Page 33

THIRTY-TWO

JACK

NOVEMBER

“Knock, knock.”

“Not yet!” Mara’s voice chimed from behind the door.

It was go time.

I smoothed my hand over my tie and sniffed the flowers in my hand. Mara’s only request was that we go for a black and white theme, so I went for an all-black look, even with a black shirt and tie. I’d picked up a bouquet of white flowers. Fuck, what if Mara didn’t like them? Worse, what if she was allergic?

The door to my walk-in closet swung open, revealing my bride.

Mara had a nervous smile and the sweetest little white dress. It was both demure and edgy at the same time. A boned bodice that made her boobs look like a snack flared out at her waist, but not in a massive cupcake way. Mara carried more weight in her hips—very sexy weight that was fun to grab onto, I’d found—and it flattered her figure so well. But the best part is that all of her tattoos showed—or at least all the ones I knew about. The dress had a slit on the same side as her thigh tattoo and when she stuck her leg forward, she revealed a Doc Marten boot along with the skeletons on her thigh.

Without even thinking, I breathed an “oh my god.”

She was fucking stunning.

I regretted not hiring a photographer. I was scarred from my wedding to Sydney, which was full of high maintenance photo ops, including an orchestrated “first look” where Syd told me I didn’t do it right.

A cold sweat broke out at my collar as I flashed back to that day. It was supposed to be fun. Joyful. But Sydney kept losing it over trivial shit. She even told me I didn’t smile right. It was hard for me to go to weddings for a while after that, because if the bride looked genuinely happy, it made me panic. What shit was she stuffing down for the sake of appearances?

But here, with Mara in front of me, it felt different.

Mara was so perfectly herself: beautiful while still being bold, dainty while still being someone I’d never cross twice. That perfect balance of sweetness and I’ll-fuck-you-up that was Mara. I reached for her hands, the flowers filling one of mine. Her black nails stood out when our fingers interlaced, helping me hold the flowers.

Why did I want to remember this, though? It was a marriage of convenience. It would be like having a photographer come on an early date with someone. Granted, I was convenience marrying a woman I did sexy stuff with . . . and told all my secrets to.

I realized I hadn’t said anything until she spoke. “I know I’m no virgin, but I picked white.”

My stomach fluttered and I swallowed a lump in my throat, my eyes watering. “I’m fine to pretend.” I looked her over, stopping at her boots. “No Birkenstocks.”

She smirked, her eyes dancing. “Not today. Maybe for the reception?”

“Reception?” God, had she planned something after all?

She gave me a quizzical look. “You’re taking me to dinner, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Duh.” I wiggled the flowers in our hands. “I got you some flowers. Unless you’re allergic.”

“They’re perfect,” she assured me. “I love a good cream calla lilly. You ready?”

“Yeah,” I snapped into action. “Let me grab the rings. I put them in my drawer.”

“We’re doing rings?” Mara asked, turning to watch me as I dug in our closet. *Our* closet. That was going to be a thing now.

“Do you not want to?” I asked. I hadn’t even considered that as an option.

“Oh, I read we don’t have to. I figured you wouldn’t want to.”

I tossed the ring box in my hand like it was casual when I felt anything but. “I can leave them here. I just ordered them one night when I couldn’t sleep this week.” I said that like I didn’t communicate with the jeweler all damn week with very particular specs.

Her eyes were bright as she came to stand in front of me. “Can I see them?”

I cracked the jewelry box open, letting her see the custom rings. Hers had black and white spiky jewels, a risk since I was afraid the stones might be sharp and harsh on her sensitive skin. Mine was a brushed black tungsten with a couple of matching stones from her ring embedded in the band.

Her face flushed and she smiled. “It looks like a tiara.”

“Leroy means king, so I thought maybe . . .” It sounded so dopey when I said it like that.

“I’ll be your queen?” Mara looked up at me, her red bangs dangling just above her eyes.

“If you don’t like them?—”

“I love them. Thank you.” Mara sealed her arms around my waist, banding them behind my back. Her voice came out as a whisper. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m glad it’s with you.”

I laughed softly, letting my fingers glide over her bare shoulder blades. Mara felt so right in my arms, but the swirl of emotions was disorienting. She wasn’t Syd, but Syd had left her mark on me all the same. I wished love could be a possibility for me, that I could give that to Mara. She deserved that kind of love.

But it would be unfair for me to lead her to believe I could give it to her.

And we were about to go to a courthouse where I’d vow my love and devotion to her.

Devotion, I could do. Sex, care, giving her a better situation, I could do.

Love, I could not.

The cold sweat broke out again.

“Likewise. Let’s head out, eh? I don’t want to miss our appointment.”

“Let’s go, Jackie baby.”