Page 126 of Ozzie

The minister doesn’t even look my way.

“Sorry, dear, he’s already been paid, so this is happening.”

Already paid? “You mean paid off?” I ask.

“You’ve always been direct. One of the many things I love about you,” John says.

I try to get loose as the minister begins reciting a wedding ceremony. But each movement seems to be making the ropes tighter.

When I’m asked to say I do, I respond. “No, I don’t!”

John leans down again, taking my hands in his and placing his hand over the ropes. “Do you want me to untie you?”

“Yes, I do.”

He smiles. “Maybe for the honeymoon.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister says.

“Smile!” Patsy says as she snaps photos.

I glance down, and John’s hands are hiding the ropes on my wrists and the huge dress is hiding that my feet are bound.

“Oh honey, smile for me,” John says.

“Never.”

His hands move to my most ticklish spot, and as hard as I try not to, I laugh.

“Got it,” Patsy says.

He stops.

Holy shit, they are going to make this look real.

“Okay, we will leave you two alone. Happy honeymoon!” his mother says.

Everyone shuffles out except John, and I’m sickened at the idea that he thinks we are going to have sex.

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch you,” he says. “But you don’t have to look so sick about the idea. You did like my touch once.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “What is the point of all of this? Do you think somehow I’m going to come around?”

He grins. “Nope. But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we are now married.”

“Why? Why are you forcing me to be with you? You know that won’t work.”

He sits on the bed and stares at me. “I never said you had to be with me. Just marry me.”

I frown, trying to figure out his game. “You think my parents will merge with yours based on a marriage license? They won’t when I tell them I’m annulling this farce.”

He places his hands behind him and leans back. “You have always been so naïve. I really did care for you once.” He yawns. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’m sorry I can’t untie you, so you’ll have to try to sleep like that.”

“Sleep? What time is it?”

He takes off his jacket and tosses it across the bed. “Nine pm.”

“I was out for three hours?” I ask.

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