17. Chapter 17 - Damien
“Do you, Damien Starr, take Minnie Alexander as your lawfully wedded wife?” Judge Adeboye’s voice echoes through the small room. “To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”
There’s something ominous about those words, even though this whole fucking marriage is a lie.
I could turn them into background vocals, echoing on repeat, “Wedded wife. Wedded wife. Wedded wife,” while I sing about a fate worse than death…
but better than Fae. Not that I can blame Eliara’s actions on her entire race…
A fate worse than death… the only way to save me…
Song-writing has always been my escape—but there’s no escaping my fate. I have to say “I do,” and then I’ll be married to Minnie Alexander.
It still grates on me that I don’t know who the fuck Alexander is.
The detective I hired to look into her didn’t find a thing.
Not on Screech, or on the human socials, or as part of the local gossip.
Typical Montgomery, paying people off to keep quiet.
Just more evidence that she’s awful, stuck-up, and intolerable… just like her mother.
At least there’s no record of a husband, so this marriage will be legit. But who is she hiding? A boyfriend? A fiance?
Just because I haven’t seen her with another man doesn’t mean she’s single. What if he runs into the room yelling “I object”?
But no one does, and I force the words out. “I do.”
I half-expect a Fae to pop into the room to confirm that I’m free. No one does. I’m not even convinced I’m married until the judge asks for the rings.
Minnie’s eyes jump to mine in obvious panic and her cheeks flush, just like they always did when we were kids.
“I have them right here,” I announce.
I remove my pinkie ring, which I’ve worn since my teens. It’s a simple silver band with an oval-shaped purplish-red gem that will shift to green once we’re outside. The chameleon of gemstones… an alexandrite… for Minnie Alexander. Fucking hell.
I slide it on her finger, ignoring how holding her trembling hand makes me want to protect her like I always had when we were kids.
Then, I remove the ring from my left index finger—a large purple coffin, which is fitting for Not a Vampire—and for a fate worse than death with the witch I hoped I’d never be cursed to see again.
Her fingers are warm and soft against my skin, her hands shaking as she slides it onto my index finger. When this is all over, I’ll have to get new fucking rings so I don’t think of her each time I look at them.
Judge Adeboye beams at us and brings his hands together in a single, resounding clap that echoes through the wedding chambers. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Kiss. The bride.
I completely forgot all about the kiss I promised her.
Why the fuck does she want to kiss me? Is it a fucking power play? Wouldn’t expect any less from a woman who managed to negotiate millions to marry a rock star other women would pay to be with.
Is that why she wants that kiss? So she can gossip with her friends about locking lips with the Damien Starr? Sounds conceited, but I’ve had enough women throwing themselves at me to know that’s all I’m good for.
But Zoe and Violet don’t give off fangirl vibes, and they don’t seem like the gossiping sort. It’s shocking how down-to-earth they’ve been during the ceremony. Nothing like the groupies I’m used to, or the perfectly put-together Minnie clones I’d expected her to bring.
Why the fuck are they even friends with her? Are they secretly as shallow as she is? Do they like the perpetually bored, judgemental Maude-clone she’s become? Or is there more to her? A side only they get to see?
She probably just paid them to show up.
I glance down at my bride, who somehow looks gorgeous and awful all at the same time. Her skin-tight pink dress and too-tall heels remind me of her uptight mother, with her nasally voice and holier-than-thou attitude.
But there are small hints of the girl I once knew peeking through. Her freckles—faint, but visible beneath her makeup—forming my favorite constellation, a Minnie map I wish I’d memorized.
There’s that bright red hair I’ve always loved.
I used to think it was vibrant, like her personality.
Now, it gives me hope. Last night, it curled a little more with each passing minute, becoming more relaxed and less uptight like the rest of her.
I like how it looks right now, in the pretty braid that isn’t quite perfect.
It’s a definite improvement over the straight glossy Maude-do she had before her friends showed up.
Especially the strand that’s managed to escape the braid.
It caresses her cheek, and I brush it aside.
Her skin feels warm beneath my palm, and a hot blush travels up her neck to her cheeks. She looks so much more alive this way. So much more like my Minnie.
Fuck. Where did that thought come from?
I’m over her. Have been, for a long time.
Then why does the thought of kissing her set every part of me on high alert? And why, even after everything, do I want her in my bed?
Fucking hell!
The thought slams into me like a freight train, and I pull her into my arms.
This was supposed to be a simple contract. But who says it can’t be more? Not a relationship—it’s too fucking late for that—but why not get a good fuck out of it? Get her out of my system for good?
I don’t have to like her to stick my cock in her. I don’t have to have feelings for her to claim those delicious-looking lips and finally learn what Minnie tastes like.
Fuck, I need to kiss her.
I thread my fingers through her hair, not giving a damn that I’m making a mess of her braid. Not like we plan on taking pictures of this bullshit wedding.
I capture her lips. They’re hot and inviting and she lets out this sweet little moan that makes my cock take center stage, begging me to elicit more of those moans from her lips. Ideally, in bed.
More. I need more.
Even after everything, we’re perfect together—Minnie and I. Each time my lips brush hers, an electric buzz courses through me. My every thought is consumed by her.
I pull her closer and devour her mouth, savoring the way her lips move against mine.
It feels like coming home. It feels like everything. And it makes me forget how fucking alone I’ve been since she left me behind.
Our tongues tangle, and I groan.
“Get a room,” one of Minnie’s friends calls out and lets out a wolf whistle.
“Zoe!” the other one—Violet—hisses.
I instantly pull away and glare down at Minnie. How dare she have this effect on me?
Then I see that her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen from my kiss, and her eyes wide as she stares up at me. My glare disappears and a wave of satisfaction courses through me.
This time, I’m going to be the one who walks away. This time, she’ll be the one left with her heart broken.
It’s fucking brilliant. Not only will I get Eliara off my back, but I’ll give Minnie a taste of her own medicine. Show her what it’s like to be left behind.
I’ll show her what we could have been, and then I’ll walk away and never look back.
I scoop her up, bridal style, and carry her down the aisle. “Let’s get out of here.”
One of her friends giggles. I don’t care enough to check which one.
“Wait!” Judge Adeboye shouts. “You need to sign the marriage license.”
Fucking hell.
I growl and switch directions. The judge gestures toward a table at the back, and I set her down in front of it.
My cock throbs and my heart thunders in my chest as she signs her first name with a shaking hand in handwriting that was once as familiar as my own.
“Stravinsky,” I add, before she can write ‘Alexander.’
She glances up at me in surprise. “Not Starr?”
“I never legally changed my name.”
“But during the ceremony…” She glances at Judge Adeboye. “D-does it still count, even though you called him Damien Starr?”
Judge Adeboye nods. “Damien requested I use Starr during the ceremony, since that’s the name he goes by. But you both need to use your legal names on the marriage license. Are you keeping your surname or changing it?”
“Changing it,” I snap. Hell if I’m letting her keep Alexander’s name now that she’s mine.
Temporarily mine. Until I fuck her out of my system and forget her.