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“Yes, but the offer is extremely time limited, so you need to make a decision.”
She stares at me wide-eyed, her thumbs twisting around each other. “Yes, yes, I want to do it. I want to marry you.”
Every muscle in my body is clenched but the second I hear that I relax. I reach for her hand. “Then let’s go make you my wife.”
“Make it sound more like I’m a piece of property if possible,” she hisses at me as I pull her from the car and onto the sidewalk.
“You are my property, signed and notarized, baby.” I reach around and grab a handful of her ass, guiding her toward the entrance of the courthouse.
“And do you, Mr. Atlas Maxwell Knight, take Miss Stella Gwendolyn Porter to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
After some surprised exchanges with a few efficient courthouse workers, we were able to secure a last-minute wedding in front of a judge.
“And do you, Miss Stella Gwendolyn Porter, take Mr. Atlas Maxwell Knight to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” Her cheeks flush a little, a small smile on her face as she stares at me nervously.
“By the authority vested in me by the State of Illinois and with consent of Atlas and Stella, I now pronounce you married. Congratulations.” The judge’s tone is flat, not even a hint of a smile as he stamps the paper and hands it to his recorder on his left. “Next.”
Stella looks at me, then to her right as another couple files into the room. I pull her to me for a quick kiss before ushering her out of the room and toward the hallway.
“Wow, that has to be the fastest wedding I’ve ever been to.” She laughs. “Actually”—she cocks her head—“that’s the only wedding I’ve ever been to.”
I stop in my tracks. “What?”
“Huh?” She looks to her left but I’m not there. She spins around to look back at me. “What happened?”
“You’ve never been to a wedding before?” She shakes her head, shrugging like it’s not a big deal. My heart sinks. I feel even more like a piece of shit than I did before. It’s bad enough I’m ruining her own first wedding, but I didn’t realize I was ruining the entire experience of a wedding for her too.
I walk up next to her, reaching down to take her hand and lead her back outside to the waiting car. Oliver holds the door open, a smile on his face.
“Congratulations.” He nods toward us.
“Thanks, Oliver.” I squeeze his upper arm and slide into the back seat beside Stella.
“I can’t believe I’m married.” She stares at her hand, wiggling her fingers so the sunlight catches the diamond. “It is a beautiful ring; what made you choose this design?”
She looks over at me and that feeling comes back, the one that makes me feel like the piece of shit I am. “No reason. I just thought it was interesting,” I lie. I had it designed based around three very specific ring choices that Eleanor had let me know she approved of. It’s not a very romantic ring in my opinion; it’s more severe and abstract with harsh lines and a giant fucking stone. The ring is one hundred percent Eleanor. Cold, with sharp edges, and a rock for a damn heart.
But it’s not Stella, not at all. She’s delicate and warm; her energy is almost magnetic. She looks out the window, then back to her hand. I can tell she’s trying not to focus on it just like me. I twirl my ring around my own finger. The foreignness of it will likely wear off with time but part of me hopes it doesn’t because every time I notice it, I think of Stella.
I can feel the anger in my chest returning, burning as it gnaws its way through me. I hate that I’m taking away this monumental moment in her life but I’m also too selfish not to. I also hate that starting today, the countdown to losing her is officially on.
I stay buried in my phone until we reach her apartment building. I step out of the car and walk around to her door to open it.
“Oh, am I staying at my place tonight?”
“No, but you need to get your passport.” I follow behind her as we climb the stairs, my hand lingering on her lower back, dangerously close to her ass. I’ve let myself sneak in these touches, even lingering longer when my hand does slip down to her ass cheek. It’s dangerous, her letting me get away with it, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“My passport? Where are we going?” She smiles, tripping slightly but catching herself on the stair in front of her. My hand darts out, shooting around her waist. “The Maldives.” She gasps. “You need to text your boss and see if they can find someone to cover you for the next week.” I hold her against me as she stands back up, her head tilting slightly to the left to look at me. In a split second the energy grows charged.
I want her.
I need her.
My hand slides upward, resting against the base of her throat as I lean in a centimeter closer. But then she turns her face away, leaning forward to climb the last two steps.
