humorless laugh. How could I have forgotten to purchase rings? I meant to. When we were shopping, that was part of my plan, but between all the hair and makeup and lingerie, that somehow got lost.
Lenox reaches into his pocket and pulls out two boxes, and my eyes narrow in on them.
He opens one of the boxes to reveal a thick, black band—so very Lenox—and slips it out, then hands it to the wedding planner to hold for me since I’m supposed to put it on his finger.
He doesn’t open the second box. Instead, he slides it back into his pocket and bows his head toward the officiant, indicating that we should begin.
There is no walking down the aisle to my groom. There is no music.
It’s just the four of us in this room as Lenox retakes my hands, holding them between us with his eyes locked on mine. The officiant begins saying the standard words of love and commitment, and I can’t stop the tears as they start to fall.
I’m so fucking heartbroken I can hardly breathe.
Lenox reaches our locked hands up and wipes at them, stepping closer to me, and something about his tenderness breaks me even more. I do much better when we’re adversarial or distant. I just don’t know how I got here. How my life spun so far and so fast from what it was to this point.
I’m trying to reclaim it. I’m trying to steal it back from those desperate to take it from me. I just have to remember this is step one in that process.
“Do you, Lenox Moore, take Georgia Monroe to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do you part?”
“I do,” he says, no hesitation in his voice. Releasing my hands, he takes out the box with my ring in it. And when he opens it up, I gasp and proceed to absolutely fall apart.
He bought me a ruby wedding band.
Why did he have to call me that and then buy this for me? Why? His hands recapture mine, trembling ever so slightly as he slips the ring on my left hand, right above Suzie’s diamond ring.
The officiant asks me the same question, though I hardly hear the words. I hardly register myself say, “I do.” His ring is placed in my hand, and I slide it onto his finger.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Oh, hell. The kiss.
I blink away the tears and slowly look up to find his eyes already on me, filled with something I can’t decipher. His ringed hand comes up to cup the side of my face, slips back into my hair, and then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are firm and warm, powerful as they press rigidly to mine.
My hands meet his biceps, ready to push him back but instead, I end up holding onto him because it’s been six years since I’ve really felt his lips on mine, and the sensation is electric.
He sucks in a breath through his nose, feeling this too, and he inches in, pressing against me as his other hand comes up, cupping my face.
His mouth softens, and he licks the seam of my lips. Automatically I open for him, and he doesn’t hesitate. His tongue plunges straight into my mouth, stroking, seeking, and the moment our tongues meet, his control snaps.
In a flash, he walks me backward until my back slams into the wall.
He groans, and then he’s all over me, using the wall as leverage to press into me tighter.
His thumb strokes my jaw as he tilts my head and deepens the kiss, suddenly unable to get close enough, deep enough.
There is nothing gentle or sweet about this, though there never has been where Lenox is concerned.
It’s wicked and sensual, passionate and desperate .
My hands grab fistfuls of his shirt, yanking on him while our tongues thrash, our lips mash, and I hold on as my knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath me. He pulls my hair the slightest bit, shifting one of the pins, and the quick zap of pain has me moaning into his mouth.
And just as quickly as it began, it ends.
Hands fall from my face, and he takes a step back, his chest heaving as rapidly as I’m positive mine is.
His lips are wet, stained ever so slightly with the red smear of my lipstick.
The hungry look in his eyes tells me that kiss surprised him—and not in a good way.
Without a word, he turns and storms straight out of the chapel, the door flying open only to slam shut with a loud, resonating bang behind him.
For a moment, I stare after him, at the now-closed door, debating what I should do.
My lips still tingle from that kiss, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of it other than I don’t plan to give it room to breathe or grow in my thoughts.
It was a strange and emotional moment, but for me, the hardest part of it is done, and we can move on to the next phase of this.
I shift my weight. Do I go after him? That seems weird. This is Lenox we’re talking about. He has the emotional aptitude of a cobra, and I already know any comfort or reassurance I could offer would be unwanted and likely unnecessary.
It isn’t until I hear the sound of a throat clearing uncomfortably across the room that I remember I’m not alone.
Well, this is awkward.
I shrug, willing my heart to slow and my features to even out.
“That was his first kiss,” I say. “He’s a virgin.
” I don’t even know where the words come from.
Even if you don’t know who Lenox Moore is, one look at that man, and you know he’s no virgin.
Still, it manages to make me laugh and relax all at the same time.
“Thank you!” I throw out over my shoulder as I run from the chapel to go and find my new husband.
We have a cocktail party to attend.