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“We’ve barely spoken a civil word in almost a year, and then this?”
“You’re the one who keeps being a dick,” she pointed out. “You’re the one who’s suddenly too fancy to be best friends with benefits.”
He whirled on her and grabbed her upper arms, leaning down to stare into her eyes, nose to nose. “You don’t get to use me and throw me away.”
“You have sex with all sorts of women. You have ever since I’ve met you! Why am I the exception?”
“Because you just are!”
“Because I’m so fucking special to you?” she asked, her heart beating too fast. “Do you think I’m like—your soul mate or something?”
Fuck. Why had she asked that? She wanted him to laugh and tell her she was an idiot, but a tiny part of her also wanted him to tell her it was true.
“I’m done. Just shut the fuck up.” He let go of her and started walking again, so she dodged ahead and planted herself in front of him. When he tried to sidestep, she matched him, and he stopped.
“What then? You’re blackmailing me—a collar or no sex? That’s what the problem is . . . really?” She barked a laugh and wiped rain out of her eyes. “Are you going to break into the ‘Single Ladies’ song now?”
“It can’t be casual with you—it just can’t,” he said loudly, although his voice was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain pounding down on them. “If you can’t give me what I need, you can find someone else to have sex with.”
She could, but that wasn’t the point. What had happened between them had been so earth-shattering, so intense, that she didn’t want it to be already over.
The man was so fucking frustrating sometimes. Why was a collar such a big deal to him? He could dominate her without the need for symbols of commitment—hell, she might even consider being exclusive for a while, as long as there was no expectation of forever.
Apparently it was his way or the highway.
“Grant?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re such a fucking douche.”
They trudged toward the club through the rainy streets, both of them too stubborn to break the silence.
Chapter Four
Grant couldn’t believe Will’s luck. The day had turned out to be one of those fairy-tale spring days where the weather cooperated and the air buzzed with new life. There was enough of a breeze to keep the sun from getting too hot, and yet it wasn’t so strong that it was blowing all of the women’s fancy hairdos out of place. Will couldn’t have paid for better weather.
Hopefully the sunshine was a sign that Will and Juliet’s marriage would be a happy one.
The area of the park they were using for the ceremony was artfully decorated, just enough to make the space feel special and festive without getting excessive.
Bridezilla, Juliet was not.
About a hundred guests waited, chatting happily, seated on folding chairs in the pleasant afternoon sunlight. Juliet kept referring to the number of guests as small and intimate—but then well over half of them were members of her close family. Will’s only family at the ceremony were Grant and Beau, if one didn’t count their close friends from the club.
Children wandered everywhere, climbing on folding chairs to get a better look at things, or just for something to do. For someone so classy herself, Juliet had a big and boisterous family. Grant appreciated that, watching them and wishing his own family had been different. It had to hurt Will that their father and sister hadn’t even had the decency to decline their invitations. Unforgivable, especially since this was Will, not Grant. Once upon a time they’d loved Will. How could they pretend they never had?
The violinists fell silent. There was a quiet ripple of laughter from the crowd as Juliet’s twin nephews more or less meandered down the aisle, holding hands, tugging each other almost off-balance in their eagerness to see everything. About fifteen feet from the end of the aisle, their progress stalled when a grasshopper caught their attention. They both crouched, studying the bug and babbling to each other in their own indecipherable language, until their parents came down the aisle after them, both dressed in the black and teal of Juliet’s attendants. The other attendants followed—all of them Juliet’s siblings. Everyone pretended her youngest brother wasn’t taking selfies as he walked down the aisle, and Sky, the youngest sister, only stopped texting when an aunt reached out from her aisle seat and affectionately swatted the teenager’s arm.
A hush descended, broken only by the quiet strains of one of the uncles playing some ancient-looking stringed instrument Grant didn’t recognize.
Juliet materialized at the head of the aisle, looking willowy and ethereal in her simple white gown, little Beau perched on her hip. A few of the baby’s pudgy fingers were stuffed in her bow mouth, and she was watching the crowd with wide eyes and hanging on to Juliet the way any child would cling to their mother.
Amazing how a woman who’d never wanted children was now raising a child she should resent—and yet it was so evident in her every word and gesture that Beau meant everything to her.
There was no hint of hesitation in her gaze as she made her way up the aisle to Will. The long, flowing gown made her look like a Greek goddess.
“Oh, that little brat,” Will whispered under his breath, grinning ferociously.
