Page 27 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

CHAPTER EIGHT

Marriage is all about commitment.

First you commit to extreme foolishness.

Next you commit to finding a way out.

No matter what it takes.

BECK

The door slams behind me and I drop my bag on the couch before making my way into the bedroom. The maid service has been through. The bed covers are straightened, not a crease in sight. My dry cleaning hangs on the back of the door. I traipse through to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. I got lost on my way back from Mayhem. Three blocks became five. And it’s still hot out. Sweat drips down the side of my neck as I splash my face with cold water and then wet the nape of my neck before turning off the tap.

I’m so confused.

I kissed him.

He was singing when I noticed he was in the booth with me. His lips moving to the words coming through my headphones. I’d taken them off to tell him I was ready to hear his confession and got caught up. It didn’t matter that he was singing so low that no one else could hear it. His voice curled around my spine with its power and depth and raw edges. My skin vibrated with it, warmth spreading as though his words were his hands and they were exploring every inch of me. I only meant to let him know we could leave when I crawled to him on my knees. I didn’t mean to get so close that he would touch me. As soon as he did I had to kiss him. I had to know what it was like. And this time I wanted to remember it. Unlike so many things I forgot about that night.

I asked him to marry me? How could I forget something so insanely out of character? What was I thinking? Where was my brain?

I lean on the marble counter. Veins of gold and rust spread from beneath my palms. “Seventy percent of relationships break up in the first year. Almost half of all marriage end in divorce.” I exhale. More like a hundred percent if your last name is McClain.

I turn my back on my reflection. The square counter edge bites into my ass. To think I would ask him... or anyone... It’s ludicrous. Preposterous.

I pull my lip between my teeth. Dangerous.

No, not dangerous. There’s no curse. No crazy juju that keeps us McClains from relationships. Only—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I jump out of my skin, smacking my hip into the marble. That’s going to leave a bruise. I rub the tender spot as I walk into the living area.

“Come on, Beck. Open up,” he calls out. “We need to talk.”

I stop short of the door. If I don’t open it, maybe he’ll go away.

“Angel, open up. Talk to me.”

If I stay quiet, maybe he’ll think I’m gone. I thought about it. On the way back to the hotel. I could pack my suitcases and leave. I don’t need to be in the town Sophie came from to write the piece I want. I don’t need second hand accounts of her history from someone who knew her. I can take my work with me wherever I go. Liv doesn’t need me either. I could leave and wait for my lawyer to sort out my divorce or annulment or whatever. I don’t have to be here.

With him.

“I have a key card,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “Just let me know you’re okay. Or I’ll let myself in.”

Ugh. Why does he have to be so not awful? Why couldn’t I have married one of those alpha jackholes? One of those guys who would have thought he was the bee’s freaking knees and either been too busy screwing every piece that came along to care what I was asking him for, or a jerk who would bust down this door to try and claim me. At least with those guys I would have been disgusted. Insulted. Fearful.

But I’m not any of those things.

I shake my head as I move to the door. It’s not like I have to be attracted to him. I certainly don’t have to act on it. Just because he has a nice voice, and nice arms, and fingers that make my mouth water and my nether regions wet. And he has dimples when he smiles, and he amps up my pulse with the way he kisses, and I remember what his cock looks like. Stop it. Attraction is just unwanted chemicals running rampant in the body. At some point they go back to acceptable levels.

“Seventy percent...” I say as I open the door. His head is bowed, his chest sunken as he tilts toward me. “Nox?”

His eyes haze over as he staggers through the door, and I put my arms out to catch him. I almost lose my footing as he collapses against me. All that sinew and hard muscle refuses to hold him up. “Nox? Nox? What’s wrong?”

He groans into my hair, somewhere near my ear. His harsh breath is hot on my scalp. I press a hand to the wall of his chest, trying to keep us upright. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

Jesus. Oh God. This can’t be happening. I have months still.

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