Chapter 32 Collette
COLLETTE
We stumble through his apartment door early in the morning, married.
The word keeps bouncing around my skull like a pinball.
Married. I’m married. To Justin Crawford.
Fish. Number twenty-two. The man my brothers warned on the team not to touch me.
I married him in a government building in DC, wearing a party dress and no underwear because I left them on the floor of a hotel room twelve floors above our Christmas party.
This is either the best decision you’ve ever made or the most spectacularly insane. Why can’t it be both?
He closes the door behind us, and I turn to look at him. Navy suit, rumpled now, silver tie, loosened, hair wrecked from my hands. Eyes bright and tired, and so full of love it makes my chest ache. And on my finger, a toy ring he got at a convenience store.
“Hi, wife.” He says it softly, like he’s testing the word, like he can’t believe it’s real either.
“Hi, husband.” The second I say it, my eyes fill with tears because it is real. We did this. We actually did this.
He crosses the space between us in two steps, cups my face, and kisses me. Not the desperate, hungry kisses from the hotel room door. This is slow and deep, claiming. This is I married you, and you’re mine, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know it.
“I want to take this dress off you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Then take it off me.”
He turns me around gently and finds the zipper at the back.
He pulls it down slowly, his knuckles grazing my spine, and the silver fabric pools at my feet.
I’m standing in his apartment in nothing but heels and a plastic wedding ring, and the way he looks at me when I turn around makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet.
“You’re my wife,” he whispers, and his voice cracks on the word.
“I’m your wife.”
He picks me up, not the frantic lift from the hotel door.
This time, it’s gentle, one arm under my knees, one behind my back, and he carries me to his bedroom.
He lays me on his bed, stands over me, and takes off his jacket, tie, and his shirt, followed by his pants and boxers.
Each piece falls to the floor until he’s standing there naked, and I’m lying here naked, and there’s a plastic band on my finger that says this man belongs to me.
He climbs over me and settles between my thighs, resting his forehead against mine.
We breathe together. His hand finds mine, and our fingers lace together, the ring pressing between us.
“I’m going to upgrade this as soon as I can,” he says, kissing the plastic ring.
“I think it’s cute.”
“You deserve better than a candy ring.”
“I’ve got you, and you’re all I need.” I smile as I wrap my arms around his neck.
“I want to take my time tonight,” he says. “No rush. Just us.”
“Just us,” I whisper.
He kisses me slowly. His tongue slides against mine, and I melt into the mattress underneath him.
His mouth moves to my jaw, my neck, that spot behind my ear that makes me shiver.
His hand traces down my body like he’s mapping me, memorizing me, every curve, dip, and scar.
He kisses my collarbone, the swell of my breast, then my nipple.
I arch into him, and he takes his time, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing, until I’m writhing underneath him.
“Justin. Please.”
“Patience, Mrs. Crawford.” He grins against my skin, and the name sends a shockwave through me that settles somewhere low and hot.
“Say that again,” I tell him.
“Mrs. Crawford.” He kisses lower over my ribs, along my stomach, and across the curve of my hip. “My Mrs. Crawford.” Lower still, the inside of my thigh. “Mine.” He kisses softly.
“Yours,” I breathe out.
His mouth finds me, and I stop thinking. His tongue is slow and deliberate, none of the urgency from earlier, just long, devastating strokes that build like a wave. My hand finds his hair, and my back arches off the bed as he slides two fingers inside me and curls them as my vision whites out.
“You taste like mine,” he murmurs against me, and the vibration of his voice makes me gasp.
“Didn’t know mine had a taste.”
“It does to me.” He works me higher, his tongue and his fingers in perfect rhythm, and when I come it’s slow and rolling and so intense that tears leak from the corners of my eyes. He kisses his way back up my body and settles over me, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I just came so hard I’m crying. I think I’m better than okay.”
He laughs, that warm, easy laugh that I fell in love with in a corridor that smelled like sweat and ice. “I love you.”
“I love you. Now get inside me,” I demand.
“Bossy, even on your wedding night.”
“Especially on my wedding night.” I smirk.
“Condom?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
He bites his bottom lip. “Fuck!” he curses. “Are you sure?”
“We’re married, Justin. I want to feel you. All of you.”
And so he does, pushing into me bare, and the sound we both make fills the dark room. It’s different without the barrier. More intimate. Rawer. I can feel every inch of him, the heat, the stretch, and when he starts to move, it’s slow and deep, his eyes don’t leave mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You feel ...”
“I know.” Because I can feel it too. Everything, every nerve ending is alive and sparking.
He moves slowly, rolling his hips into mine, hitting deep with every thrust. His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mixing, and our hands are laced together above my head, the ring between our fingers.
This isn’t fucking. This is something else entirely.
Something that makes my chest ache, my eyes sting, and my body feel like it’s dissolving into his.
“I love you,” he says with every thrust.
“Harder,” I whisper, and he gives me more. Not aggressive, just deeper, so I get more of him. His mouth is on my neck, my jaw, my lips. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and I feel the pressure building low in my belly.
“I’m close,” I warn him.
“Me too. Come with me.” He reaches between us and presses his thumb against my clit, and I shatter.
My whole body clenches around him, and he follows me over with a groan that sounds like it started in his chest and ended in his soul.
I feel him pulse inside me, warm and real, and the intimacy of it makes fresh tears spill down my cheeks.
He collapses beside me and pulls me against him.
We’re both breathing hard, both wrecked, both crying a little bit, even though neither of us will admit it in the morning.
“That was ...” he starts.
“Yeah.”
“Different,” he adds.
“The best kind of different.”
He presses his lips to my temple. “Well, now our marriage is consummated, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” This makes us both laugh.
I trace my finger over his chest. “Justin?”
“Mm?”
“I don’t regret it. Not for a second.” I need him to know that.
He tightens his arms around me. “Neither do I.”
We lie there in the dark, tangled together, his hand running lazy circles on my back. The city is quiet at this hour, just us, the hum of the heating, and the weight of what we’ve done settling around us like a blanket.
“When do you leave for Maine?” I ask.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“I leave for Quebec in the morning.” The words taste bitter.
I just married this man, and in a few hours, I have to get on a plane and pretend none of this happened.
Sit with my brothers and my mother, eat Christmas dinner, open presents, and act like I’m the same Collette who left New York when I’m not.
I’m Mrs. Crawford now.
And nobody can know.
“It’s going to be the longest three days of my life,” he says, kissing my temple.
“Me too. We can do this. We have forever, we can handle a couple of days.”
“Maine isn’t far from Quebec, I could …”
I shake my head. “How would you explain that to my family?”
“I don’t know, but we could make it work.”
I love his enthusiasm, but … “Next year we can do Christmas together as a family.”
He stills. “As a family? You think I just knocked you up tonight?”
“No … I mean …”
“Because if you want, I can fuck you again and fill you up. Maybe if you’re pregnant, your brothers will have to accept us.”
“Justin!”
“What?” He gives me a heated look. “The thought of knocking you up has my dick hard.” I stare at him as a myriad of thoughts rush through my mind. “Lettie? Shit. Did I say the wrong thing? I was only joking. We can have kids whenever you want. It’s your body, your choice,” he says, panicked.
This makes me laugh. This man is the sweetest thing. “I want kids. Just realized it’s now a possibility, and it took me a minute.”
“Whenever you are ready, know that I am too,” he says, snuggling in.
The alarm goes off at seven, and I want to throw it through the window. Justin groans and pulls me tighter against him.
“No,” he argues, holding me tightly.
“I have to go.” I groan.
“Stay.”
“My family is expecting me at the airport in a couple of hours.” I lean down and kiss him, long and slow and full of everything I can’t say because if I start talking, I’ll cry, and if I cry, I won’t leave.
“I love you, husband,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I love you more, wife.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Go, before I lock you in here.”
I get dressed in last night’s clothes because I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag for my elopement.
The silver dress and heels look ridiculous for seven in the morning, but there’s no helping it.
I grab my bag and stop at his bedroom door, looking back at him, tangled in sheets.
My husband. The most reckless, romantic, impossible man I’ve ever met.
“Merry Christmas, husband.”
“Merry Christmas, wife.”
“Three days,” I say.
“Three days,” he repeats. “Text me when you land.”
“I will.” I blow him a kiss.
I walk out of his apartment and into the corridor.
The elevator takes me down to the lobby, and I step out into the cold December morning in a silver sparkly dress and heels, looking exactly like a woman doing a walk of shame.
Except it’s not a walk of shame. It’s a walk of the best night of my life.
I hail a cab and head home. I need to shower, pack, and get to the airport.
The cab drops me at my building, and I ride the elevator up to our floor.
The doors open, and I step into the corridor and stop.
And still.
Because standing right there, coming out of Emmett’s apartment, is Jo, with Emmett right behind her.
All three of us freeze.
“Morning,” Emmett says, his eyes clocking the dress, the heels in my hand, the mess that is my hair and makeup.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice tight because if I open my mouth too wide, I’m going to either laugh or cry or scream. I just got married, and none of those are options right now.
Jo looks between me and Emmett, and then back at me. “Where were you?” she asks, and I see the smile dancing on her lips.
“Out.”
“With?” she questions, playing the part of the concerned sister, who doesn’t know what is truly going on.
“None of your business,” I tell her.
Emmett wisely says nothing. Smart man. He knows when to stay out of St. Pierre sister business.
“I’m going to …” I gesture toward our apartment door. “I’ll see you later.”
I walk past them without making eye contact. I can feel Jo’s gaze burning into the back of my sparkly silver dress the entire way. I swipe our door open, step inside, and close it behind me.
I shower fast, pack faster, and try not to think about the fact that my husband is three miles away in a bed that smells like us, and I’m about to spend Christmas pretending I’m single.
We’re at the private airport lounge waiting to board the plane to Quebec.
Pierre and Issy are curled up together like two lovebirds.
Jo is beside me, scrolling on her phone.
Everything is normal. Everything is fine.
I am not a secretly married woman sitting in an airport lounge wearing a plastic wedding ring.
I get up from my seat. “Water?”
“Please,” Jo says. I head to the refreshment area, grab us some waters, and head back, handing her a bottle. “You got a message,” she says. “Your phone buzzed on the seat.”
I look down at the notification on my screen.
Fish: We need to talk about what happened.
My heart slams into my throat, and I stare at the screen. Shit. Is he having second thoughts? I look at her. She looks at me.
“What’s that all about?” She raises a brow, taking a sip of water.
“Nothing. Please …” I tell her, but my fingers are already flying across the screen. Typing. Deleting. Typing again. Because how do you respond to a, ‘We need to talk about what happened’ message after you eloped to DC in the middle of your work Christmas party?
“I’m here if you need me,” Jo says quietly. “Just like you were for me.”
“I know.” I don’t look up. I keep typing because I am freaking out.
Collette: Have you changed your mind? We can get an annulment.
Fish: What the fuck? Why would you think that?
Collette: You texted that we need to talk about what happened.
Fish: Oh shit. I can see how that would sound, but it’s not what I mean.
Collette: I thought you had changed your mind.
Fish: Never.
Okay. Phew.
Fish: I just spoke to my lawyer, and he is furious with me because we didn’t sign any prenups or anything like that.
Oh shit.
Collette: I will sign whatever you need me to sign. I am not after your money.
Fish: I know. That’s why I told him we aren’t having a prenup.
Collette: What? No. That is stupid.
Fish: I trust you.
Collette: It’s not about trust. It’s about having a plan in case something happens.
Fish: What do you mean?
Collette: Worst-case scenario, your wishes are written down.
Fish: Isn’t that a will?
Collette: Shit. We are going to need to do one of those, too.
Fish: This isn’t romantic talk.
Collette: No. But it is practical.
Fish: Adulting sucks.
Collette: Do whatever the lawyer suggests. I will not be offended if we do a postnup.
Fish: Postnup?
Collette: It’s a prenup after the fact.
Fish: Right. Guess it’s lucky we have these three days to think about all this stuff.