Page 33 of Inconvenient Marriage
Annaliese gives Loni a thin-lipped smile. “I appreciate it. Thank you. You know what they say: accidents happen.”
I look at Adrian, then Polly.
Yeah. This was no accident.
Firming my jaw, I glare at the waitress. Her face falls. No wonder. All those times I came to Martino’s, chatting it up with the girls, tipping them handsomely because they were always so sweet to me… and this is what I get? I have our wedding reception here, and the moment I step away from Annaliese’s side, Polly ‘spills’ a glass of red wine all over her wedding dress?
Too late, she stutters out an apology.
Gracious and well-mannered as always, Annaliese brushes it off.
Of course she does.
Me?
I move to her side, placing my arm over the back of her shoulder. Then, coldly turning away from the waitress, I address the rest of our wedding party.
“Thank you for coming. For sharing our special day with us. But I think it’s time I bring my wife home.”
And if I enunciate ‘my wife’ a little more strongly than necessary before giving a side-eye to Polly?
Well, I’m sure that was an accident, too.
TEN
EXTRA PROVISION
ANNALIESE
As far as I know, Sebastien has two main vehicles: a shiny motorcycle, and a bright red Porsche that is as flashy as it was probably super expensive. I’d shut down the idea that we rent a limo for our wedding. I was trying to keep it on the down low as much as I could. A big stretch limo bringing us all to St. Catherine’s, then the cafe that Sebastien insisted we all eat at? No, thank you. We could all find our way to and from the church and the restaurant.
He thought I was being frugal. After jokingly telling me to hold on to his card, he reminded me that I could spend whatever I wanted to plan our wedding. I didn’t have a problem with that. Hey, my folks do pretty well for themselves, too. We don’t have Reynolds money, no, but I’m not the sort of woman who will refuse someone else’s generosity.
If I was, I never would’ve ended up with Eric as long as I did…
My new husband insisted on driving us to the church. I almost pointed out the old adage about it being bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding, but then I remembered that this isn’t a real wedding. For all intents andpurposes, this is basically fake. So when he said he’d drive me, I agreed. Besides, it wasn’t really a wedding dress. It’s a simple white gown that I picked up from Felicia’s, one of my favorite shops on the north end of Harmony Heights.
A white gown that is covered in sticky, halfway-dried red wine courtesy of the clumsy waitress who was in charge of serving our wedding reception at Sebastien’s restaurant of choice.
I don’t want to think poorly of anyone, but I’m not so sure how much of that was an accident. She returned with a single glass of wine, though no one asked for a refill, and she just so happened to stumble in time to drop it on my lap. And maybe I could excuse it for a slip if it wasn’t for the way I saw her watching Sebastien so closely, jealousy pinching her features, as though she wished thatshewas his bride…
But she’s not. I am. ‘Til death do us part—or, you know, next March when the one-year term of our contract is up—I’m now Annaliese Reynolds. It was a stipulation he added off-handedly during the last hectic days of wedding planning, and I agreed because it was such a small concession. Besides, if I kept my name, it would only be obvious that I’m not truly his wife. And if I’m not protected by an Order member, I can only imagine how far Eric will go to make me pay for my disobedience.
He threatened Miranda. I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll go through with it, taking Colton and her future as his wife away from her. The Dawes family is too enmeshed in the Order of the Owed for me to believe that Colton—for all the love that he has for my sister—would ever choose her over the secret society. His parents wouldn’t let him, and neither would Miranda.
But that’s not all. Mom has slowed down with her event planning business over the last year. She claims she’s preparing to retire, but she’s barely fifty. She could work if she chose to, butI have the feeling that her job started drying up, oh, about three months ago—right around the time I ended things with Eric.
And Dad… he’s an engineer. That’s how he ended up getting inducted in the Order. Some project he did a decade ago earned quite a few Owed a pretty penny, and they repaid him by sponsoring him into the society. His job changed our lives, and I know he’ll work until he’s on his deathbed… but not if Eric interferes.
FuckingEric.
As Sebastien pulls up outside my building, he kills the engine to his Porsche, though he doesn’t get out right away. His hands rest loosely on the steering wheel instead, a picture of relaxed confidence.
He glances my way. “You alright?”
“I’m—” My voice cracks. I quickly clear my throat. “I’m fine. Just tired. It was a long day.”
“But a good one?”
