10. Maeve
CHAPTER 10
MAEVE
The following morning, I wake quietly, fully understanding where I am and what I agreed to last night, what I let my own stepbrother do to me because I’d gotten a bit too tired, comfortable, and I guess horny. A little time passes while the sun is still high in the sky. Is he sleeping or thinking too? Has he washed me off his face? Why do I hope he hasn’t?
When Diego comes to see if I’m up, his expression is even more tense than the night before when I pulled the taser on him. He’s wearing a shirt now, but he’s still wearing boxers, revealing countless leg tattoos. My eyes drift to his cock, wondering if he stroked it after he left me lying there. I’m ashamed to admit I’d have let him fuck me, no questions asked, had he wanted, but he just left me there and went to bed.
“My face is up here.” He tries to interrupt my staring, but I take my time looking. If I’m going to marry him, I should have a look at what I’m getting. He already got a good feel, look, and taste of me, and he felt me around with his fingers. Maybe I should return the favor, but I balk when I remember exactly how I came.
“Change your mind about this plan?” I ask by way of a good morning.
Maybe he saw sense in the middle of the night and came to tell me about his regrets. Dark eyes trace me from top to bottom, like he’s giving the question real consideration. He licks his lips like the devil himself, like he can still taste me, and I swallow hard.
He tosses a ball of fabric at me that I didn’t realize he was holding while staring at his cock. I snap a hand out to catch them just as the items come apart. His T-shirt, which I can tie to fit, and a pair of pants that will never work. At least the shirt is clean, but I’ll wear a dirty pair of jeans out of my car before I put these on.
“Get ready. We have an appointment,” he finally says as an answer for whether he’s changed his mind about marrying me. Did the almost sex somehow make the marriage plot more awkward?
“I can’t wear these, Diego. The legs are too long, and my ass won’t fit. I have a pair in my car.”
“I knew your ass was going to be a problem,” he says quietly to himself, and I’m not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment.
“Your pants won’t fit me, Diego.”
“Then don’t wear any. I find I prefer you without them anyway.”
A little while later, we drive over to the courthouse. I’ve been here exactly once for a parking ticket, but I sweat like all the cops and officials know exactly who I am.
Maeve, the car thief.
I never dreamed about a wedding. Not about the perfect dress or the party I would be forced to have. As a Sinclair, those things were thought of for me and planned long before I was born.
But I never saw myself walking across the Town Hall, taking a number and sitting in the waiting area for those with appointments.
Sinclairs marry for power. Why waste my time being disappointed in a dream like love? No, it was best that I never even thought about it. How else would I survive the dread of marrying a man I didn’t love? How was this so different?
Marrying Diego for safety and power is a very Sinclair move for me, except for the part where I made the choice myself.
Someone has always told me the proper things to desire, just like they told me how to dress, think, and feel about everything else. Marrying for love was never an option, a dream that had been crushed before it began. How was this so different?
Diego sits before me, not paying particular attention to me as I sit beside him. The yellow walls of the waiting area agitate my eyes, and I’m terribly confused by how I managed to destroy my solid and predictable life so quickly. Did it start when I stole the first car or somewhere long before that?
The soft fabric of Diego’s T-shirt slips between my fingers. He caved and got me my jeans from the car. They don’t look great, but at least they fit. At least I can fit my ass inside and button them. What did he mean by my ass causing him trouble? Does he like it? I’ve always been self-conscious about it in my line of work, so that possibility is tantalizing.
I don’t look like a bride. I definitely don’t look like a Sinclair .
“We’ll have our turn soon,” he says. “Then we can both relax.”
He presses his hand to my knee, stopping it from bouncing, and I stare at the size of his tattooed hand on me. I nod, though nothing about him seems stressed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s excited.
I can’t speak. Rather, I inspect the real couples waiting to be called in. None of them wore full wedding attire, but they dressed up for the occasion. There’s even a guy in a suit with a pocket silk. I count the scuffs on my shoes instead of thinking about all the ways this is positively insane.
What will my father say? Will this even work? Why did I come so hard when he smacked my clit?
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, but I wonder if he’ll smell like me when we kiss.
He can’t know what I’m thinking, but sometimes it feels like he does. Maybe I really am that obvious, and he just pays attention. Perhaps I’m not easy to read, but instead, Diego is strangely observant.
Calming down is an impossible task. My hands shake, and my head sits too heavy on my shoulders. My clit throbs for another round of his attention. My pussy as a whole is now fully concerned our marriage to Diego is an excellent thing.
Diego says he’ll protect me, but he’s done so many things that confuse me in such a short time, I don’t know which way is up. Fuck, my body aches for another round with him, and I’m not sure if I even believe him about the circumstances that led us here. Was it his mouth on my pussy that led me out the door, my exhaustion, or was there some valid level of decision-making?
“How am I solving your problems?” I ask once more. “I’m about to be your wife. Just tell me what you need from me.” The old-style clock sits above the doorway leading into the courtroom, and the heavy secondhand audibly ticks.
“I need that tight cunt.” He doesn’t say it with any heat or passion. He’s making fun of me for begging to fuck last night and how easy it was for him to get me off.
I blush from my neck up and quickly search the room to make sure no one heard him.
“Diego, I’m serious.”
“Fine. Tell me why you were running. Shouldn’t I know why I’m willing to kill for you?” His voice is low and smooth, and he is definitely not anxious.
My mouth drops open, and the moisture resolutely evaporates. He’ll kill for me?
“Who the hell are you killing, Diego?”
An older man looks over at me from his seat, and Diego lowers his voice further, admonishing me for speaking so loudly.
“You would need to admit why you’re running for me to know that.”
“ Have you ever killed anyone?” I ask, feeling the need to center this conversation. Everything with him is veiled and innuendo, but I can’t believe Diego is a killer. He couldn’t have changed that much.
He pushes closer, lips next to my ear. “You tell me,” he taunts, not helping my concern but making me a lot hotter. I swallow hard.
“You haven’t,” I insist, but I don’t even believe myself right now.
“Sure. However you like me, Miss Sinclair .” Do I imagine the malice with which he says my last name? “I’m just as nice as you remember.”
He smells clean, fresh, masculine, and nothing like my pussy. With a shred of mercy, he leans away from me, and I breathe much more freely. My fingers play with the arrow necklace I couldn’t bear to take off even to shower. A multitude of thoughts fly through my head. Marrying Diego is a defining choice. I won’t be a Sinclair anymore. I’ll be the disgrace who married my stepbrother.
Endless functions and the right things to say won’t be my concern any longer. Dad will be furious, and my family will write off my name. It’ll hurt for a second, but then it will be done. Maybe he can add the old Maeve and my father’s dreams to his long list of murders.
If he’s really that dangerous, this marriage will fix two problems at once. This could work.
How many people has he killed?
“That’s us.”
He shakes my knee, but I didn’t even hear the names called.
Diego stands up quickly, but my legs refuse to work. He grips my arm hard, pulling me out of the chair. His hold stings but does the job. I’m agile, getting to my feet seamlessly despite his roughness. I slide a suspicious glare at him but smile for anyone watching. He waves for me to go first, then follows me into the courtroom.
The wood-lined room blurs before me. Romance hangs in the air, true love, but it surely isn’t my own.
Maybe we can go for cake after. That was the only part of my wedding I ever thought I might get to plan. How many times did I want to tuck into the bakery and ask for wedding cake samples just to try them? If a girl deserves one thing on her wedding day, it’s a slice of cake.
Diego leads me to an old man, but my vision refuses to process his features. My ears ring, and something deep inside me screams this is a bad idea. Diego might really be a killer. But isn’t that what I need?
Raspberry and white chocolate.
The judge explains the procedure.
Salted caramel .
Diego pulls a ring out of his pocket and puts it on my finger.
Dark chocolate and orange.
I say I do.
Lavender and honey.
He says I do.
Coconut and lime.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Congratulations. Next.”
We never kiss.