Page 36 of Sweet Nothings

Mrs. Harding: Invitations are done. I told Olivia I wanted to hand deliver mine, so she left them with my front desk at work. She’s sending yours out in the mail today.

Below her text is a picture of one of the invitations. Dark crimson red, purple, and black watercolor painted flowers border the small rectangular card. Printed in gold lettering is mine and Laurel’s names, the date and time of the wedding, and the address of my mother’s summer house. When Laurel told me she dreamed of getting married surrounded by flowers and the ocean, it was the first place that came to mind.

Normally, going to that house would be difficult, but this is different. I know my brothers will be shocked when they receive their invitations as well. I haven’t spoken to them since Laurel agreed to marry me. Not because I’ve been avoiding them. Although if I did happen to catch sight of them, I probably would, mostly to avoid the million questions I’m certain they will have about how I convinced Laurel to go through with the wedding. A question that remains unanswered. But for the most part, I’d avoid them because I’m worried they’ll see how different I am with her. For years, they’ve watched me keep woman after woman at arm’s length. Superficial relationships. Women who are only interested in a good fuck or a juicy rumor.

I may be in the business of money and luxuries among other things. A serious relationship not being one of them.

I smile reading Laurel’s text. I find myself doing that a lot more lately. It’s especially odd after having woken up from my nightmare again, the adrenaline still slithering down the lengthof my spine and latching onto the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

I inhale a deep breath and remove the heartbreak and sadness in my mother’s eyes from my mind, replacing it with the vision of Laurel the other day in my conference room. The sound of her heel falling to the floor and the gasp I heard pass through her lips. My cock started to swell at the sound, as well as from the way her body radiated heat. I imagined my fingers re-exploring her body just to watch how she reacts. Would her back arch as my thumbs grazed over her peaked nipples? Would her legs spread farther for me if I bent her over the table and slid my hand slowly along her inner thighs? Would her eyes turn hungry as her pretty little mouth begs for my cock to be inside her?

My heart is starving for the answers. I’ve never felt this way for any of the women I’ve been with.

I’ve been working to keep Laurel at a distance and my feelings in check. There have been a few times where I’ve caught myself being vulnerable with her. The first time I caught myself was when we were messaging in the middle of the night after not being able to sleep. It’s not that I want to give Laurel a terrible perception of me. Although, I know she has already made one, especially since I haven’t talked about the night we met. And I’ve pushed her away at every turn up until my father’s will reading.

Wow, I can be an asshole.

But I made a promise, and I don’t intend on breaking it.

Promises are sacred. Promises are spoken oaths forged in invisible steel. Promises are absolute, and a promise made on your mother’s deathbed is one that is unequivocally absolute.

I type out a response.

Me: Black flowers? A little dark for wedding invitations, don’t you think?

Grinning to myself, I make a quick espresso before heading down to meet my driver, Ray. Teasing Laurel has become my new addiction. Soon, I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll give in.

I’m sliding into the back seat when my phone vibrates in my hand with her response.

Mrs. Harding: I figured it was appropriate. They match the color of your heart. lol

I try to focus on the ‘lol’ at the end but something in Laurel’s text hits me in a place I don’t expect it to.

Does she think our marriage is equivalent to a funeral? Is she dreading marrying me?

I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I swear I can feel something between us. Surely, I’m not the worst person she’d be tying the knot with, right?

Hope wraps around my worries, reassuring me she wouldn’t have agreed to this if she thought that way, regardless of knowing her reasoning or not.

After shutting my screen off, I stare out the window and all the buildings passing me by.

I swallow around the thickness in my throat.

Fuck, this woman owns me and she isn’t even officially mine.

But even when she is and I slip the ring on her finger, she still won’t be because this is all transactional. A marriage of convenience. An arranged marriage. Whatever you want to fucking call it.

But again, I made a promise, and anything other than a real marriage simply won’t do.

I digest Laurel’s dig and continue this game we’ve played for the past few weeks.

Me: Touché. Well, I hope you’re ready to marry me and this black heart in just a few short days. Have a great day, Mrs. Black Heart.

Ray pulls the car along the curb outside my building when Laurel texts back. I find myself smiling when her message is a simple black heart emoji.

Yep, this woman owns me and this little black heart of mine.

TWELVE

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