Chapter 10
TEN
JADA
I didn’t anticipate that my wedding day would start with me walking into my kitchen and finding my fiancé standing next to my coffee machine in nothing but a red silk robe and boxer briefs.
This is the second time I’ve seen him in this robe, but it hits me like it’s the first time. The silk robe shouldn’t work, and it definitely shouldn’t make me feel a damn thing. And yet, seeing his bare chest, inked and muscled, framed by all that red?
I don’t even know what to do, or how to process the fact that this man is going to be my husband in a couple hours.
He’s barely awake, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stares out the window above the sink and yawns. Does he even notice me?
Pip slinks into the room and butts his head on his ankle, which snaps him out of it. He notices me and nods in greeting.
“Morning. You okay?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes off the tattoos on his chest. The style is different than the ones on his arms, and that style is different than the ones I can see on his legs.
My eyes dart away from the swell of his cock behind his boxer briefs as much as I want to linger.
The idea of looking at him is making me uncomfortably tingly.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, tossing something into his mouth.
“The couch isn’t that bad, is it?” I narrow my eyes. “Wait, are you just eating the coffee grounds? What the fuck?”
“I generally can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to for at least a year.” He shrugs. “And yeah, I’m eating some grounds. Don’t worry about it.”
“I will absolutely worry about it. Is your stomach filled with nuclear waste?” I nudge him aside, ignoring the way his robe opens and exposes even more of his bare chest. “I’m making you a cup of proper coffee.”
“The grounds are concentrated caffeine.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t work that way.” I dump enough grounds into the machine for two cups and fill it with water. “Also, why not drink an energy drink?”
“Because I already feel like shit and I don’t need heart palpitations added to that.” He leans against the counter and looks me up and down, appreciative but not creepy.
Fine, I got a little bit dressed—I threw on a bralette and a form-fitting T-shirt with my leggings. I wish I could say I didn’t give a shit about what he thought of how I look, but I do. I rarely get checked out by men who aren’t making me feel like crawling out of my skin.
He should make me feel like that. But somehow he never does.
I finish the coffee and open my cabinet filled with mugs, plucking my favorite for myself and skimming my options for Ash’s.
“Milk?” I ask.
“Sure.”
His eyebrows go up when he sees the mug, and his mouth settles into a smirk. It says thick thighs save lives in hot pink letters.
“Nice choice,” he says. “I’m not a breakfast person, by the way. So we don’t have to fight over that.”
“I usually am a breakfast person, but I feel like throwing up,” I say, burning my tongue. “Shit.”
“Because of our fake wedding?”
“Of course.” I frown. “You aren’t worried? At all?”
“It’ll be fine.” He shrugs a shoulder like we aren’t about to sort of commit fraud. “It’s inevitable.”
“Just because it’s inevitable doesn’t mean it’s not scary.” I put a foot out for Pip to butt his head against. He flops onto the ground and stretches his arms out with a yawn.
“I’ll make it fine,” he says, draining the coffee and putting the mug directly into the dishwasher. He says it with the confidence of someone who’s gotten away with way too much. Or, if I try to be optimistic, he’s sure we can pull it off because we have some chemistry that he feels and I don’t.
We do the awkward “no, you first” thing with the bathroom, but eventually I go first. I usually take long showers, but today I’m too worked up to dissociate and stare blankly at my pink tiles for fifteen or twenty minutes. Ash and I manage to avoid each other when I scuttle away to get dressed.
My stomach lurches again when I look at the jumpsuit I chose for the occasion. It’s a soft shimmery pink that cinches at the waist and shows a tasteful amount of cleavage. Like hell am I going to wear my dream white dress for this fake-ass wedding.
“Maybe I should have had breakfast, Pip,” I say, looking over my shoulder. But he’s not even there on his cat tree like he usually is. “Pip?”
I meow and pspsps, but still nothing. Fine. Traitor.
I put my hair in a quick updo and keep my makeup simple. Bianca has given me so many makeup tips that I’ve elevated my game significantly.
I look good. But miserable.
I take a deep breath and let it out. No need for me to force a smile, but I need to look vaguely excited. I can pass the rest off as nerves.
I step into the hallway and find Pip sitting outside of the bathroom, staring up at the door. Moments later, Ash steps out, dressed in a perfectly tailored white shirt and charcoal-gray pants.
The contrast between his tattoos and the formalwear is jarring in just the right way, like those candies that are both sweet and sour at the same time.
“You aren’t supposed to see me in my dress. Or jumpsuit. Whatever. Wedding outfit,” I manage to say, even though my throat is tight. “It’s bad luck.”
“I think that’s only bad luck for real weddings. Maybe it’s the opposite for fake ones,” he says, his smile softer in a way that makes him seem a little boyish. “Besides, it’s not like I can drive us to the courthouse with a blindfold on.”
“True.” I run my hands down my sides.
“You look beautiful,” he says. The straightforward, sincere way he says it makes my heart flutter. He’s not just saying it to be polite. Not that he’d do that kind of thing anyway.
“Thank you.” I swallow. “Let’s get going.”
We go out to his car and hop in. Neither of us speak and the silence is painful until I turn on some music.
He bites at his thumbnail, then grips the steering wheel with purpose, like he’s trying to quit the bad habit.
I fidget and rifle through my purse, then play a dumb game on my phone even though it’s a short ride.
We reach the courthouse, which is in the middle of a small, green park. Ash parks and cuts the engine, the silence that’s been threatening to take over finally spreading throughout the whole car.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
“I mean, not really, but we have to be.” I flip down the visor mirror and check my makeup, even though all I’ve done since I put it on is sweat a little bit.
“Think of it like climbing a hill. We put in a lot of effort today and we mostly coast for the next twelve months.” He opens the door and slides out.
Twelve months feels like a century. A year ago, my life looked very different. How much different will it look a year into the future? What if I happen to meet a guy who I really vibe with who I have to ignore because I’m married?
At least we’re starting off slow. We didn’t want a horde of family around during the ceremony itself, so we didn’t tell anyone besides Dad what time we were going down here.
Ash opens my door for me, probably so I actually get out. He takes my hand and helps me like a perfect gentleman.
Jepsen’s city hall is a historic building that, for whatever reason, tourists like to mingle around.
We weave between them to the front stairs and step inside, where my dad is waiting.
He’s in his usual work outfit of a pressed polo shirt tucked into khakis, but seeing him here hits me like a gut punch.
“Hi, JJ,” he says with a smile. His eyes are already a little watery behind his glasses. “You look so pretty.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I give him a hug.
“Ash.” Dad’s expression hardens up again when he addresses Ash with a firm handshake.
“Good to see you,” Ash says.
“Yes, for the first time in many years. At my daughter’s wedding.” Dad pauses and rests his hands in his pockets. “Y’all’s wedding.”
“I’m sorry.” Ash sounds sincere enough. “You’re aware of the circumstances, though. I wouldn’t have skipped straight to the wedding without meeting up with you first otherwise.”
“I am.” Dad presses his lips into a thin line for a moment, then glances at me. “But a heads-up that you were dating each other would have been nice.”
“Sorry.” I hate disappointing my dad, and the double whammy of disappointment and lying is going to make me throw up the coffee I had.
“Especially because I don’t know you as well as I know Waylon. And what I do know of you comes from rumors of years ago or the radio.”
Ash’s smile turns brittle. “I’m not the same ass—uh, jerk—I was in high school, if that’s what you’re implying. And my band’s music is just a small part of who I am.”
Had Dad listened to his band’s music? When you listen to the lyrics, there’s so much there. A lot of heartbreak and haunted feelings and rage.
“I know you aren’t. But that’s the problem. I don’t know who you really are and you’re marrying my daughter.” Dad squares his shoulders. He’s tall and broad, like Jeremiah, but with a paunch from working as an accountant all day. His size is still enough to be intimidating to the right person.
Ash is not that person. He quirks an eyebrow at my dad and doesn’t shift backward.
“Do we have to do this here?” I ask.
“Better than inside.” Ash glances at some tourists, who aren’t even looking at us. He’s right—people who work here in Jepsen will be inside and they could overhear. I’m not sure if that would hurt or help our case.
“We need to bring it up before I can go be a witness to your marriage, JJ,” Dad says. “I can’t let his happen otherwise.”
“I’m a grown woman. You can’t stop me from getting married. You said that yourself when I told you about this,” I point out. I can’t keep the edge out of my voice. He had seemed so…well, not okay with it, but tolerant of it before. And now he’s pushing back?
“But I’m your father, and I have the right to have strong feelings about it.”