Chapter 18 #2
I gape. Put it on for him? First of all, exactly how many bullets is he putting in the barrel of the gun we’re using for Russian roulette tonight? And second of all, I am in my pajamas! I am in my bed. It’s almost midnight!
He extends the garment with unwavering spoiled youngest energy. I counter it with perturbed spoiled youngest energy. He lifts his chin, claiming a detached royal air. “Oh, so you hate me?”
“Ugh.” Shoving my dirty dishes onto whatever surface of my nightstand I can, I throw my blankets off and grab the dress. Standing there, an inch from him, I hiss, “This better be worth my time.”
“I will make it so very worth your time.”
Rolling my eyes, I head to my bathroom and put on the stupid dress.
?
I find myself leaving the bathroom in my frilly dress and stopping short at the sight of three complete strangers standing in my living room. Horrified, I scan my home’s mess, their weirdly chill smiles, and…Kyran. “Are you actually insane?” I snap.
With disinterested boredom, he presents each person, “Peter, Lisa, Geoff. Peter is our town magistrate.”
“Huh?” I blurt.
“Lisa and Geoff are your neighbors. I bribed them three hours ago.”
Lisa, a kind-looking middle-aged woman, sets a hand to her heart. “It’s so nice to formally meet you, Morana.”
“Oh, uh.” I swallow the insanity, and dip my chin. “You…too?”
Peter—the oldest gentleman here—sniffs, opening a binder. “Well, shall we begin?”
“Yes, of course. It is late.” Kyran coughs, glances at me, then makes a fervent motion to indicate that I should be beside him and it’s crazy that I’m not.
Crazy.
Imagine that.
I’ll show him crazy.
I stomp up to him, and he grabs my hand.
“Ah-ahem.” Peter smiles warmly at us, eyes crinkling in the corners as though he isn’t one million years old and up an age past his bedtime. “We are gathered here tonight to join Kyran Bachelor and Morana Brook in marriage.”
In slow motion, I drag my aghast gaze toward Kyran.
Peaceful, he holds my hand and pays reverent attention.
“Kyran Bachelor, do you take Morana Brook to be your lawful spouse?”
“I do.”
The man’s attention hits me like a bus. “Morana Brook, do you take Kyran Bachelor to be your lawful spouse?”
I crush Kyran’s hand. “Wha…”
He leans down, whispering, “I do.”
“I know the line!” I bite out. What I don’t know is whether I’m dreaming or on drugs or maybe Kyran’s on drugs? You can’t just show up in the middle of the night, microwave a marshmallow, then spring marriage on a woman!
Kyran’s severe attention swallows me up. “Morana, this is very important.”
Yeah, I know that. Does he know that?
“Worst case scenario, divorce me. Since, you know, it’s so easy to back out of a whole entire commitment like this. Your words; not mine.”
I flush.
He turns his attention back to Peter. “Ask her again.”
Peter, a touch more awkwardly, repeats, “Morana Brook, do you take Kyran Bachelor to be your lawful spouse?”
Do I take Kyran as my husband? Do I take this insane man as my husband?
Perhaps a better question is, do I want to be with him forever and am I hopelessly attracted to him? Yes. Big huge yes.
My stomach flips and swirls, full of midnight chocolate and a marshmallow, and emotions, which have never once served me well. Squeezing my eyes shut, I skydive with them. “I do.”
“By the authority vested in me by the laws of this state, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Lisa and Geoff cheer, with varying levels of enthusiasm, then Peter’s turning paperwork toward us and telling me to sign here, very good.
Everyone else gets a signature in before my, uh, neighbors?
I guess. Congratulate me. Peter assures Kyran that he’ll process the paperwork in the morning and have the official marriage certificate sent to his home by the end of the week.
Then the whirlwind passes, and I am standing in my living room—in a dress I’ve only ever begrudgingly worn in front of one other person, because she made it—with my…husband.
I straighten, then a brief laugh leaves me. “Oh. Wow. That was…something, right?”
“Yep, very something.” He is still…holding my hand, apparently.
“Wild prank, e-boy.”
“Prank?”
A shaking smile lifts my mouth. “I never applied for a marriage license with you.”
“Oh, that.” He plays with my fingers. “I pulled some strings.”
My smile falls. “What?”
“Turns out, when you own a town, you can just show up and say you want a marriage license. All that matters is that we just signed it and the official copy will be mailed to us within the week.”
“So…we’re actually…”
“Husband and wife, yes.” His lips soften as he presses them to my knuckles.
My mind goes blank.
I am married…to a lunatic.
He laughs.
I tense.
Eyes warm, he murmurs, “I can’t believe you said yes.”
He can’t believe I said yes? I can’t believe I said yes. He knocked me off balance in the middle of the night. This is the kind of thing that happens in Vegas. We’re literally supposed to be so unbelievably drunk right now.
I gasp. “Did you spike my hot chocolate?”
“With…love?”
I hiss, “Alcohol.”
“No.”
Ah. Great. So. This all happened within the bounds of a sober mind.
Voice quivering, I sink down into my couch, which so conveniently happens to be placed right behind where I got married. Just now. “What were you thinking?”
He sits beside me. “Morana thinks she’s the problem. I’ll show her a real problem. I’ll out-problem her.”
I stare at him.
“That’s what I was thinking.” He tugs on my arm, sending my already off-balance body tumbling into him.
“Try and burn this bridge, mistress. I’m crazy enough to rebuild it in the flames.
Scared I’ll leave you?” A hollow laugh exits unsmiling lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re stuck in this cage with me, not the other way around. Got it?”
My heart thuds, and fragile breath whispers between my lips. “But…”
“I’ve already enlisted help to move you home tomorrow.
I don’t want to hear a single complaint about it.
I picked a great room that gives you lots of space to grow.
Are you content to keep housewifing now that we’re married and you don’t need to worry about a job, or should I add creating chore charts to my to-do list for the week?
I’m certain we can strong-arm the whole family into contributing. ”
I brace a hand against his chest. “S-slow down…isn’t this all a little bit…much? I’m still not certain what’s happening. We’re…married. I’m…moving…tomorrow?”
“I imagine it’ll take a few days, but, yes, starting tomorrow, you’ll be moving. I’m bringing you home.”
Home. With…him. To the place that feels warm and safe and loving. To the place with my sister and my brothers.
“Until your liver gets the memo on how it feels about all this, you’ll have your own bed, so don’t worry about that.”
I have so many other things to worry about right now, actually.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Am I okay? Me. The person who was just chilling in her bed watching YouTube until this lunatic barged in?
“If you need to text STOP, I can message Peter and make sure the paperwork doesn’t file tomorrow morning. Then, it won’t be official.”
That pinches a nerve. “You’re really gonna go through all of this, then offer me an out?”
He thinks on that for a moment. “No, you’re right. You didn’t have to say I do. It’s too late.” He smiles. “We’re married.”
We’re married.
He just married me. In my living room. After barging in unannounced, microwaving a rainbow marshmallow, and going through my things. He was so casual about it, too. How long did he have the magistrate waiting outside with my neighbors? At least an hour, right?
Heaven help me, he’s right.
I am stuck in this cage with him, not the other way around, and that really shouldn’t be comforting.
But it is.