Page 35 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)
Bryce
Fiona stares out the car window, her expression pensive. She agreed to the marriage and didn’t object to any of the terms, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe it’s the dejection on her face, as though she’s given up.
It bugs me that she hasn’t even glanced at me ever since she signed the paper, even though I really shouldn’t care what she does as long as I get what I want.
She might be sulking because she didn’t get the kind of proposal she’s always dreamed of.
Tough shit—I didn’t think I would marry the woman who smashed my heart to pieces either, so we’re even.
Still, part of me squirms. Last night when she held me and hummed for me, my heart beat unsteadily.
It was disorienting, like I’d been catapulted back in time.
The mental and emotional strain that had been with me for so long eased, allowing me my first true rest in… forever.
I thought maybe there’d been a change of heart on her part.
But much to my disappointment, she acted like the soothing, intimate moment last night didn’t happen.
I thought she’d say something about the past to excuse her betrayal, even if it was just to give me the tired “It just wasn’t working for me” line.
I couldn’t bring it up, either. There wasn’t a way to raise the topic without sounding needy and vulnerable. And I can’t afford that with Fiona.
Today, she’s in a pretty ivory sundress and strappy sandals, like she cares at least a little about the ceremony. Her pink toenails look cute. I put on a black three-piece suit with a tie because anything else would be wrong for the occasion.
I park the Lamborghini at a county clerk’s office near a courthouse. She starts to reach for the door.
“Wait.”
She turns toward me with a small frown. “Is there anything else to discuss before we get married?”
“Not discuss, exactly, but…” I pull out a velvet box from my jacket pocket and pop the lid open.
Her jaw slackens, her eyes zeroing in the ring in the center. “Oh my God.”
I pluck the glinting ring out and slide it onto her finger. The princess-cut diamond is set on a classic platinum band, and is perfect on her slim hand, just the way I imagined it at the store yesterday. Classy and elegant while discreetly hinting at wealth and prestige.
“You like it?” My tone’s super casual.
She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “It’s huge !”
“Only ten carats.”
“You’re the only guy I know who would say ‘only’ ten carats.”
“Because it’s not that big.” Why isn’t she answering my question? Does she not like it?
Her eyes take in the discreet logo inside the box. “It’s Sebastian Jewelry.”
“I couldn’t get something cheap.” My tone’s definitely grumpy now.
“Because you always get the best.”
A shrug. “It wasn’t that expensive. The piece isn’t custom made.
” Still, I didn’t think that was going to be an issue.
The band is unique, with a rose etched on either side of the diamond.
The flowers reminded me of the Fiona roses in my garden, and it seemed to fit her.
Perhaps I misjudged, and she doesn’t want to settle for a premade item.
She sighs. “Thank you. It’s really beautiful. ”
Relieved, I start to smile, but she adds, “I guess…I didn’t think about props.”
She’s lost what little romanticism she had since the graduation. I study her, from her slightly arched eyebrows, long, thick lashes and thoughtful green-gold eyes to her soft, lush lips pursed in a mild self-directed recrimination.
Everyone becomes jaded, maybe even a little fatalistic, with some scars to show, as they navigate adulthood.
But she was always a bit too jaded, like she’d lost something precious despite having struggled mightily for it, and she was convinced she’d never have it.
She didn’t even tell me it was her birthday until the day after.
If she’d been like other girls, I might’ve thought she was testing me, but she had very few expectations.
I had to plan an emergency celebration, and her shocked, pleased smile was the greatest reward I could’ve hoped for.
The hug—and the sex afterward—was fantastic, too.
I realize with a pang that we were truly happy back then…and I miss it more than I want to admit. I’ve been furious ever since she threw it away for a guy who wasn’t worth it.
“How are we playing this when people ask about us?” Fiona looks at me. “We’re going to need a story to go with the ring.”
I clear my throat to shake off the pain, sorrow and anger, then put on a careless facade. “We stick as close to the truth as possible.”
“So, how romantic was the proposal?”
“Very.”
“Flowers?”
“Yes, red roses,” I say, thinking of the shrub roses I planted.
“Like the ones in the backyard.”
“Precisely.”
She stares at the ring for a moment. She refused to say that she liked it, but I hope she does, not because I care what she thinks— I don’t —but because she has to wear it for the next two years. It’ll be difficult if she hates it. I’m not buying her another ring, I decide stubbornly.
She strokes the cool band, her eyes lowered. “Do you want it back when all this is over?”
Suddenly, my throat feels tight. I didn’t think about what would happen once our deal ended.
Strange, since we signed a contract for it.
It’s almost like we’re any other couple about to get married, only focusing on the present.
“No, it’s a gift.” My voice is stiffer than I intended.
“Besides, what am I going to do with it? It’s not like I can reuse it with the next woman. ”
Fiona drops her hand in her lap. Her expression turns inexplicably self-deprecating. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”
I get out of the car, then walk around to open her door. A hand at the small of her back, I lead her inside.
Paola smiles at me. In her late twenties, she’s one of my favorite clerks because there’s no gossip she can’t not share, and she tells me everything about everyone.
She pushes back her long braids and waves. The rhinestones on her electric-blue nails glint as she does so. “Hey, Josh, what’s shaking?”
I laugh. “I’m the better-looking twin.”
“How am I supposed to know which is which unless you start talking to me? Both of you claim to be the better-looking twin.” She chuckles. “So what brings you here today?”
“I’m here to get married. This is my fiancée, Fiona.”
Fiona smiles and presents the ring.
Paola gasps, planting a hand over her impressive bosom. “Oh my Lord, that’s gorgeous . And so big!”
Fiona’s smile widens, although her eyes fail to match the wattage. “Yes, he really spoils me.”
“Girl, how come I never heard about you?” Paola looks Fiona up and down, cataloguing every detail as quickly as possible. The gleeful glow on her face says she’s dying to tell everyone about my fiancée . “Bryce really kept you under wraps.”
“I wasn’t hiding her,” I say with a light laugh.
Fiona steps up. “We met when we were studying at Harvard. But after we graduated, I went to Wisconsin for work, so…” She shrugs. “But recently I came back, we ran into each other, and the rest is history.”
“That sounds like a movie! How was the proposal? Did he go down on one knee?”
“Of course. With lots of red roses.”
Paola’s eyes close, and she presses her hand deeper into her bosom. “Oh my God, that is so romantic! I’d die if it happened to me. ”
If only that was how Fiona reacted. She threw up, like marrying me was the most disgusting thing imaginable. If Mom hadn’t sent the photo with a severed finger, Fiona probably would’ve stayed stubbornly uncooperative. I shove aside the sudden bitterness and feign a happy groom-to-be.
“Thankfully, she didn’t die. There was some leaping about with joy, though. Almost twisted an ankle in her heels—”
“Let’s not get carried away, dear.” Fiona covers my mouth with her hand, a wary caution in her eyes. I push it away, kissing the fingertips.
“Baby, you know the way if you want to shut me up.” I let my eyes fall to her mouth.
She flushes and gives me a meaningful look. “Not in front of an audience.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Paola says, fluttering her lashes. She would love that. Might even pull out her phone to record it.
Fiona turns to her with a sweet smile. “Can I give you my information first?”
“Yes, of course,” Paola says, her hands dropping to the keyboard. Then she gives me a small wink. “She’s a keeper.”