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What the fuck is wrong with me?
My mind starts spinning even further out of control, but I quickly force myself to remember her sassy mouth and bad attitude, which helps pull me out of my hypnosis.
This is fake. She’s annoying and sarcastic. We don’t fit together; we’ll never fit together.
Don’t get pulled in by her beauty. Just get through the wedding.
Marry her today, move her in, then ignore her for one year. Simple as that. The house is big enough that I won’t ever have to see her if I don’t want to. All we’ll ever really have to do together is show up to functions in public and that’s it. The more I avoid her, the better it is for everyone.
The priest’s words are all jumbled together at this point, as my mind is off on its own planet. I have no idea what he’s even saying. I suddenly realize that my eyes have somehow landed on her plump, red lipstick-covered lips.
I look back up to her eyes, hoping she didn’t notice. The sassy smirk peeking through her facade lets me know she saw me ogling her mouth. Great, now she’s going to think I actually want her.
I nervously fiddle with the ring I’m supposed to slide onto her finger, looking like a fucking rookie right now. I’m Nix Taylor, amazing motherfucking litigator, man who can get any woman he wants, a fucking powerhouse—I don’t get nervous. But the price riding on making this wedding seem real makes it that much more stressful.
Maybe it will seem more believable if I am nervous. Like I’ve met the woman of my dreams and she makes me all weak and shit—I bet people would eat that shit up.
It’s been two weeks since the engagement party, and Randall Crowe has spent every day trying to poke holes. I’m so confident in our prenup contract, I gave him a copy to pick apart. I haven’t heard anything back from him about it, so I’m assuming he’s realized it’s not going to be that easy to take me down.
It didn’t take him long to find out that Tara’s from the West Side, and runs Star of India. The fact that her family is poor has made him even more suspicious about this being fake. He knows just how important looks were to my pretentious father. My father might have married a woman from the West Side himself, but he always called them trash, the scum of the Earth, so obviously me marrying a West Sider doesn’t look great.
Randall’s been snooping around, going to Star of India, scoping Tara out. He’s even been trying to get information on the restaurant’s financials—which I can’t let him get ahold of. Star of India suddenly doing well the moment she gets engaged to me? Yeah, that would look bad.
He might be a slimy bastard, but he’s pretty fucking smart.
But I’m smarter.
“Marnix,” Tara whispers, gesturing with her eyes toward the priest.
Shit.I was too in my head and I’ve missed something. If I keep this up, it’s not going to be Tara ruining my future—it’ll be me.
“Repeat after me,” the priest intones. “I, Marnix Andrew Taylor, give you this ring as a symbol of my commitment to love, honor, and respect you.”
I repeat the words as I slide the ring onto Tara’s slim finger. I say the rest of the vows, followed by Tara doing the same. I don’t miss the way she slightly cringes when she gets to ‘til death do us part.’
I shouldn’t care at all, but I’m curious to know who or what makes her jumpy over that.
With her small hands in mine throughout the rest of the ceremony, my palms could swallow hers up. Words are being said but I don’t hear them, as my eyes never leave Tara.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
It’s now or never to make this believable. All my colleagues are here to watch known playboy Nix Taylor finally settle down. I don’t think any of them believe this is anything more than me being blinded by beauty and her being anything more than a gold digger, but Randall is the only one who’d care enough to try to destroy it.
Pushing a strand of black hair behind her ear, I look deep into her emerald eyes before I capture her lips with mine. My hand slides to her neck, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Her body molds against mine as I pull her closer to me.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t resist. She’s playing right along, her soft lips gliding perfectly against mine. Her lips are full, and feel like they’re made for me. I don’t kiss often, because that’s not something I’m interested in, considering it involves way too many emotions. Fucking from behind is more my thing. But I don’t want my mouth to leave hers, not even for a second. She tastes so heavenly, I forget we’re in front of a crowd while we move in a perfect rhythm with each other.
My body tingles at the touch of hers, my cock thickening at the taste of her sweet mouth. My other hand runs down the soft skin of her arm before grabbing her hand.
I need to stop this or I’m going to have a full erection in front of all our friends and family. On second thought, that might make this more believable. But I’d rather not show everyone here the goods.
My tongue peeks out, getting one last taste of Tara before I pull away, pressing my lips to her ear. I need to get myself under control, and I can’t let her know she actually affected me. “Glad you didn’t fuck that up for us, peasant.”
God, I already miss her delicious strawberry taste.
“Suck a prick. I hate you,” she hisses back, while wearing a sweet smile for our guests. Thankfully, they can’t see the way she’s forcefully squeezing my hand, with her nails digging painfully into my skin.
“Forever.” I chuckle, then pull back, putting on a smile for the crowd. She can hate me all she wants.
This is a sham. That’s all it will ever be.
Any man would be attracted to a beautiful girl in a revealing dress. Just because I like it doesn’t mean I don’t still despise her.
It means nothing.
Tara means nothing.
She grabs my hand, and we take off back down the aisle. My eyes catch on a scowling Randall Crowe.
I think we pulled this off perfectly, if I do say so myself.
