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“Jesus. That desperate for some action?” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but it only seems to make the emotions heavier.
“Not just any action. I’m desperate for you.” The sincerity in his voice pulls at my heart. I knew that second time I kicked him out, I’d have to cut him off for good. He has the power to crush my heart with one look—which is exactly why I’d planned on never seeing him again.
Fate is a fickle bitch.
“Cohutta, we can’t.” I’m stern with him, pushing away from his body to put space between us. I need air, I need to get away before I fuck everything up.
“I know but—” His words are cut off as a large shadow falls over me.
“Can’t do what?” Marnix’s deep voice startles me, popping the private little bubble Cohutta and I were just in.
“Uh… We can’t dig into the cake without getting pictures first.” It was the first thing I could think of. I am craving that cake, but it sure as hell wasn’t what we were talking about.
“You’d eat the cake without me?” He’s looking at Cohutta, giving what looks like a cross between a scowl and a pout. The tension between them makes me wonder if cake has suddenly become a code word for me.
Too late on that one. Cohutta has already eaten this cake... multiple times.
“Never, man,” Cohutta replies, and I internally cringe at the secrets lying between us.
“Mind if I cut in and dance with my wife?” Marnix’s words have a slight slur to them, though he doesn’t seem drunk. Part of me thinks he has to be, if he’s willing to dance in front of everyone.
“Sure man, she’s all yours.” Cohutta gives Marnix a wink, then slides his gaze to me, almost looking like he doesn’t want to release me. I smile at him, then step back so Marnix can slide his arm around my waist. His grip tightens, pulling me into his body.
“Mmm, you smell good.” He takes a deep breath in, pressing his nose to my hair. This isn’t the Marnix who’s been trying to avoid me like the plague for weeks, except for the occasional wedding planning session. He’s acting strange, that’s for sure.
“Uh, thanks. Are you okay?” I ask, with a light laugh.
“Of course I am,” he says with absolute authority. It almost makes me wonder if I just imagined him smelling my hair.
“How does it feel?”
“As amazing as I imagined.” His fingers dig deeper into the exposed skin between my top and skirt as he pulls me even closer to his firm body. He’s rubbing his thumb across my spine, looking at me with a heated gaze. The fire in his eyes is almost enough to lose me in their depths, forgetting all the problems between us.
I shake my head, clearing my throat. “I meant convincing everyone we’re really married.”
“We are really married.” He gives me a blinding smile, one that’s so damn charming it makes my knees feel a little weak.
“You know what I mean.”
Instead of commenting, his fingers tighten on my waist before pushing away and grabbing my hand. “Come with me. I want to give you something.”
“I didn’t realize we were giving each other gifts.” It’s not like this is a real marriage, so I didn’t expect us to be exchanging anything except fake smiles and secret, hateful glares.
“Don’t overthink it.” He squeezes my hand tighter, pulling me through the crowd of people watching us. My fingers start to tingle the harder he squeezes them. Walking by two middle-aged women, they laugh as we pass, giving me a look that says they know exactly what we’re off to do.
Unfortunately, it’s not what they think. Marnix and I will never be like that.
“Where are we going?” I’m trying to keep up with his long legs, but the heels I’m wearing make it almost impossible.
“You really need to work on your patience, peasant.” My nickname spills out of his mouth, but this time it lacks the usual heat he puts behind it. Instead, it sounded almost endearing. Almost like he’s trying to be sweet.
Marnix abruptly stops, dropping my hand. He quickly turns toward me, his eyes roaming my body, landing on my cleavage. I can see the glassiness of his eyes, wondering one more time how much he’s had to drink tonight.
“Eyes up here, assh—” Before I can even finish, he leans forward and lifts me up, carrying me bridal-style down the rest of the path.
“I can walk, you know,” I retort, trying to wiggle out of his hold.
“You were being too slow.”
