19. Colton
Hotel - Montell Fish
“Did Callan know you were going to get married here?”
The question has me studying her.
She looks beautiful.
When I saw her yesterday morning, I was reminded of how beautiful. Not when she gussied up for the ceremony, but hair a mess, leggings on, a slouchy sweater hiding most of her shape while she was packing her stuff…
A part of me wasn’t sure if I’d made it up, but no.
She’s gorgeous.
Both technically mine and technically not.
I raise my wine glass to my mouth and drink.
Deeply.
It’s going to be a short night as well as a long one. Which is only fitting considering how interminable yesterday felt—after heading for our license in the afternoon for today’s ceremony, making it to our appointment just in time, we both spent the rest of the day in the suite.
It was boring.
And strange.
I missed slumming it with her in Loki’s stall where conversation flowed easily between us.
This suite might cost a regular guest two thousand bucks a night, but as I’d stared at the ceiling from the comfort of my fancy bed in a fancier room in the fanciest suite of the hotel my family owns, that was what I craved—those simple times.
Since that day in the lake, everything’s shifted. And not just because of a contract, either.
Part of me’s been wondering why I was so quick to tar and feather her like she accused. Another part’s been thinking of how much that night impacted our lives and veered us off course.
When she clears her throat in a silent prompt, I remember what she asked me. Callan. The wedding. Saskatoon. “He knew.”
“Why didn’t he want to attend?”
“Not because of the past,” I assure her. “Callan never leaves the ranch if he can help it. I’ve no idea where in the world Cody is, and as for Cole, once he gets over himself, he’ll be pissed he missed the ceremony.”
His attitude is why I stayed in a hotel on Wednesday night and not at his apartment.
Her mouth tightens.
Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the wedding band constricting my finger, but my tongue’s loose as I ask, “What happened that night?”
“You want to start married life lost in the past?” she mocks, not even pretending to misunderstand which night I’m talking about as she carefully scoops some of France’s finest onto a cracker.
It’s funny how quickly I’ve adapted to seeing her check her level and her grazing—she never skips a meal. Never goes anywhere without a purse that has her kit in it, emergency snacks too.
The first thing I had her do when we made it to the hotel room was share her apps with me so that I can also monitor her.
I knew she didn’t like it.
“Colt?” she prompts at my extended silence.
“I’d prefer to start it without any lies between us,” I clarify, finger running along the rim of the glass, making the crystal sing. “Why were you there? Did Marcy Armstrong have anything to do with it? Is that why you never said a word about what you saw that night? Do you know where she ran away to?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” She pats her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “I think I’ll head to bed.”
“You’ll tell me eventually,” I inform her as she gets to her feet.
“Why would I do that?”
“You will.” I smile at her. Blandly.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
I can feel her bitterness but I’m unsure if she’s hiding behind it.
“I believed you about Loki.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
Her hand tightens on the dining chair. “Firstly, it took you ten years to be open to hearing that question, never mind answering it. Secondly—” Her fingers clench. Hard. “—I don’t want to start things off on the wrong foot.”
“Can the truth do that?”
She hitches a shoulder. “It shouldn’t, but it usually does.”
“Do you think it’s wise to have this between us?”
“What does it matter? We won’t be married long.”
I swirl the red wine in my wine glass. “Long enough. IVF doesn’t always take.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
I get to my feet and stride over to her side. Her head tips back at my approach.
“Tomorrow, then,” I rumble, not willing to let this go.
Her jaw works. “Fine.”
“Sleep well.” Mrs. Korhonen. “I’ll knock on your door when it’s time to wake up.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can set my alarm?—”
“I’ll wake you,” I state, gaze locked on hers as, purposely, I press a kiss to her forehead.
A breath catches in her throat as we’re both transported back a decade.
To the last time I did that.
I could be mistaken, but I’m sure her lips quiver before she firms them and, frowning, heads to the door that leads to her bedroom.
As it closes behind her, I dip my hand into my pocket and release the marriage certificate from its confines.
God only knows why I didn’t store it in my luggage. But I’m glad I didn’t now.
Mrs. Susanne Felicia McAllister-Korhonen.
She didn’t expect a wedding band. Never mind an engagement ring.
It was satisfying to slide first one onto her finger and then the other. Even more so to hand her the ring I intended on wearing too.
I could tell she wanted to argue, but only our witnesses and the marriage commissioner’s presence stopped her. Then, after the ceremony, her brain kicked in—it’d look odd in town if she, in particular, didn’t wear both.
It seems each of us is sensible.
I’m not sure I like that.
She didn’t used to be.
She was emotional and quick to cry and faster to laugh. Now, she’s wooden.
It hurts something in me to see that.
Never mind knowing that I’m part of the reason for the change in her.
Carefully, I fold the certificate up and return it to my pocket, then I set the alarm on my phone and handle the messages on there.
Thanks to ignoring it today, I have a bunch of missed calls. Everything’s urgent so I deal with emails, enough that ninety minutes pass in the blink of an eye.
With a sigh, I glance at her bedroom door then head for a shower.
Once I’ve stripped off, I pack the suit I wore for my wedding ceremony into my garment bag.
It was a simple affair—neither of us expected much more, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make it special.
I doubt I’ll be doing this again even if she does after we divorce.
So, I tried.
I think it worked—I saw her tuck the small posy of flowers I had delivered to Marc Robard’s club into her purse. And she keeps on rubbing her thumb over her rings.
Marc is my personal attorney. The reason I asked him to be a witness was to access the orangery in his club that’s famous in Saskatoon for its domed, stained-glass roof that lets in even the most meager of wintry light.
Surrounded by orange trees, in the sticky warmth of a silent conservatory, we said our vows to the marriage commissioner.
Whether I asked for this or not, it’s a day I won’t forget in a hurry.
For a second, my hand hovers over the faucet as my mind drifts further.
I think about those intense, dewy green eyes of hers. The simple skirt and shirt she wore—business casual but more relaxed in their cut. I think about the elegant heels that arched her feet, making her ass stick out.
She looked gorgeous, but this isn’t just any woman I’m talking about.
This is my wife.
I didn’t think those two words would resonate as deeply as they are, not when I didn’t get a chance to pick her. Not when there’s a definite expiration date on our marriage. But there you go. My brain belongs in the Dark Ages.
I guess it helps that she has bite but is soft enough to show her emotions in front of me, like when she left her apartment and Tee behind.
She straightened her shoulders as we took our vows—no weeping, only solid resolve.
She’s brave and bravery comes with strength. I’ve dealt with enough shit in my life to appreciate her courage.
But no matter what promise she got out of me, Zee and I both know the truth—if she has my baby, she’s going nowhere.
I barely know her anymore, but I know that.
And that seals my decision for me.
I flick on the cold water.
It’s going to be a long night.