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Persephone went, so I did, too. We walked past the brunch crowd and into the club itself, passing through the full dining room, then the lobby, until we reached the ballroom where dinner would be held tonight.
Mr. VanDoren shut the door behind us and shook his head. “Honey, I tried. I really tried to give this man a chance, but it just won’t suit.”
“Daddy,” Persephone whispered, coming to my side.
“No. This ends now.”
I couldn’t trust my mouth, so I kept it shut.
“We’re already married. This isn’t something you can decide to stop just because you don’t like the man I love.” She folded her arms under her breasts.
His attention focused on me, then Persephone, and back again until he pulled an envelope out of his vest. “Here’s the thing. You’re not.” He held the envelope out to me.
“We’re not what?” I snapped, taking the damn thing from him.
“You’re not married.”
Persephone’s jaw dropped, and she looked to me for answers I didn’t have. I opened the envelope and found a certified copy of our marriage license.
“That’s just a copy,” Persephone insisted, looking at the same time I did. “We have the original in the safe.”
I read through the document, down to the very bottom—the signature lines.
Then I muttered a curse.
“What is it?” Her voice pitched high and worried.
“He’s realizing that he didn’t sign it with his legal name,” her father explained softly.
“What?” She took the document from my hand and scanned it like I had. “You signed it right here!” She pointed to the line.
“Right.” I cringed. “My legal name isn’t Cannon. It’s Sheldon. Cannon is my middle name, so I’m sure you can understand why I use that one instead.” Holy shit, that morning in Vegas I’d been so focused on the way Persephone had taken my name that I hadn’t bothered to look at my own. Fuck, why hadn’t I thought to check the damned thing when the original had come in the mail?
Because you’d already agreed to stay married, so it hadn’t mattered.
Persephone’s eyes flew wide. “Your name is Sheldon?”
“My name is Cannon for every purpose except contracts.”
“This is a contract!” she cried, shaking the paper.
“That I don’t remember signing!”
Her face fell. “You’re right. God, of course, you’re right.” She stood by my side and faced her father. “Okay, so what? We get married tomorrow, anyway, and at least we’ll remember it this time.”
Her father blanched. “No. God, no. Can’t you see what a disaster it would be? He just beat the crap out of one of your oldest friends. You absolutely cannot marry him.”
It was barely a punch, but whatever, my mind was reeling. All this time, we hadn’t been married. We could have walked away from this at any time, but here we stood, and she was fighting for us. Fighting for us when I’d just done what she’d explicitly asked me not to.
“Daddy, I’m a full-grown woman, and—”
“You did this to make your mother happy. I admire you for it. I admire both of you for it. But what you don’t see is that she’s going to live now, and when you two crash and burn? That will kill her.”
“You don’t know that,” Persephone whispered.
“He can’t even make it through one morning at the club without humiliating this family! Without humiliating you! I am begging you, honey, don’t go through with this. Think about it.” He gave me a withering look and then left us alone in the ballroom.
I suddenly felt out of place, like an actual bull in a china shop.
“How could you!” Persephone shouted, turning on me.
“Whoa, what? Are you seriously pissed that I didn’t sign my name right when we were both drugged out of our minds?”
“No! I’m seriously pissed that you punched out Michael on the damned putting green! Why couldn’t you just hold your temper? Why?” Color rose in her cheeks.
“Because he said some really sick shit about you that doesn’t even deserve repeating!” I backed away from her, putting more than a few feet of space between us.
“He said something? You punched him because he said something?” She shook her head. “Unbelievable! You broke rule number seven at our rehearsal brunch!”
I blinked. “Rule number seven. You’re pissed that I broke rule number seven.” No fights.
“Yes! You promised! God, why are you so incapable of expressing your emotions without using your hands?” She crumpled the copy of our marriage license in her fist as she shook.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I said. “This is the rule you want to start shit over?”
She blinked in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do, Princess.” I stalked forward until I had her pinned against the wall, one of my hands on either side of her head. “You begged me to break rule number five. Begged me.”
“That’s not the same,” she said quietly, but there was no fear in her eyes, even though I had her trapped.
