Chapter 4
AMELIA
Inever imagined I would marry Gage in my own home and consummate our marriage in my own bed. And certainly not in a bedroom that looks like someone lost a fight with the closet, a laundry basket, and time itself.
There’s a dirty sweater flung across my dresser.
A bra hanging over the armchair.
One of Sarah’s glitter sneakers randomly chilling on the floor.
And books. Everywhere. Stacked in piles of “these next” and “really not sure about these ones.”
We didn’t clean up before the ceremony. We didn’t put shoes on my feet. We didn’t do anything but breathe, burn, and say yes.
Gage married me in this chaos.
No speeches.
No audience.
No patience.
Just a pen, two rings, an officiant who looked vaguely terrified, a witness who looked way too entertained watching her boss in his obsessed and wrecked state, and a husband who signed our marriage certificate like it was a contract to own my soul. Which, to be clear, he already did.
We sped through the vows.
Gage looked one second away from telling the officiant to skip to the good part.
We signed the certificate, and just as he turned to kick everyone out, I gripped his jacket, and said, “Wait. We need a photo.”
I fell in love with him a little more in that moment. Because he looked like he had exactly one shred of patience left, and taking a photo was going to require at least two.
Lucy was directed to take the photo.
I wasn’t happy with it.
Another.
Nope. Still not the one.
But let’s be honest. I got ready in under ten minutes.
Still had traces of raccoon.
My hair was in a full fuck-it bun.
And I’d applied makeup so fast I might have used bronzer as setting powder.
Today was not the day I was going to get the photo.
Gage allowed three takes, max, before calling it.
He practically chased the officiant and Lucy out the door.
And then?
Then he prowled to me.
Took my face in his hands.
Kissed me like I was the sun, the moon, the whole goddamn galaxy.
And then carried me into my bedroom and proceeded to ruin me, one skin vow at a time.
Gage Black married his wife at 1:30 p.m. on a Wednesday in a Manhattan condo filled with chaos, coffee stains, and soul-deep certainty.
He’s spent the past three hours taking my body apart, vow by vow, stroke by stroke, until I forgot my name, my address, and the basic function of speech.
And now I’m lying here, glossy-eyed, probably dehydrated, wrapped in his arms, draped in his shirt that I definitely didn’t put there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to re-enter my own body.
I have been emotionally loved into the afterlife.
Sensually obliterated.
Legally wrecked.
My thighs are sore.
My soul is floating somewhere unsupervised.
My consciousness is lying face down in a field somewhere.
And I have never been happier.
This isn’t a little happy. It’s not butterflies and sunshine happy. This is pure I-screamed-at-the-universe-and-it-finally-screamed-back happy.
Gage’s arm tightens around me as he drops a kiss to my forehead and says, “Tell me what’s happening in that pretty brain of yours, Princess.”
I look up at him, meet those intense eyes that are mine now and forever.
“I’m just over here wondering what’s next?
Because I know you. And I know my files have exactly zero chance of being touched any time soon.
So, should I be panic-packing for a surprise honeymoon where I have to guess the climate based on whether you’re rolling your sleeves up or not? ”
His lips twitch. “No honeymoon. Your files can have you all to themselves tomorrow.”
I blink.
My brain refuses to accept that as fact.
“I don’t believe you.”
He raises one eyebrow in that dangerously unbothered Gage Black way. The one that says you may proceed with your delusions.
I sit up slowly. Still staring at him like he may be a deepfake.
“No. This is not you. You don’t just hold a wedding. You engineer a love event like you’re mapping a high-level op. You plan a honeymoon like you’re staging an international coup. I mean, you’re the man who ran risk assessments on a science fair.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you sick?”
He’s silent for a long beat.
Then he looks at me like I’ve just asked him to explain gravity.
When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Nothing else mattered. Not a fancy wedding. Not a honeymoon. I just needed you to be mine. On paper. In name. In law.” His eyes burn into me. “Every-fucking-thing else could wait. That couldn’t.”
Holy feral love language.
I forget what air is.
I forget every reason I ever thought he might not want me.
I forget how to exist as anything other than his wife.
Because that look in his eyes?
It says you were never a question. You were always the answer.
I scramble onto him like a woman possessed, straddling him, grabbing his face, needing him like my sanity depends on it.
His hands go straight to my hips.
My mouth finds his.
And I kiss him like I’m trying to breathe through him.
Like this is how I say you were always the answer too.
Neither of us want to stop. We come up for air in seconds, like swimmers in a storm. Desperate. Wild. Still searching for more.
And I think, God, maybe we never will stop.
Because these feelings? These big, what-do-I-even-do-with-this feelings? They’re not gentle. They’re not calm. They’re new. And I don’t know how to breathe through any of them without him.
“Fuck,” Gage growls, pulling back, finally ending the kiss even though the look in his eyes says he didn’t want to. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” is all I manage. Because feelings. Because no air. Because I just legally married a man who kisses like that and makes promises with his entire body.
We’re still staring at each other like we’ve forgotten what comes next when both our phones explode. Three dings in a row. Then four more times in rapid succession.
I groan against Gage’s mouth. “This cannot be good. I am officially disowning my phone.”
He chuckles but it quickly turns into heat as his hand curves over my ass and he says, “You’re never disowning that phone. You need it to send me filth.”
Our phones just keep exploding and I want to throw them both away.
I reach for mine and take a quick peek, just to see if it’s who I think it is. Not to actually read the messages.
It is who I think.
And damn him, his opener makes me tap that group chat so fast I question everything about myself.
Tim
WELCOME TO THE INNER SANCTUM. New group chat activated: Gage & The Wedding Wolves. You’re all here because Amelia is being UNREASONABLE about letting me plan her wedding. So, I brought backup.
Tim
@Marin—you’re up. Save my sister from her own chill.
Tim
@Colin—you’re here for emotional regulation and veto power. Also snacks.
Tim
@Gage—you are the husband. Say something hot and supportive.
Tim
Also, please note the group rules.
Tim
1. No boring color palettes.
Tim
2. All theme suggestions must be delivered in meme format.
Tim
3. Gage, I expect full cooperation, or I will write my best man speech so it includes the phrase “sex collar.”
Tim
4. That’s it. I’m not a tyrant.
Colin
I hate this already.
Marin
OMG THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME. Hi hi hiii, I’m Marin, and I will be your chaos fairy / crystal altar curator / vibe checker / flower crown dealer / backup officiant if we decide on full moon handfasting.
Marin
Also, I made a mood board. It’s called “Holy Matrimony But Make It Hot.”
Tim
SEE. THIS. IS THE ENERGY I NEED AROUND MY SISTER.
Marin
Don’t worry. She’s my girl now. I’m emotionally committed. I will fight florists for her. I will charm venue owners into discounts. I will manifest a guest list that slaps. I’m already planning the post-wedding aura cleanse. You think I’m joking.
Colin
I’m muting this chat.
Tim
You do that but just know I’m printing our text messages and making a scrapbook for your birthday.
Tim
Now, @Amelia, your silence is loud.
Tim
Please advise: Your dress vibe (feral fairy queen? ghost of couture past?).
Tim
Open bar? y/n
Tim
First dance: moody, unhinged, or live musical breakdown featuring a surprise sax solo?
My head snaps up and I stare at Gage, eyes wide, limbs frozen, breath doing something deeply unregulated.
“Holy fuck, I am deceased, and you will be too.” I wave my phone at him like it’s cursed.
“They’re planning our wedding. The wedding we just had.
Oh my God. I did not think this all the way through. ”
I start twitching. Or vibrating. It’s unclear.
“We have to give our people a wedding. Our girls. Our families. Our friends.” I pause. Breathe. Swallow the reality. “And Marin. Marin is in. I think I’m spiritually handcuffed to her for life now.”
Gage shifts beside me. Sitting. One big, warm palm presses to my thigh. Calming. Reassuring. Possessive in the softest way.
His other hand comes to the back of my neck, fingers threading gently into my hair.
He leans in, kisses my temple, and when he speaks, his voice is deep and certain. And amused, but filled with so much love. “Breathe, Princess.”
I do, because when he says it like that, how can I not?
Then, he pulls back to meet my eyes, and the look there says he’d throw a party in hell if I asked. “They want a wedding?” His mouth curves, voice dropping an octave. “Then let’s give them a fucking show.”