Page 37 of Filthy Little Games

Well, at least he was respectful last night and this morning. Guess I’ll find out how patient he can be during our “honeymoon.”

His words also helped me feel like I have a little more control in this unusual arrangement.

When we pull into the parking garage, Creed tells the driver, “You can let us out here. We’ll be driving to the Hamptons alone. Try not to call me, Lor.”

“Only if it’s an emergency,” the older man promises, swiveling around in the passenger seat. “Congrats and enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Thanks for being there today,” Creed tells him before he opens his door and slides out. I meet him behind the SUV where we finally head to the vehicle of doom.

“I’ll roll the windows down and let it air out before we leave. Not that it will help much.”

“How long is this trip going to take?” I ask.

“You’ve never been to the Hamptons?”

“No. I can’t afford the bus ticket to get there from here, much less a place to stay.”

A giant diamond on my finger and a vacation in the Hamptons are things I never even thought to dream of because they were so unfathomable.

When Creed holds his breath while opening the driver door, releasing the stench, it definitely grounds me back into reality.

Sure, my life includes unexpected and expensive things now, but it comes with a few downsides like dead men in rug burritos.

This is my life now.

No matter what happens in a month or a year from now, last night changed me in a way that I won’t ever be able to escape.

Maybe that’s why I feel a weird sense of camaraderie with Creed rather than fearing him. He hasn’t done anything I haven’t wanted to do myself.

Once all the windows are rolled down, he steps out of the vehicle and opens all the doors while sucking in a deep breath of fresh air. “That’s…even worse than I imagined.”

“We could stop at a gas station and get some air fresheners to hang.”

“A few dozen may make it slightly more bearable. Ready?”

“Yes,” I agree before glancing down at my beautiful ivory dress.

“What?” Creed asks when I don’t go around to get into the passenger seat.

“My dress is going to be ruined. There’s no way the smell will come out.”

“So?”

“So, it’s too pretty to treat it so badly.”

“It’s not like you’ll ever wear it again.”

“True, but it’s supposed to be a keepsake, something to pass down to my daughter.”

Oh shit.

I didn’t mean to let that little truth slip. Not that it matters now that we’re married. I’ll have to tell Creed at some point that I’m a mother.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to catch on that I meant my actual daughter rather than a hypothetical one in the future.

“I’ll buy you a new dress just like that one,” he says.

A replacement dress won’t be the same because it won’t be the one I wore for the actual wedding. But I decide to just get in the smelly SUV and let it go.

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