His grandmother slid her hand over his shoulder as she joined us, stopping his escape. Her sharp blue eyes scanned me, then moved to Gideon. She put wrinkled hands on his stubbled cheeks and pulled him down to press a kiss to his forehead. “My eldest grandson. You’ve made me a very happy woman. I’m sorry about this ugliness.”
“I’ll handle it,” he said.
“Let Jack take the reins,” Grandma Mars commanded in that soft voice of hers. “It’s your wedding day. Which reminds me, we need to sign that wedding certificate. Reverend!”
Gideon’s lips pinched, as if he’d hoped we’d all forget about the formalities. The minister hobbled over, and the four of us shuffled back toward the church. My ankle was still a little sore, but I forced myself not to limp. It would be fine by the morning. It wouldn’t stop me from signing the paperwork, that was for sure.
Grandma Mars grabbed the grumpy old woman, Betsy, who turned out to be her sister. She nodded at the busty redhead, who was still needling Betsy. “Mrs. Gretzinger,” she said.
The other woman smiled at Grandma Mars. “Congratulations, Etta.” Her gaze flicked over to me, assessing. Gideon’s hand pressed between my shoulder blades, leading me up the church steps. I felt like a circus curiosity paraded around on display for everyone to gawk at.
We took a detour to a small table set up in the atrium, where our marriage certificate waited. Reverend Strife’s head was still very red, and he waved at the certificate as his eyes strayed toward the door. He wasn’t happy about the graffiti.
While Grandma Mars watched, Gideon signed, then handed the pen over to me. Our fingers brushed, and I ignored the tiny thrill that raced up my arm at the contact. It would fade; it had to. I wouldn’t want him forever. I signed the certificate, which was then witnessed by Betsy and Etta. Then Etta took a crisp white envelope from the corner of the desk, slipped the marriage certificate inside, and gave us both a tight smile.
“Six weeks from today, I’ll file this at Town Hall.”
I inhaled, dipping my chin in a nod. This was the get-out-of-jail-free card written into our contract. In Maine, we had ninety days from the date of the ceremony to file the certificate in the town where we were married. However,ourmarriage contract had a different deadline: If either of us decided we needed out of the marriage within the first six weeks after the ceremony, we could push the eject button. The certificate would be torn up, and our marriage would never be registered. It would be as if it never happened.
I gulped, glancing at Gideon. His eyes were hard, and his back was straight. He looked resigned—and determined. I guessed he was thinking he only had to endure the sight of me for a matter of weeks.
Heat flared in my chest, but it wasn’t lust. It was shame and embarrassment and determination. This was my one way out. Myoneshot. I had to make it work. That meant, no matter how much Gideon thought he would be free of me within six weeks, he was wrong. I would make sure that certificate got registered at Marswood Harbor Town Hall if it killed me.
Etta Mars slipped the envelope containing my future into her purse, then turned to Gideon. “My boy,” she said. “Congratulations.”
He simply grunted in response, not looking at me.
Then she turned to me, spearing me with a look. It was my turn to feel the warmth of her hands and the hardness of her rings against my cheeks. She kissed my forehead and said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear it, “If you hurt him, I will ruin your life.”
Startled, I pulled back from her. Gideon was listening to Betsy complain about vandalized windows at the front of the local beauty salon, and Grandma Mars’s face returned to the serene, harmless grandmother I was sure she wasn’t. She gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
The reverend was out before anyone could say anything else, his dramatic sigh immediate as he took in the state of the church’s doors. The four of us streamed out after him, and I stood at the top of the steps, looking out over the mostly elderly population, the overgrown grass median, the trees in need of pruning, and the graffiti visible on a number of buildings. I took a deep breath. Half the shops on Main Street were vacant. This was not a quaint, touristy town. This was a town on the verge of death.
A warm summer breeze swept down the street, ruffling through the overgrown trees whose leaves were green and cheerful as they danced in the wind. My dress fluttered around my legs, and I inhaled the scent of summer and the fresh, briny air. A weight lifted from my chest; I hadn’t even known it was there.
There was no business to save and astronomical rent to scrape together. The biggest worry in Marswood Harbor was a pair of breasts spray-painted in blue behind me. Life was slow and small and lovely.
I wanted to stay here, I realized. I’d married into this town, and I would make sure that when six weeks were up, Icouldstay. When I glanced at my husband, I found him watching me. He arched a brow, and I lifted my chin. Then he sighed, resigned, and nodded to the stairs. We made our way down and joined the crowd. Gideon left me to go confer with his brothers, presumably about Mr. Titty.
I was mobbed by aunts, uncles, and cousins. I retained none of their names. They lied about how beautiful the ceremony was and tactfully avoided asking me about my fall. They all knew I designed wedding dresses. I’d obviously been Googled before arriving here to marry the eldest grandchild in the Mars clan.
I’d just met another of Grandma Mars’s grandchildren—Lola, a girl of about fourteen with silky blond hair and a bright smile who bounced up the steps and gushed about my dress and veil—when the roar of many engines cut through the ruffling of leaves on trees and the chattering of birds and people. As one, every wedding guest turned toward the noise.
A dozen motorcycles came over the crest of the nearest hill, taking up both lanes of traffic, not bothered by the fact that half of them were going the wrong way down the street. Their motorcycles rumbled and roared, echoing off the buildings and drowning out the murmur of the crowd.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Gideon stiffen. His eyes were on the leader, a bearded man riding a Harley who wore a leather jacket and dark sunglasses.
“Cash Bridges,” Lola muttered in my ear. “He’s not supposed to come through town with his gang like this.”
According to whom, I wondered.
Cash revved his engine, grinning at Gideon in a bald taunt. Gideon watched on, impassive. Then Cash slowed his bike, flanked by two lieutenants, and turned his head toward me. I felt his gaze rake over my body as a gust of wind blew my hair off my shoulders and stuck my dress to the front of my body. His grin widened, his eyes hidden behind those dark shades.
In an instant, Gideon started forward, only to be stopped by Jack’s hand on his shoulder.
Grandma Mars stood next to me, her peacock feathers blowing in the breeze, her eyes taking on a hard, flinty look that told me she hadn’t become a wealthy woman by chance. She’d fought for everything she had—and now she was fighting for her legacy.
The bikers’ gazes moved to Mr. Titty’s work on the church doors. Cash barked out a laugh, the sound of it rough and just audible over the rumble of the engines. The rest of his posse laughed in response, and the whole crew accelerated down the hill, around the corner, and out of sight. The noise of theirengines faded as conversation swelled again, bolstered by fresh gossip.
