Page 20 of Dragonfly

Because, yup, I’m still wearing the t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers I pulled on this morning when I was getting ready for work. After leaving the Springfield East Clinic, he drove me and Vin all the way to the other side of Springfield, straight to Judge Callahan’s huge-ass mansion.

I didn’t even feel worthy walking on his expensive floors in my cheap, ten-dollar sneakers. Damien and Vin at least had suits on, even if Damien’s is obviously blood-stained in the right light, but I look like he just picked me off the street and dragged me in here.

Oh, wait.

He did.

Judge Callahan didn’t even blink at my appearance after the fucking butler—whose sneer tells me that he definitely did notice—at the door let us in, leading us toward the judge’s personal office. He had everything ready for us, and when he refers to the message he received from Damien, I suddenly understand why he seemed so busy on his phone when Vin was rushing him to the clinic earlier.

I thought he was planning his revenge on me.

Nope. He was planning our marriage.

Once I’ve shuffled my feet up to the desk, he lifts his hand. His fingers slide through my hair, settling on my shoulder as he looms behind me. “Sign the license, wife.”

I grit my teeth. When all I want to do is snap at him for calling me that, it’s a much safer option to just go along with what he said without arguing.

At least, not in front of witnesses.

I pick up the pen. Next to Damien’s signature, there’s a blank line for me. Printing beneath it, I see my ‘name’: SAVANNAH MONTGOMERY.

I see it, and for the first time all night, I have the urge to smile.

I’m not Savannah. Not legally. And if I sign this license with my fake name, doesn’t that make this marriage illegitimate?

It’s a loophole. A very small one, too, and I know I’m grasping at straws. My future husband is a mafia leader. Somehow, I doubt he really gives a shot over the legalities of things. As it is, I’m pretty damn sure he’s only going through the motions—having the judge marry us in his private study after courtroom hours with a hastily printed wedding license—so that I believe that we’re married.

Let him. He wants to play this game? I’ll play.

I’m going to fucking win, too.

Picking up the pen, I meet his gaze. There’s a dare written into every line of his face, almost as though he’s waiting for me to back out. To beg forgiveness. To call his goddamn bluff.

I don’t. He set these events in motion when he could’ve just had the decency to die. Now? He’ll have to face the consequences same as me.

Without a word, I scrawl Savannah Montgomery on the line, then toss the pen down.

Behind us, Vin groans.

Sorry, big guy. He might’ve pushed his luck as far as it could go, nagging Damien the entire ride over to the judge’s house to reconsider, but my new husband seemed insistent on seeing this through to the point that Vin just stopped talking.

He didn’t answer me when I point-blank asked him if he’s the one who snatched my gun out of my purse, either…

Ah, well. I’ll have to figure out a way to get it back. No way in hell is Damien going to let me get close enough to go for his knife again—unless he’s a fucking moron, and even if I don’t understand what his motives are, at least I’m sure he’s not a fucking moron—so I’ll have to be a little more… creative.

There’s no time to think about that now. Once the ink on the license is dry, I’m basically considered his wife, and now I have to find out what that means to Damien?—

The judge clears his throat. “If you’re anything like Lincoln and his bride, I’m sure you’re quite eager to consummate your marriage with this, er, lovely young lady here.”

Lovely? Maybe if I had a full face of make-up on and my hair wasn’t a wind-blown mess. And young… with my thirtieth birthday coming up in June, I’m only ten years or so younger than Damien. The way Judge Callahan says that, you’d think he was accusing Damien of robbing the cradle in a roundabout way.

But none of that really bothers me. Oh, no. It’s the part where the judge so matter-of-fact mentions consummating our marriage that has my heart jumping into my throat.

His wrinkled face gets a bit of a leer to it as he adds, “I have a bathroom down the hall you might like to use.”

Damien snorts. “Thank you, but no. I like to think I have a little more class and patience than Devil does. I’m taking my wife home.”

Holy shit.

---