Page 4 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man

NICK

S unlight slips past the blinds, striping the room with lazy gold. I blink against the unexpected brightness, consciousness crashing back in slow waves. The bed is still warm beside me, empty now, but the space buzzes with charge, like being outside in a thunderstorm.

Charlotte.

She slipped out just before dawn, leaving behind a faint scent of floral perfume and something softer, something distinctly her own. I wanted to stop her, but she might need some space after last night. As much as I enjoy taking control in bed, I don’t want to crowd her outside of it.

Memories of us fucking still hum in my bones, every touch, every word. The feel of her pussy clenching as she came on my cock.

Fuck, I’m hard again, just thinking about it.

I roll onto my back, gripping myself as I think of her. How she smells, how soft her skin is, how wet her pussy is. All it takes is three thrusts before I go off like a fucking fountain. I groan as I grip my cock, wishing it was inside her instead.

My wife.

Fuck. What have I done?

Our wedding night was something fierce, everything I hoped for, and so much more I didn’t expect. The way she trusted me. The way her body responded to mine. I’ve never been with a partner as compatible.

Why did I not notice her before? She’s been right in front of me this entire time. The girl we grew up with, but last night, I saw the woman I haven’t noticed before. Because I didn’t dare to.

Because I thought she was Jay’s and off limits.

He called me last night, waking me up. I took the phone into the living room to avoid waking Charlotte.

Jay told me a weird story about being kidnapped from the wedding venue, but he’s okay.

And he gave me the name of a woman that he wants me to run a background check on.

None of it made sense, but I was half asleep and not coherent enough to ask clarifying questions.

And I didn’t tell him I’d married Charlotte. Somehow, I don’t want him to know yet. I want to keep this to myself, no between us . Between Charlotte and me.

And now the confusing, thrilling truth is this: I’m falling for her fast. Maybe too deep.

But damn it, I don’t care. I’m falling in love with my wife. How fucked up is that?

I swing my legs off the bed and pad to the bathroom. After a piss and a shower, I’m getting dressed when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Charlotte

“Coffee? I’m not ready to face the world yet, but I could face coffee.”

I smile. This is the first day of our married life and is bound to feel awkward. But she’s reaching out to me, and it warms some dark, chilled corner of my heart I didn’t know needed defrosting.

“Coffee sounds wonderful. Meet you in twenty?”

Her reply is instantaneous.

Charlotte

“Twenty’s a charm.”

We don’t have to discuss where to meet. There’s only one coffee shop in Fir Hollows, but luckily it’s a great one. I finish getting dressed and head to Brewed Awakening.

T he bell above the door jingles when I push it open, and a wave of warm air—rich with roasted coffee beans and something sweet, maybe cinnamon—wraps around me.

To the left, a row of mismatched armchairs huddles around a low wooden table scarred with old rings from heated mugs.

A bookshelf lines the wall behind them, stacked with dog-eared novels and board games missing half their pieces.

Edison bulbs hang low from the ceiling, their amber glow casting shadows across exposed brick.

The counter stretches along the right side, all dark wood and chalkboard menus written in looping, uneven handwriting.

Behind it, Mel, the owner, pulls a shot of espresso like she’s conducting an orchestra—precise but casual.

There’s a hum of milk frothers, clinking cups, and quiet indie music drifting from a speaker I can’t see.

I scan the room, but she’s not here yet.

Good. I’ve got time to breathe, to figure out what I’m going to say to her.

I approach the counter and wait for Mel to finish her current masterpiece.

Her black hair is in a messy bun, and today’s septum ring is made of some kind of dark wood.

Nobody knows how old she is. And nobody’s brave enough to ask.

Her skin is as smooth as someone in their late twenties, but her eyes are those of an old soul.

Finally, she looks up. “What can I get you, Nick?”

“One Americano and one Cappuccino with cream, not milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”

“Oh, Charlotte is joining you.” It’s not a question. Mel knows everyone’s coffee preferences, so I don’t answer. I just pay and then go to sit down.

The tables are small, the kind you have to lean across to really talk to someone. Most of them are already claimed by people bent over laptops or lost in their phones. I scan the room, my heart thudding a little harder than I’d like to admit.

Now that I’ve slept, the wedding feels like a dream sequence, but the marriage feels startlingly real. There’s a bunch of logistics we need to figure out. Where we’ll live—I want her at my place—but it needs to be her choice. And we need to figure out what to say to Jay.

Fuck, I’m not looking forward to that conversation. But I am savoring getting to punch him in the face.

I pick a table in the back corner, where the light is softer, and set my hands flat against the cool surface.

The wall here is painted a deep green, almost forest-dark, and a trailing plant spills from a ceramic pot on a shelf above me, leaves brushing the air like they’re listening.

I catch myself glancing toward the door every few seconds.

Each time it swings open, that bell chimes again—sharp and a little too loud.

I’ve just retrieved our orders and sat back down when she finally arrives, looking impossibly serene and even more beautiful than I remember, despite dark circles under her eyes and the faint pallor of too little sleep.

She smiles when she sees me, and that sly tilt of the mouth makes me want to kiss her. Hard and deep.

She slides into the booth opposite mine. I reach across to lace our fingers, which is something new, and something I want to get used to.

“So, how are you?” I ask, voice low, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes darting to mine as if measuring me up. “Like we just jumped off a cliff and forgot to check if there was a net. You?”

“Barely holding onto the ledge,” I admit, pressing my thumb in slow circles on the back of her hand.

She chuckles softly, the sound like music. “I thought you were the tough one.”

“I’m tough,” I say, leaning in close enough to catch the curl of her hair with my breath. And then I kiss her. “But you just might be my kryptonite.”

A blush covers her face as shakes her head, a wry smile breaking through. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. You don’t have to flirt with me. We’re already married.” Her voice lowers on the last few words, and she looks over her shoulder.

I frown. Is she embarrassed to be seen with me? “I never say things I don’t mean.” My voice comes out accusatory.

Charlotte’s foot taps against the floor.

I push my knee against hers to make it stop. She startles, and her gaze meets mine.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me.”

“I’m not,” she says, but then her foot taps again. “It’s really annoying that you know all my tells.”

“You only have one, but it’s a loud one,” I say, and we both laugh, the tension between us easing a little with the sound.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, but I feel overwhelmed with everything there is to do?”

“Like what?” I take a sip from my cup.

She frowns at me. “Stop answering my questions with a question.”

“Why?” I smile. I couldn’t resist.

She shakes her head. “Seriously, what do we do now? Where are we going to live? What do we tell people?”

“Where do you want to live? What do you want to tell people?” She groans and rolls her eyes.

I grab her hand. “I’m serious, this time.

” I shoot her a quick smile. “We can tell as many or as few people as you want. I’m happy to live in your apartment—a lie—or you can move in with me.

Or, we can even live separately—another lie—whatever you want. ”

She traces the rim of her mug with her index finger. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“You’re doing it again.” She looks up with a sunny smile on her face.

“Sorry, but I listed a lot of options and I’m not sure which one you’re okay with.”

“I want to move in with you, but keep my apartment just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case you snore, or fart too much.” I join in her laughter, but silently I’m bothered by her very sensible choice.

“And when do we tell people?” Weirdly, I’m holding my breath as I wait for her answer.

She traces the mug rim again, and then looks up, her gorgeous brown eyes serious. “The people at work knows I got married this weekend. But I’m not sure I’m ready to tell them to whom, yet. And can we keep it from Jay and the rest of the town for a little while? It’s not like Jay’s around, anyway.”

Although this is exactly the same decision I made last night—not telling Jay—it irks me that she doesn’t want me to tell him she’s mine now. And off limits to him. “He called me last night.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” she shrieks. “Is he hurt? Where is he?” Her voice is loud enough that people at the other tables look over. Charlotte notices and lowers her voice. “What happened to him?”

There’s no way I can relate the unhinged story he told me to Charlotte. She’ll have a ton of questions that I won’t be able to answer. “I don’t know, but he’s okay. And he’s so sorry he stood you up. He says there were extenuating circumstances beyond his control. He’ll call you and explain.”

She ponders that for a moment. “Okay. I guess I’ll wait for him to explain.”

The thought of the two of them having a conversation without me, even over the phone, doesn’t sit well. I’m fucking jealous of my brother, even though I’m the one married to Charlotte.

This is so fucked up.

I’m fucked up.

I need to move on from this train of thought. “Want to move some of your stuff to my place?”

“Yeah,” she says, relief lacing her voice. She’s as happy to move on to a new topic as I am.

I get up and reach out to help her out of the booth. She grabs it, and once she’s standing, I don’t let go. We walk out together, fingers interlaced.

Mel notices and catches my eye. She looks down at our hands, then back up at me and nods. I smile at her, and inwardly smirk.

I don’t have to tell people that Charlotte is mine. Fir Hollows is a tiny place, through which any gossip runs rampant.

All I have to do is show everyone that she belongs to me now, and everyone will quickly get the message.