Page 16 of Haunting Me

Fuck, this man is amazing.

“I wouldn’t do it tomorrow,” I laugh, shaking my head at his willingness. “How about we sleep on it?”

Wes is gorgeous, and I bet that he will make pretty babies. I am just hung up on my parents being so shitty that I assume I will be, too.

“What is it, baby?” He asked, his tone concerned.

“What if I am just as bad a parent as mine were?” My heart flutters as his fingers weave in between mine, bringing my hand to his lips.

“Impossible,” he says, placing the softest kiss across my knuckles. “You will make an amazing mother. Baby this isn’t something that has to happen right now. We have forever to determine if we want kids.”

As far as spending forever with someone, Wes is ideal. In a strange fucked up sort of way, that is. Even though he started as a stalker, he is so much more than that now. I entrusted him with my body, and all he has done is treat it with love and devotion. He cares about my mental well-being, wanting to make sure my abusive father never hurts me again. Why wouldn’t I want to spend forever with him?

“Ask me again.”

Wes’s eyes widen, the smile creeping across his face. “Yeah?” He climbs off the bed and gets down on both of his knees. I scoot myself to the edge of the bed. Wes spreads my thighs so he can situate himself between them. My heart is burning for this man, on his knees in front of me. “Layne Murphy, will you marry me?”

I nod, the tears already forming in my eyes. Wes grabs a piece of rope from the bedside table, grasping my hand with his free one. He wraps our hands with the rope.

“I did not write these, but it’s a long-standing tradition in my family. My parents immigrated here from Scotland, so these are the traditional Celtic vows. Let’s see if I remember them.” He clears his throat.

Wes takes my hand in his, and begins, “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand. I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine. I shall not slander you, nor you me, honoring you above all others, and when we quarrel we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you: Our love is never-ending, and we will remain forever equals in our marriage.”

Wes leans over and snatches up his pants, rummaging in his pocket. He produces a small black box and stays down on both knees, not just the traditional one knee. “Is that a yes? I need to hear the words, Ma Petite Mort.” My body propels forward and our lips connect, kissing him with such a burning passion.

“Yes,” I whispered into his lips, “it will forever be yes. I’m Irish Wes. I know those vows very well.”

I bring our bound hands to my lips, pressing mine to the top of his. “You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we may be one. I give you my spirit until our life is done.”

“I thought Murphy was of English origin. Some stalker, I am. I couldn’t even get your family’s origins correct. Hope you don’t mind a Scottish last name. It’s going to be Larimore for the rest of your life.” Wes unties our hands and lifts me back onto the bed, pushing the hair from my face.

“It’s perfect. So are you going to whisk me away to the Scottish countryside and marry me in a field?”

“Would you like to?” His voice was serious. “I want to travel around the world with you Layne,” his lips tenderly kiss my ear, “and fuck you in every single city we go to.”

Wes clears his throat and pulls back. “First, we need to deal with your father. Then we can talk about traveling. I’m going to marry you tomorrow. Better text Atlas and tell him you need him to be at the courthouse.”

With a delicate touch, Wes slides the ring on my finger, and I admire the vibrant green of the beautiful emerald. He understands that I'm not the conventional type of girl who likes diamonds. Wes gets up, unbinds our hands and cleans the mess from the takeout. I reach for my phone to text Atlas.

What to say, so that he won’t think I am insane?

LAYNE: Okay, don’t freak out. I need to ask you to do something for me tomorrow. No judgment.

ATLAS: …

ATLAS: I am the king of no judgment, bitch. I am still mad that you didn’t tell me about your mystery man. HOT, by the way!

I smirk and text back.

LAYNE: We are getting married tomorrow. Would you be willing to come to the courthouse as a witness? Then we can party afterward?

ATLAS: Only if I get to pick your dress.

LAYNE: So is that a yes?

Do I get to pick your dress?

“Atlas wants to pick my dress,” I shout to Wes, who is cleaning up the dishes across the loft. He comes into view and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t care what you wear, baby. That’s all up to you.” I bite my lip and respond.

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