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Dornan sat on the seat above me, his knees wide, his face clean. He held an ice pack against the bridge of his nose, but the damn thing was swelling anyway. There were dark circles under his eyes, and cuts on his skin from the fight with John. He looked terrible.
‘It’s lucky I brought an extra shirt,’ he said, taking the icepack away from his nose. ‘Though we’re gonna have to retouch the photos.’
I sat up on my elbows, noticing the white dress now on me. The air-conditioning was cold between my thighs. I felt with one hand – no panties.Figured.
‘How kind of you to dress me,’ I said, dragging myself to my knees and sliding up onto the seat opposite. I was four feet away from Dornan, but if I’d been able to jump out of the limousine, I would have. We weren’t moving. I looked out of the window to see a large, garish sign in the shape of an arrow, pointing down at a chapel that was adorned with Elvis.
Could life get any worse?I looked around the car for something sharp that I could use to kill myself. There was nothing sharp, unless you counted Dornan’s eyes. I had the sudden urge to crawl over to him and rip those eyes out of their sockets.
Dornan tossed my purse at me. It hit my arm and fell onto the seat beside me.
‘Put some fucking make-up on,’ he said. ‘You look like shit.’
He tossed something else at me. Panties. Black lacy ones. I rolled my eyes, hooking them over my shoes and sliding them up my thighs and over my ass.Better.That felt better.
‘Why do I need make-up?’ I asked, rummaging through my bag. I still had my gun. I pulled it out and pointed it at Dornan’s head. I smiled, amused.
‘I thought you would have taken this out,’ I said, marvelling at the way it felt in my hand. It felt like power.
He grinned, holding out his open hand. Nestled in his palm, six shiny bullets.
I stuffed the useless gun back into my purse and yanked out my make-up bag. I took my sweet time applying foundation and blush.
***
‘Why’d you want me to wear make-up, anyway?’ I asked Dornan as we approached the counter inside the chapel. ‘It’s not like anyone’s going to see this.’
He smiled a plastic smile, one hand pressed into the small of my back as he drove me towards the tired-looking woman behind the counter that screamed CHEAP WEDDING CEREMONIES.
‘Our children will ask to see the photos one day,’ he said, his voice steeled, his expression a mask of self-preservation. ‘You should look beautiful for them.’
My knees actually buckled when he said that. They just plain stopped working, and the ground rushed up at me. Dornan’s big hands were there to keep me steady, of course. He leaned me into him, tucked me into his side so I was pressed against him.
‘I’m going to throw up,’ I said, scanning the foyer for a bathroom.
‘Oh, good,’ Dornan replied, half-dragging me towards the sign marked BATHROOMS. ‘Maybe you’re knocked up again already.’
Fucking bastard. His casual indifference stung. He pushed me into the women’s toilets and into the first stall, gathering my long hair up off my face as I dry-retched over the bowl.
‘I’m more used to holding your hair when my dick’s in your mouth,’ he said, and I would have cringed had there notbeen a steady stream of vomit coming out of my mouth. My stomach roiled again, once, twice. False alarms. I flushed, jerking back from Dornan’s grip as I pushed past him and out of the cubicle.
A woman was washing her hands, wearing a wedding dress so enormous it took up most of the square footage in the small area. She looked at Dornan in the mirror, and he stared back until she cast her gaze to the ground.
‘You feeling better, honey?’ he asked, rubbing my back in mock concern.
I could tell he was mocking me because of the pissy look on his face. I looked at his nose and wanted to punch it again. He glared at the woman and she scurried out of the bathroom, her dress bunching up as she got stuck in the door before she popped out onto the other side like a champagne cork being let free. The door swung shut again and we were alone.
‘I’m not marrying you,’ I said.
Dornan didn’t say anything, just looked at the ceiling. I glanced at his fists. Yeah. He was about to fucking rage.
‘Give me one of those bullets,’ I said, gesturing to his pants pocket. ‘I’ll put it right in my head. You won’t have to worry about me causing problems anymore.’
I’d put the bullet in him first, but he didn’t need to know that, did he?
‘That sweet act back at the apartment, what was that?’ I was hurting. I felt like he’d stabbed me right in the chest. He’d been soft and tender and I had fallen for it, so desperate to believe that there was still some good in him. I’d been betraying him for months. I was in love with another man. But the wayhe had been with me – tender – it tore my soul to shreds. He had tricked me. I had fallen for it.
‘Do you know where Murphy is?’ he asked me, his tone deathly calm. Too calm.
