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The Proposal
“Doyou take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Not a question I thought I’d ever be asked again in my lifetime.
In fact, when I’d come to this country, I’d made very specific promises to myself about marriage, about belonging to a man in any way.
Namely that I’d never belong to a man again.
But the problem was I was fucking terrible at keeping promises to myself.
“I do,” I said through gritted teeth, not slurring my words, which in and of itself was pretty fucking impressive considering how drunk I was.
Not drunk enough, it seemed.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Ocean-blue eyes bored into mine. They were hard, angry, almost communicating that he was doing this, standing here, against his will.
Except he’d gone into this with his full faculties, and this whole thing washisidea.
“I do,” he ground out. The two words sounded like they were painful. Like someone was holding a gun to his head.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Fuck.
I’d known this part was coming. Which was, in part, why I was so close to being wasted. That and the wholebeing marriedthing.
We had to do it. The whole point of the wedding was to make it believable. I feared we hadn’t been doing so well up until this point. I’d stumbled down the aisle, Kip glowered the entire time, and both of us were standing as far away from each other as we could, like we were afraid the other was contagious.
We’d agreed ahead of time that the kiss had to happen. But now that it was right here, I couldn’t make myself move. The man across from me—myhusband—looked like he was glued to the spot.
There was a tense moment.
Fuck.
It was going to be over before it started.
That was okay, wasn’t it? This was a ridiculous idea in the first place.
Could we still pull off the whole ‘being in love’ thing without the kiss? I could say I had a cold sore. Or that he didn’t like PDA.
But before I could blurt out something of the like, he kissed me. Grabbed me by the back of the neck and laid one on me.
This was not a chaste peck on the lips to satisfy our tiny audience. No. This was a kiss. With tongue.
A lot of it.
I was so shocked that I responded.
I went into auto-kiss mode. That had to be it.
There would be no other reason why I would essentially make out with the man I kind of hated who I’d just married.
And my body’s response? The heat in every inch of my skin, my thighs clenching together with need… yeah, that had to be the booze. And the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in three months.
