Page 5 of Bride Bargain

Claire’s breath hitches, like she wasn’t expecting this part, but surely she knew it was coming? Good lord,I’vethought of little else. But here she is, a faint blush staining her cheeks, looking so lost and nervous and unsure.

Does Claire want a kiss from me? Maybe not. Maybe that’s a step too far, even in this ridiculous scenario.

Disappointment spreads like acid through my chest, burning and corrosive, but I ignore it. I’m used to ignoring it, and my priority remains the same as it always has been: I will never, ever make Claire Montgomery uncomfortable. I’d rather die.

So: she doesn’t want a kiss from me.

But it’s time to kiss the bride.

This is our current conundrum.

Well, no matter. There is a simple solution. I may have spent my teenage years buried in algebra and code rather than flinging popcorn at the movie theater, but evenIknow that trick actors use to feign a kiss. When I cup Claire’s cheeks with both hands, she makes a soft noise, her breaths coming faster. Her heels scuff against the stone rooftop, and she grabs the sides of my suit jacket for balance.

“Elliot,” she whispers, panic threading through that single word.

“I’ve got you,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

Our kiss is brief, maddening, and will torture me to the day I die. The worst part of all? Our lips never brush, because I kiss my own knuckles.

As the camera clicks and the accountants clap our big moment, Claire stiffens against me, then sags with relief. When we pull apart, she offers a pained smile.

“Are you cold?” I ask, all business again. It’s an unseasonably warm night, but this is a windy rooftop and Claire’s wedding dress has no sleeves. Goosebumps have risen on her arms underthe starlight, and a ridiculous part of me wants to lick them away. To get her alone and warm her up with my breath.

My assistant shrugs. “A little.”

I turn and nod at Sandra, the photographer, and the two accountants. Our paltry excuse for a wedding party. “We’re done here.”

“Thank you,” Claire adds, jabbing my ribs with her elbow.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, even though these people truly did the bare minimum required and don’t especially deserve our praise. Especially Sandra with that lipstick stain. That woman should be arrested. “This is the happiest day of our lives.”

One of the accountants turns a startled laugh into a cough, and even Claire snorts. “Come on,” she says, voice lowered just for me. “We’ve put on enough of a show.”

“Enjoy the wedding night,” the photographer calls as we stride away, and though my pace falters, I force myself to keep walking rather than smack the expensive camera out of his hands. His tone is jovial rather than mocking, and Claire laughs and waves at him as she leaves.

Jealousy crowds my throat, and I yank the rooftop door open with a muted growl, holding it wide for her. Her scent tickles my nose as she walks past, and I suck down a greedy lungful before glaring at the photographer and slamming the door behind us.

There may be no traditional wedding night for us, but Claire ismywife now. For better or worse, she let me slide that ring on her finger.

I’m officially hers.

Jesus Christ.

Three

Claire

You know, I’ve had nearly thirty years to picture my wedding night, but in all my idle daydreaming, I could never have predicted this. I’m standing barefoot in Elliot’s fancy open-plan kitchen, my wedding gown brushing the dark tiles, gulping at a glass of water like I’m trying to drown myself. The city lights glitter outside, spreading out in all directions, and I keep catching glimpses of my own reflection in the dark windows.

I look pale and small and spooky. Like the tormented ghost of a bride.

Abride.Holy crap, what have we done?

All around me, expensive kitchen appliances glitter from counter tops, while eclectic cookbooks squeeze together on shelves. A bushy basil plant scents the kitchen windowsill, and the room is lit by shafts of golden light. This whole penthouse is much warmer than the rooftop, but still… I can’t stop shivering.

Glass trembling in my hand, I smack on the faucet and refill it to the brim. With my arm outstretched, my new wedding ring winks at me from my finger.

A dazed laugh wheezes from my chest.

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