Chapter 7
Seven
Carter
“Umm . . .” I trail off, looking down at my arm as River stares at me in horror.
Scrawled in cursive is a beautiful tattoo of her name, taking up the entire inside of my forearm.
I should tell her it’s a mistake; that’s probably what she wants to hear, but I’m not one to tell someone what they want to hear.
She branded me long before the needle ever touched my skin, so the tattoo feels like it belongs there along with all the other ink.
My head feels like I’ve taken a sledgehammer to the skull, I’m nauseous as hell, and I could definitely use a few more hours of sleep, but none of that even compares to the weight settling in my chest. The guilt over what we did last night eats away at my conscience, and the shock and devastation on River’s face completely guts me.
I’m sure it was me who somehow coerced her into this. There’s no way this was her idea.
“River,” I start, but my voice cracks on the thought of her hating me.
She should.
“I know words aren’t enough, but I’m sorry. I’ve always wanted you, but not like this. Not from a stupid drunken night. You have to know that I’d never take advantage of you like that.”
Her eyes dart to my arm again, but she sits quietly.
“I swear, if I pushed this on you, if I manipulated you—”
She stands up—my t-shirt hitting her mid-thigh—and walks to the window to look out over the city.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she looks over her shoulder toward the king-sized bed in my suite, gnawing on her bottom lip.
She’s so beautiful like this. In my shirt with streams of light from the morning sun casting a glow onto her golden hair.
Too bad I can’t enjoy the view for the weight of the guilt.
She swallows thickly and throws a thumb over her shoulder. “Did we um?” Her voice falters. “I-I woke up naked.”
I shake my head, forcing my eyes to stay on hers. “No. I would never take advantage of you like that. Drunk or not.”
She sighs, turning back toward the window and groaning into her hands. “God. This is so bad.”
No. What’s bad is that, deep down, I don’t regret marrying her. I’m usually one to carefully think things through, and oddly, I feel . . . okay with being married to her. What I do regret is the fact that she’s being forced into something she doesn’t want to be a part of.
That’s on me.
I can kiss any chance of us ever being together goodbye because I failed to protect her from me, and because of that, my feelings for her will always remain one-sided.
What I did last night will ensure that she’ll never come around. Because she’s always gonna have it in the back of her mind that I’m a selfish prick who got her drunk, then manipulated her into a marriage she never wanted. She’ll never trust me, especially when she finds out about Nate.
Fuck!
What the hell did I do?
A vice clutches around my throat and my chest tightens. I swallow back the bile in my throat. She can’t hear this from someone else.
“I need to tell you something . . .”
“Carter, right now, I can’t even wrap my head around this, let alone anything else. We’ve wasted too much time, and I need to shower before we go to the venue.”
I give a short nod. I could wait and tell her later, but later may be too late, and if she hears him talking about it, that will definitely dig a deeper hole for me to crawl out of.
“You can use my shower to cut down on time. You need to hear this from me. Then you can do whatever it is you need to do,” I say softly.
Hesitating, she crosses her arms over her chest. I can tell she wants to walk away, but she doesn’t.
“Nate and I . . .” I sigh, trying to force the words out. Fuck, this is hard. “We orchestrated last night so you and I would end up alone together. I know it was stupid, but I swear, I didn’t . . . it wasn’t . . . my intention wasn’t for this to happen. I thought maybe it’d feel like a date and—”
“Wait! Did I hear you right? Did you just say you tricked me into a date?”
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I nod and whisper, “Yes.”
Turning her back on me, both hands fly up to her face and she massages her temples. She spins around and drops her hands at her side, cutting me a glare.
“I don’t know Nate well enough to have any expectations from him, but you? I’m so disappointed. I expected more out of you. And here I was, beginning to think you were honorable.”
There’s nothing I can say to make it better. This entire fiasco wouldn’t have happened if Nate had stayed with us last night.
“I have to shower,” she says, sounding exasperated, then softly pads to the bathroom.
When the bathroom door softly clicks shut; it’s louder than if she had slammed it.
I could have dealt with her being pissed off at me, but her being disappointed in me?
That hits a little bit harder. Sitting on the side of the bed, my shoulders hunch as I stare at the spot she just left.
The weight of what I’ve done is suffocating.
River
I want to hate him right now. He broke my trust, yet here I stand, staring in this fogged up mirror, not hating him at all.
Deep down I know him. I don’t think he had any malicious intent when he made those plans with Nate.
And from the stricken look on his face, I know what I said cut him deep.
There’s a feeling in my gut telling me to cut him a break.
We both made this bed, now we have to lay in it.
Steam billows around me as I swipe a hand across the mirror and stare back at the woman in the reflection. Jesus Christ . . . not only do I have racoon eyes, but my hair looks like I just stepped out of a 1980s MTV music video. I let out a sigh and instantly regret it.
I spot an unopened, wrapped toothbrush on the counter. How many times did he call me his future wife? Well, he wanted a wife. Now he’s got one . . . and all the things that come with it; stolen toothbrush included. He can call downstairs and ask for a new one.
After unwrapping the package, I work the bad taste out of my mouth, then stride over to the steaming shower—stripping out of my clothes along the way—and step inside.
With my hands braced against the shower wall, I stand under the scalding water, wishing it would wash away this nightmare.
How am I supposed to live with him? Dread coils in my stomach.
I don’t think I can do that. The thought alone makes it hard to breathe.
Water pours over my head as I try to piece together everything that happened last night. As I lather up my hair, things start to come to me in flashes and bits and pieces begin clicking together like a puzzle, but I can’t remember the part where we got married.
The last thing I really remember was doing a shot on the bar where . . . oh, God. I kissed him. Holy shit! We dry humped on the bar. Wait! One thrust isn’t really considered dry humping, right? I close my eyes as the night slams into me.
Holy shit.
I proposed to him. I speed through rinsing my hair and washing my body so I can talk to him. I don’t want him to feel guilty when this was technically my fault. While drying off, I feel a sting as the towel grazes my ass.
Squinting, I twist around awkwardly.
I inch closer to the steamed-up mirror, then take the corner of my towel and wipe the fog away.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
My eyes widen in horror. “CARTER!”
A few seconds later, the door burst open—nearly flying off its hinges—and bangs against the wall as Carter barges into the bathroom, looking concerned.
Startled, I clutch the towel to my chest. “What the fuck, Carter?”
He’s quick to avert his eyes, then throws a hand over them. “I swear I won’t peek. Are you okay? What happened?”
“Do you make a habit of barging in on people?” I ask, securing the towel tight around me.
“Do you make a habit of leaving your bathroom door unlocked? Because if so, we need to have a talk.”
“What? No. Of course not. You can uncover your eyes now.”
Carter’s hand falls, and I turn to the side, lifting the side of the towel just high enough to flash him a clear view of my inked ass cheek. His gaze drops and he silently stares at my tattoo, then his eyes flick back up to mine.
Letting the side of the towel drop back in place, I throw one hand out and say, “I mean, this entire fiasco is the kind of shit Aiden would pull . . . not us! We don’t do dumb shit like this, Carter!”
We stare at each other for a few seconds before laughter explodes between us. He leans against the doorframe clutching his side while I double over.
“I really shouldn’t be laughing.” I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “This is a disaster. I have your name tattooed on my ass, Carter!”
“Well, wifey, on the plus side, my name has never looked so good.” He winks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
The movement causes his jeans to rest low on his hips and my attention shifts to the sexy vee disappearing into the waistband. As my eyes trail up his torso, his pecs flex, and the laughter dies on my lips.
He raises a brow. “Too soon?”
“Too soon. Way too soon,” I choke out, though it’s not in response to anything he said.
He chuckles and turns to leave. “Alright. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll bring you one of my clean shirts to wear.”
The door clicks behind him, and I stand there, wondering how the fuck I’m going to survive the next twelve months. Especially with a body like that.