Chapter 13 Nick
NICK
Iwatched her sleep like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
Blonde waves spilled over the edge of the bed like a halo gone crooked, her limbs sprawled every which way—careless, vulnerable.
She looked like a fallen angel who didn’t even know she’d hit the ground.Her arms clutched a pillow tight against her chest, like it was the only shield she had left.
The only sign of life was the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest—each breath a small mercy.
Proof she was still here. Still breathing.
She was still in her wedding dress.
I didn’t have the heart to wake her last night when she passed out in the car, slumped against the window like her bones had given out.
We’d stuffed her full of food after the chapel, wandered the Strip under neon lights, and I’d ordered us a couple of drinks—mostly for me.
I hadn’t slept through the night in months. Not since Afghanistan. Not really.
Alcohol helped. Temporarily. Enough to blur the edges.
But Melanie… she drank until she blacked out.
And I recognized the way she folded in on herself, the vacant way her eyes stared at nothing, the slurry confessions that made no damn sense.
I remembered being that far gone. When the only thing scarier than being awake was falling asleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the worst of it.
Heard the screams. Felt the sting of phantom burns whenever the shower turned too hot.
Six months ago, I didn’t want to be alive. I drank to survive sleep.
But therapy cracked a window. The kind that lets air in just enough to breathe.
CBD. Melatonin. Chamomile tea—yeah, fucking tea.
But I was tired of hating mornings. Tired of running a business with my head fogged over and my gut churning.
I barely knew what the hell I was doing sober, let alone hungover.
She stirred.
A soft sound escaped her throat, and I froze, watching as she rolled toward me, her face still slack with sleep.
No idea I was watching. No idea how many times my gaze had wandered to her lips, full and pink and parted slightly.
The kind of lips that did dangerous things to a man’s restraint.
She looked like a damn Barbie doll, but not the kind that sits on a shelf.
She had sharp cheekbones, wide eyes, a face sculpted for trouble.
A face that could lie through its perfect teeth and still make you say thank you.
And yet, she’d let herself fall apart last night. That control she always clung to with white-knuckled fists? Gone, spilled out somewhere between the champagne and her broken muttering as I carried her down the hotel hallway.
She could’ve been taken advantage of. Anyone else- any other man—and she’d have been a story on the news. But not with me. Never with me. I’d die before I crossed that line.
Still… she said things. Strange things. Scattered thoughts, like pieces of a puzzle she’d never admit she was holding.
“I like motorcycles. I wish that were the only type of transportation invented. Cars are evil. They disguise. Trap. Trick.”
“Promise me you’ll never love me, Nick. Love’s a weapon. Just like women. And I don’t want you to hurt me.”
Her voice echoed in my head, haunting and fragile, like it didn’t belong to the fierce woman I’d married yesterday.
Did she even remember?
She hadn’t stirred when I checked her blood sugar or gave her an insulin shot an hour ago. Not a twitch. Not a wince. That kind of exhaustion—that kind of escape—was deeper than sleep.
I stared at her, the words looping again and again.
Mrs. Consele. My wife.
The thought slid down my spine like ice, but somehow it warmed me too. I hated how good it sounded every time I said it aloud this morning, like I was trying to carve it into my bones. I didn’t know what the hell it meant yet, but it felt realer than it should.
She didn’t look like she’d be waking up anytime soon, so I set my coffee mug down on the table behind me and pushed up to go take a shower.
The second I moved, something shifted.
She stirred again, slower this time, then blinked. Her eyes fluttered open and landed right on me. And in that instant, it didn’t matter what she remembered or didn’t. Because I felt it—the weight of her gaze. The question in it. The pull. And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure which of us was more awake.
“Do you always watch women sleep?” Her voice was hoarse, cracked like gravel, like it scraped its way out of her throat.
“Good morning to you, too, princess.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm. I was too damn tired to sugarcoat anything.
She sat up, wincing as the motion caught her off guard. Blonde hair exploded around her face like she’d gone twelve rounds with her pillow. “Why’d you let me drink so much?” She rubbed at her temples, her tone accusatory.
“I didn’t.” I pointed to my chest. “You told the bartender it was our wedding day and to keep ‘em coming. He just followed orders. Yours.”
“So you didn’t stop him?” She narrowed her eyes. “What a stand-up husband. Let me guess—you thought you’d get lucky on our wedding night?”
“I don’t fuck corpses.” That stopped her. Her eyes blinked, slow, processing. The silence between us thickened.
“I did try to cut you off. But by then, you were already gone. You hold your liquor too well—it tricked me. You blacked out the second we hit the car.”
She looked away, jaw clenching. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t take advantage of me.”
The words didn’t slap—they sliced. Cold and deliberate. I stared at her, hard. Her eyes were flat, unreadable. Either she was testing me, or she really thought I was the kind of guy who could cross that line. What kind of men had she let close?
“Do you even remember last night?” I asked, watching her like I was waiting for her to lie.
“Yeah, I remember we got hitched.” She held up her left hand, flashing the ring like a middle finger.
“No. After that.”
She squinted, trying to focus through the hangover. “Elvis murdered the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, you ordered a burger with tomatoes—I remember hating that. Then we walked to the hotel, found a bar, and kept drinking… After that, it’s fuzzy.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t remember if we had sex?”
She yawned, stretched like a damn cat, unbothered. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
I just stared. Stunned. Not because of what she said, but how she said it—like it wasn’t a big deal. Like, blacking out with a stranger wasn’t terrifying. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t care.
“You do realize you have a drinking problem, right?”
She rolled her eyes like I told her water was wet. “So what? You gonna give me the husband ultimatum? Clean up or I walk?”
“No. I’m telling you if you keep drinking like that, your liver’s gonna rot, your looks’ll fade, and you’ll be lucky if it’s just your health that goes to shit.”
“Oh, perfect. A father figure, too. What a package deal.”
I exhaled sharply. “Look—I’m not trying to start a war, but someone else could’ve been if I hadn’t been with you last night. You know that. And for someone who acts like she hates men, you’d think you’d try harder not to hand them your power on a silver platter.”
She let out a dark laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause that always stops men from doing whatever the hell they want.”
Jesus. She didn’t just hate men—she didn’t trust them. Not an ounce.
I shook my head and pivoted. “We need to check out by noon. Take a shower, get dressed. I’ll meet you in the lobby. We’ll get food, go over some ground rules, and figure this thing out.”
“So romantic, soldier,” she muttered, dragging herself out of bed.
“We’ve got to make this believable. Especially around my mom. We’ll be spending Thanksgiving with her.”
She stopped mid-step, whipping her head around. “Wait, what? I booked my flight for Friday. Why are we spending Thanksgiving with your mom?”
“We had to cut the honeymoon short. No way I’m missing my first holiday home in years. My mom, my sister… I owe them that. Even if my wife is fake.” I set my coffee on the desk, guilt threading through me as her shoulders dipped.
“Just… get dressed.”
She groaned, muttering something under her breath as she headed to the bathroom.
I called after her, “And since you’re a military wife now, I expect punctuality.”
Just as I reached the door, her voice followed, sharp and soft at the same time: “Boy, being married to a cold asshole is so great.”
Her words burrowed deep, hitting a place I didn’t want to admit existed.
By the time she walked into the hotel café, my chest ached from how hard I was trying not to react. No makeup. Messy bun. White tank top and hip-hugging jeans. She looked effortlessly lethal. That casual kind of beauty that sucker-punched you and you didn’t even notice.
Her body had me thinking of how long it’s been since I’ve held a woman or touched one—truly got lost in one.
I never planned to get married, not with my occupation, so women were mainly there when I needed them—a quick release for the most part.
I’ve been thrown into danger for over a decade, and the idea of marriage scared me more than being a Tier 1 operator.
To love a person day in and day out, the same ordinary shit that repeats itself over and over.
No excitement, no more thrills. And I was in no condition to love a person or fall in love with one, I couldn’t, not with my line of work.
Many men clung to their wives for hope to hold on, but that was cowardly and pure selfishness to me.
She picked up the coffee I’d ordered. “Thanks,” she said, voice low.
“I didn’t know how you take it, so I grabbed sugar and cream.”
“Guess we should start there, soldier.” She rifled through the packets. “Cream, but not too much. Stevia, never any of that fake crap. And cane sugar. Not the white stuff.”
“Didn’t realize I was auditioning for a barista gig.”
“Didn’t know I was applying for a bistro position.”
She glared at me as she poured her sugar in her cup of coffee.
“I like my coffee, black, with sugar. I like to wake up. I don’t drink it because it tastes like pumpkin pie.”
“I despise pumpkin spice lattes for your information.” She blew at the top of her coffee, as she eyed me over the rim.
“Whoa, could have fooled me, princess.”
Pursing her lips together, she stirred her coffee with a straw.
Amusement had to be written all over my face because I could feel how excited I was getting about this.
Now that we are talking about the in’s and outs of who we were, it made me feel like I was on a mission.
Excitement stirred inside of me, and I couldn’t remember the last time I ever felt excited about anything.
When I bought the restaurant, it was another one of my impulsive decisions, but it made me feel alive anytime the rush of customers came and I was in the kitchen, sweating and belong food get out as fast as I could, but that quickly died after I knew how much work had to be put into running a business.
There was more to it than loving to cook.
“Okay, so I figured when we got back, you can get all your stuff from the lake house, and then we’ll head to my place.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and it’s usually just my mom, sister and me, but we’ve spent it with Colt’s mom a few times.
So I was thinking we could get us all together and make the announcement then. ”
“Okay,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.
“I figured the only time we have to display a little affection is when we are out in public; when we are home, we can go back to being roommates. Bunch buddies.”
She grew unusually quiet as she bit the inside of her cheek.
“Is there something wrong??”
“So when you say affection, are we talking about kissing, holding hands, hugging, sitting on your lap.”
“All of it.”
I see her body physically stiffen as soon as the words left my mouth. “What?”
“Nothing.
. I just didn’t know if there was something specific you liked or didn’t like, ya know something specific to make it seem more real.”
I stared at her, biting back a smile. “Are you trying to say you want to seduce me?”
“Oh grow up, I’m just saying the more specific we can be the more believable. It’s called acting.”
“Why is there something specific that you like?” I felt my mouth spread into a wide grin.
She shakes her head slightly as she looks down at her cup of coffee. “No, I mean. I-I don’t know.” She starts fiddling with the white paper napkin on the table.
And then it hit me. “You’re a virgin?”
She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s funny.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
Her eyes lifted to mine, sad and defiant. “No. I’m not a virgin.”
Then why the hell did it feel like she’d never been touched? Like every inch of her had been guarded for so long, it forgot how to want?
“Then how do you not know what you like?”
She crossed her arms, leaned back. “Is this some kind of sex questionnaire or a way to get to know me?”
I almost laughed. Almost.
“You’re right,” I said. “We’ll never have sex, Melanie. So we don’t need to waste time figuring that out.”
But the lie tasted bitter in my mouth. Because if there was one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about, it was exactly what it’d feel like to know every inch of her.