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“Coleman,” I murmur. Then I realize he’s asked me a question. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “You’re ready, my bride.”
The door to the limo opens, and Coleman slips out then holds his hand for me, and I place my palm in his as he helps guide me out of the car. Sliding across the seat, I place my feet on the sidewalk, then stand and straighten my dress.
Coleman’s fingers flex around mine as he leads me toward the doors to the reception. He looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes finding my own and his lips curving up into a grin.
I can see the tattoos that crawl up his neck, the way his dark brown eyes meet mine, and the beard that is neatly trimmed against his face. Taking a few steps closer to him, I lift the hand that isn’t holding his and cup his cheek. Feeling his hair between my fingers scratching his cheek, I look up into his eyes.
“I don’t know how I feel,” I confess.
He lets out a chuckle, then turns his head and touches his lips to the center of my palm again. “You feel nervous, elated, and curious.”
He’s right. I do.
“And you want the cake you didn’t pick out,” he announces.
“I do like cake,” I whisper.
“Plus,” he murmurs, “you get to leave your parents’ home.”
He’s right. I do.
No more hitting, no more controlling… but to what avail? Am I walking into the exact same situation?
I bite the inside of my cheek as I wonder if this is the absolute wrong decision. Maybe I should be running from him, except I don’t think I want to. He’s probably dangerous. Very intimidating. And then there’s the fact that he had to buy a wife. With the way he looks, I’m pretty sure every single woman on the planet throws herself at him.
Hand in hand, we walk into the reception together. I’m not sure how I’m feeling, but I decide that for the time being, for tonight, I’m going to live in the moment and take everything day by day.
Minute by minute.
COLEMAN
I’m notsure how weddings go. All the ones that I’ve been to, the men stick to the bar area and the women socialize around the dessert tables and champagne stations. But that isn’t what’s happening here.
Instead, I feel as though Claire’s mother is taking over as much as she possibly can. She’s talking with people she has no fucking business talking to. She’s acting as if she is the bride. I cannot stand this fucking woman.
Claire sits beside me, quietly picking at her food. I don’t bother saying anything. It doesn’t matter. Personally, I’m ready to get the fuck out of here and go to my apartment and fuck her brains out. It’s almost been twenty-four hours since I’ve been inside of her, and I’m craving her again.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask, leaning toward her.
Her hand stops the movement of the fork, which is shifting the food around on the plate. She cocks her head to the side, then looks up at me. “Go?” she asks. “We haven’t even danced the first dance.”
Shrugging a shoulder, I lean back with a whiskey in my hand and suck down half of the contents of the glass, hissing as it burns my throat.
“You want to dance?” I ask.
Claire’s eyes widen. She looks at the dance floor, then I watch as her gaze moves around the room and lands on her mother. I watch as disappointment washes over her features. Her chin dips and her gaze focuses on her plate.
“Not really,” she whispers.
But it’s a lie.
She wants to do the wedding shit, but her mom is fucking it up for her. That doesn’t surprise me. Both of her parents are useless wastes of space. So I’m going to take care of that shit right now.
I look at Hendrick and motion for him to come over to me. He does almost immediately. He stands at my back, bending slightly so his face is near mine.
“Get rid of her family,” I murmur.
