Page 25 of Inconvenient Marriage
Of course. Why else was she at the Last Prayer? Some prick hurt her, and she found solace in my arms. That was heartbreak that chased her into the dive bar, onto my cock, and I still echoes of it as I look in her eyes.
I hate the fucker. I don’t know who he is, but I will, and it doesn’t matter. I hate him.
I shove it down just like I do everything else that has the old anger crawling up my spine. “And you can’t marry him?”
“No.”
It’s obvious that that’s all the answer I’ll get out of her on that topic—and it’s enough.
He’s history.
She’smine.
“Good.”
I reach inside of my leather jacket.
If she thinks it’s weird that I wear it in my house, get in line. I’m pushing thirty myself, my birthday next November, but my road jacket is like some little kid’s blankie.
When I wear it, IamBas Reynolds.
I’m the black sheep. The outcast. The rebel who’s stuck his middle finger up at the Order his entire life, but whose last name keeps him from being kicked out despite Jack’s best attempts over the years.
I need that reminder more than most. So does half of Harmony Heights.
Plus, the inner pocket is pretty handy for storage. When Annaliese handed me the binder before she eased herself down on the edge of my couch, she gave me a pen, too. I shoved it in my jacket. Now, I grab the pen, uncapping it with my teeth before flipping back to the front page.
At the bottom, there’s a pair of lines with two different names printed beneath it: Sebastien Reynolds and Annaliese Crawford.
We look damn good next to each other.
I scrawl my signature over the first line. Then, meeting the relief in her eyes as I recap the pen and close the binder, I tell her the truth: “You don’t think I figured most of that out? I know exactly what I’m signing.”
A contract that says that she’s my wife for one year. But, more than that, I noticed a simple clause right near the top that’s going to be my new best friend.
This agreement does not constitute a lifelong marital expectation unless mutually renegotiated.
Understood, love. Under-fucking-stood.
“Then why?—”
I shrug. “Because you asked me to marry you.”
Annaliese blinks, stunned.
My lips quirk in another one of my trademark grins. “And, if we’re being honest here, you gave me a night I haven’t been able to forget.”
Her breath catches. Good. If it affected her half as much as it did me, it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier than I expect to satisfy the bullshit ‘mutually renegotiated’ part of that line.
Rising up from my seat, I move to her side of the room, holding out the binder and the pen. “Your turn.”
Annaliese sets down her copy of the contract. She accepts mine, opening it to the front page with my signature on it.
She hesitates for only a moment before adding her signature to the next line. That done, she closes my binder, handing it back to me. I guess this is my copy of the contract to keep. Considering she grabs hers, signing that one before standing up and holding it out so that I can do the same, I figure she wants us both to keep a copy.
Tucking hers under her arm, she picks her purse up from where it was waiting for her on the couch. “Thank you. It doesn’t seem adequate, but?—”
“Then don’t bother. Besides, I don’t know where you’re going. We’re not done here.”
