Chapter Three #2
Inside, Julian handled everything with the same calm authority he seemed to apply to all situations.
He produced paperwork I hadn't even known we needed, spoke to officials with just the right mix of cordiality and command, and generally made the process seem as routine as registering for a library card.
"Date of birth?" Julian asked, pen poised over a form.
"March 15th," I replied automatically. "1998."
That made Julian pause, his pen hovering. "You're twenty-six."
"Last time I checked, yeah."
"I'm forty-one," he said, as if just realizing the age gap.
"Good math," I quipped, then immediately wished I could take it back when his expression remained serious. "Look, if that's a problem—"
"It's not," he said, returning to the form. "Just an observation."
Just an observation that he's fifteen years older than me and probably wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.
The officials processed our application with surprising speed, their usual bureaucratic sluggishness transformed into efficient service at the mention of Julian's name.
I watched with growing amazement as doors literally opened for him, people jumped to attention when he wheeled into a room, and paperwork that would normally take weeks to process materialized within minutes.
"Mr. Montgomery," gushed a woman who had to be at least a department head, "we're so honored to have you here. Is there anything else we can do to make this process smoother for you?"
Julian gave her a smile that was polite but distant. "You're already being most accommodating."
I shifted uncomfortably beside him, acutely aware of my borrowed clothes and complete lack of status. Everyone looked at Julian with deference bordering on reverence, while I might as well have been invisible.
Next to these people in their crisp suits, treating Julian like visiting royalty, I felt like an imposter. Which, let's face it, I kind of was.
The ceremony itself was brief and businesslike. No flowers, no music, no tearful relatives—just Julian and me, two officials, and a stack of legal documents that would bind our lives together.
"Do you, Connor Matthews, take Julian Montgomery to be your lawfully wedded spouse?" asked the officiant, a middle-aged woman with efficient movements and a no-nonsense attitude.
"I do," I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
"And do you, Julian Montgomery, take Connor Matthews to be your lawfully wedded spouse?"
Julian's gaze met mine, his dark eyes unreadable. "I do."
The words hung in the air between us, weighted with a significance that seemed at odds with the clinical setting and rushed circumstances.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you legally married. You may sign the documents."
And just like that, with a few signatures and stamps, I became Connor Montgomery.
I stared down at the marriage certificate, my name linked with Julian's in official black ink, still trying to process what had just happened. In less than a day, I'd gone from being drugged by my own mother to being married to a billionaire CEO I barely knew.
Life comes at you fast, apparently.
"Are you alright?" Julian asked quietly as the officials excused themselves to file the paperwork.
"Just processing," I replied honestly. "This morning I woke up in your hotel room. Now I'm your husband. It's a lot."
Julian nodded, his expression softening slightly. "It is. But I keep my promises, Connor, and I expect the same from those in my life."
There was something in the way he said my name, something in the intensity of his gaze, that made me think this marriage—hastily arranged and bizarre as it was—might be more than just a convenient solution to my problems.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
The bright afternoon sunlight hit my eyes as we exited the Civil Affairs Bureau, my brand-new marriage certificate and several other papers I’d signed tucked safely in a leather folder Julian had produced from somewhere.
I was still trying to process the fact that I was now legally married to a man I'd known for less than twenty-four hours when my world tilted sideways again.
Three identical black SUVs with windows tinted dark enough to repel sunlight sat at the curb, uniformed drivers standing at rigid attention beside them.
If that wasn't intimidating enough, a man who looked like he'd been carved from granite rather than born from a human woman was striding toward us, his gaze fixed on me with the intensity of a predator sizing up potential prey.
Welcome to day two of your new life, Connor.
Yesterday: drugged by mom.
Today: married to a billionaire with his own security detail.
Tomorrow: probably abducted by aliens.
The human granite block reached us, his expression revealing exactly nothing as his eyes flicked from Julian to me and back again.
"Sir," he addressed Julian, his voice as hard as his appearance. "Everything is prepared as requested."
Julian nodded, seemingly unfazed by the military-grade security operation unfolding around us. "Thank you, Michael. This is Connor, my husband."
Husband. The word hung in the air like a neon sign.
Michael's eyebrows rose fractionally—the only indication that this information surprised him. His gaze returned to me, colder and more assessing than before, like he was calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to dispose of my body if necessary.
"Connor," Julian continued smoothly, "this is Michael Davis, my head of security and right-hand man."
I swallowed hard, extending a hand that looked pathetically small compared to Michael's. "Nice to meet you."
Michael stared at my hand for a moment before taking it in a grip that could've crushed coal into diamonds. "Likewise," he said, in a tone that strongly suggested the opposite.
"Michael handles all security matters for me, both personal and professional," Julian explained.
And by the look he's giving me, I just became security matter number one.
"Background check complete?" Julian asked Michael, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.
"Initial sweep done," Michael replied. "Full report in one hour."
My stomach dropped. "Background check? On me?"
Julian's expression remained impassive. "Standard procedure."
"We've been married for approximately fifteen minutes," I pointed out. "Shouldn't the background check have come before the 'I do' part?"
"Circumstances required flexibility," Julian replied, his tone making it clear that was all the explanation I was going to get.
Michael opened the door to the middle SUV, and a ramp smoothly extended to accommodate Julian's wheelchair. The efficiency of the operation suggested this was a well-rehearsed routine, everyone knowing their exact role without needing instruction.
I stood awkwardly to the side, suddenly acutely aware of my borrowed clothes and complete lack of personal belongings. I didn't even have my wallet or phone—they were still at the hotel where my mother had drugged me.
"So," I managed weakly as Julian maneuvered his wheelchair toward the vehicle, "when you said you were rich..."
Julian paused, turning to look up at me. His hand slid to my lower back in a gesture that was unmistakably possessive, sending an unexpected jolt of arousal through my body. The touch was firm, confident, his fingers splaying just above the waistband of my pants.
"I’m very rich," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine despite the warm afternoon sun. "Problem?"
I swallowed hard, inexplicably aroused despite the chaos surrounding us. There was something about the casual way he claimed me, about the quiet authority in his touch, that made my knees weak and my pulse race.
Get it together, Matthews. Or Montgomery, I guess.
"No problem," I said, trying to inject some humor into my voice. "Just wondering if my IKEA furniture will clash with your... everything."
The corner of Julian's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile. "Don't worry," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear as he guided me toward the waiting vehicle. "We won't be keeping any of your furniture."
His fingers lingered at my waist, thumb brushing against my skin where my shirt had ridden up slightly.
The touch was deliberate, intimate in a way that made my breath catch and heat pool in my stomach.
There was a promise in that touch—a continuation of what had sparked between us the night before.
I managed a nod, not trusting myself to speak as I climbed into the SUV after him. The interior was all buttery leather and polished wood, with more technology discreetly integrated into the panels than I'd seen in most electronics stores.
Julian's wheelchair was secured with a system that looked custom-designed, allowing him to remain in it rather than transferring to a seat.
Michael took the front passenger seat, immediately engaging with something on a tablet while speaking quietly into what I assumed was a communication device in his ear.
As the vehicle pulled smoothly away from the curb, I glanced out the window and caught my first glimpse of what Julian had casually referred to as "home" during our paperwork session—a gleaming penthouse tower that stood apart from the surrounding skyline, all glass and steel reaching toward the clouds.
"That's where we're going?" I asked, unable to keep the awe from my voice.
Julian followed my gaze, his expression unreadable. "Yes. The top three floors are mine."
Of course they are.
"It has adequate security," Michael added from the front seat, his tone suggesting that "adequate" meant something closer to "Pentagon-level" rather than "decent locks."
I sank deeper into the leather seat, trying to process everything. In the span of twenty-four hours, I'd gone from being drugged and nearly kidnapped to being married to a man whose wealth was so vast it seemed almost abstract.
A man whose touch still sent electricity through my veins.
A man who was now legally my husband.
Life was weird… or out to get me.
"You're quiet," Julian observed, his dark eyes studying me.
"Just trying to keep up," I admitted. "Yesterday I was worried about making rent this month. Today I'm apparently moving into a penthouse with my billionaire husband."
Julian's hand found mine on the seat between us, his touch surprisingly gentle given the strength I knew those hands possessed. "You can still back out."
I looked down at our linked hands, then back up at his face. Despite the absurdity of our situation, despite all the rational reasons to run screaming in the opposite direction, I found I didn't want to back out.
Something about Julian pulled me in—his unexpected kindness when he'd hidden me, the passion we'd shared, the protection he now offered.
"A promise is a promise," I said, echoing his earlier words. "I'm not backing out."
Something flickered in Julian's eyes—approval, maybe, or relief. His fingers tightened around mine, the pressure both reassuring and possessive.
"Good," he said simply.
And with that single word, the full weight of what I'd done settled over me. I had married Julian Montgomery, a man whose world couldn't be more different from my own. A man who commanded respect with his mere presence. A man who could make me forget everything else with just a touch.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
But as the SUV glided through traffic toward the tower that would apparently now be my home, Julian's hand warm and solid around mine, I found myself thinking that whatever it was, I wasn't sorry.
Not yet, anyway.