Page 24 of Married in Michigan
“Makayla, wait. Please, just…hear me out.” His voice is low, barely audible over the wind. But it cuts through me, every syllable landing on my ears like explosions; he’s not begging, but hereallydoesn’t want me to leave.
I turn back. Spine stiff, I pull my chair away from his, sit bolt upright, legs crossed. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Paxton, but that’s not funny.”
“I am in no way trying to be funny.” His eyes are certainly serious. “You heard my mother’s ultimatum.”
I nod. “I did. I don’t see how it’s my problem, or why you thinkthisis some kind of solution.”
He leans back, rests an ankle on his knee. “I don’t know what else to do, to be perfectly honest.”
“What else to do other than proposition a maid from your mom’s hotel?” I stare at him in disbelief. “Wait, go back—you don’t know what to do other than nearly hit me with your dumb car, coerce me into coming here when I’m in a vulnerable state, and then ask me tomarryyou? Just like that?” I shake my head. “What else could you do? Literally anything. Get one of your hookers to marry you—offer her a boatload of cash, jewelry, some nice cars and a fancy condo and I guarantee you’ll find one who’ll play the arm candy dutiful wife for your family’s political shenanigans.” I pause for breath, and then keep going. “Or, just spitballing here, you could justnotmarry and take the consequences. Or you could marry that Cecily woman.”
He shudders, and it is not a faked gesture for the sake of drama. “Death first,” he says, once again quotingPrincess Bride, but this time it seems to encapsulate his real feelings on the subject.
“Is she really that bad?” I ask, unable to get the better of my curiosity. “If you’ve basically got free reign to sleep around as long as you play the game for the public, how bad could it really be?”
He wipes his face with both hands. “You don’t get it. Yes, I could marry her and have as many side pieces as I wanted, as long as I was quiet about it and played the game for the public, and she’d do the same. But I’d have to produce children with her, and that’s the problem—I’d have toprocreatewith her and I’d honestly rather fuck a cactus.”
I can’t help a snort of laughter. “Wow. She must be pretty awful.”
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s attractive…in a Barbie sort of way.”
“So, perfect blonde hair, perfect big boobs, perfect slender waist?”
He nods. “Exactly.”
I tilt my head. “So, what’s not to like about that? Sounds like every man’s dream girl.”
He shudders again. “Yeah, great hair, great tits, great ass…and it’s all attached to a vicious, shrieking, evil harpy of a bitch who doesn’t give a single shit about anyone or anything but herself, and that’s coming fromme.” He shakes his head. “No thanks. Been there, done that, and I’d rather take a bath in hydrochloric acid than let that gold-digging whore get within twenty feet of me or my dick.”
My eyes widen. “Damn, you really hate her, don’t you?”
“Is there a word stronger than hate?”
“Love?”
A snort from him. “Wrong direction, babe.”
“Oh. Not sure. I’ve never had feelings that strong for anyone before.”
He sighs. “Don’t start psychoanalyzing me, Makayla. It’s really not complicated—we grew up together, everyone expected we’d get married and have the perfect life together, and I thought so too, until she betrayed me in the most public and humiliating and painful way possible, and so yes, I absolutely hate her with every particle of my being, and I will absolutely take the consequences of not marrying her if that’s the only option.” His eyes lock on mine. “That being said, I’m going to explore all other possible options before I accept being cut out of the will and family trust, simply for not being willing to sell my soul.”
I frown. “Seems to me your family takes a pretty loose view of marriage, so how dearly would you really be selling your soul settling for a sham marriage? I’m not sayingher, but one of your hookers.”
He growls, takes a big swallow of scotch. “If I have your opinion of me pinned down with any accuracy, I’m not sure you’d believe my answer to that.”
I can’t stop my hand from reaching for my glass of whisky, because it’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever tasted, and probably ever will taste. “Can’t say you’re wrong, but also can’t hurt to try, right?”
He takes another careful sip, moving the mouthful around before swallowing. “They’re not my hookers.”
I snort. “Yeah, you were right.”
“That snort of yours—you sure do manage to pack a lot of expression into it.” He narrows his eyes. “Did you see anyone in my bed with me?”
“Snorting is a family trait. You should hear my mom snort. It could take your hide straight off.” I frown, tilting my head. “And as far as having a bed partner, I figured you just kicked her out when you were done.”
“No. I don’t even pay for them. My friends do. I just allow them at the parties.”
“Why?”