Page 23 of Whiskey Kisses

“Don’t underestimate me. You have no idea what I’m willing to do,” I say softly, gripping her chin. “What I want to know is, what are you willing to do?”

She blinks as my hand slides away. “Anything,” she whispers.

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Evie, and despite all of this bullshit, youdoknow me,” I say. “Do you trust me?”

It takes a long time, but eventually she gives me a single nod.

“Then marry me instead.”

8.Evie

The next day, Tristan calls me around noon and tells me to meet him at the Chatham County Probate Court so we can get our marriage license.

My mouth goes dry, and my heart nearly thuds to a stop, but I agree. When he asked me last night, I’d been near-hysterical enough to go along with the idea, even though it was questionable at best and batshit crazy at worst. Juvenile crush or not, I wasn’t sure I could stomach fake-marrying Tristan Kelly. It was a sham, for God’s sake! He was only doing this because one, it would get him closer to the distillery, and two, he was too chivalrous to let a slimeball like Cole claim me like a lottery ticket.

Still, I’d rather suffer the indignity of marrying Tristan than the terror of marrying Cole, so I agree to meet him at one o’clock. Then I call my office from the car, letting them know I have a family emergency and need to take off the rest of the day.

“You take all the time you need, honey,” my manager says, her voice gooey with concern.

“Thanks, Ms. Claudine. I can probably stop by later on to?—”

“No, ma’am,” she says with an audible scoff. “You handle your business. Tomorrow, too, if you need. Just forward your appointments to me and I’ll reschedule them.”

“I appreciate that,” I say gratefully, wondering what Ms. Claudine would think if she knew what I was really up to. “Thank you.”

“Things happen,” she says. “I’ll say a little prayer for you, okay?”

An hour later, I pull up to the courthouse. I’d been prepared to wait a couple days, as you’re supposed to make appointments for stuff like this, but Tristan pulled some strings. I’m starting to realize that he and his family are the type of people with connections.

Tristan will always get his way.

“Hey.” He meets me out front with a confident smile, looking like old money in khakis and a light blue button down. “You ready?”

“Not really,” I confess, anxiety rolling through my body in waves.

“You brought all your paperwork, right?” he asks, jerking his chin at the oversize purse swinging from my shoulder. “Your birth certificate and all that shit?”

“Of course. But?—"

“It’s just a paper,” he says soothingly, his hand falling to the small of my back. “Once it’s been enough time, we can split. A year, yeah? I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, that you get your fair share.”

“It’s not just a paper,” I hiss, digging my heels in. I don’t know why. I thought I’d made peace with this. “It’s a … covenant!”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s exactly what it is.” We pause just outside the doors, his hand sliding around to my waist. Had he always been this touchy-feely?Is it because I’m about to be his—what am I doing—wife?“A formal written agreement, recognized by law.”

“You know what I mean, Tristan.”

A knowing look passes over his handsome face. “Ah, you mean a covenant in the religious sense.”

“I appreciate you doing this for me—even though you have ulterior motives—I’m just afraid we’re doing something morally wrong. Marriage is a big deal. I don’t want?—”

“Eternal damnation?” He smirks. “You’re overthinking it. People have been entering into contractual marriages since the beginning of time.”

He’s right. Maybe I’m being a drama queen. I guess I just thought that if I did get married one day, it would be different. For love, not survival.

Tristan sighs. “If it helps, I won’t fuck anyone else while we’re married.”

“How sweet of you,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

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