Page 7 of It Shouldn't Be You
As Noah Kahan sings about forever, I dip her, wondering if I’m right to bring her into my chaotic life when I can't promise forever. Yet letting her win this small victory, seeing her happy and vibrant, feels right. If I wanted a meek bride, I would've chosen differently.
I’m reluctant to let her go as the song ends. Holding her close, twirling round the floor, the chaos in my mind settles for a moment. As if this is all that matters in the world. And in this moment, maybe it is.
After too many whiskeys, we make our grand exit under a canopy of sparklers, heading upstairs to the bridal suite. Abigail stumbles in, champagne in one hand, shoes in the other, giggling. “Welcome to your honeymoon, husband.”
“The fact you think this is your honeymoon is cute.” I chuckle.
With a laugh that turns into a burp, she sets the champagne down and reaches behind her, trying to unzip her dress, revealing tantalizing skin. Groaning, I approach her, putting one hand on her waist before asking, “Need a hand?”
At her hum of consent, I slowly lower the zipper, teasing myself with each inch revealed until her dress pools on the floor. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. And naked underneath except for a black thong splitting her ass checks in the most delicious way. Her ass is firm and tight, just begging for my belt. Or a bite.
“Fucking hell, I think it’s time we get you into bed, yeah?”
I quickly shrug off my shirt and lay it over her shoulders. As much as I would love to appreciate the view, she’s clearly drunk. I guide her over to the bed, pulling down the duvet and tucking her in before she can get any smart ideas.
“Hey Viking, you might just make an okay husband,” she slurs as I walk away. With that compliment, I make my bed on the sofa and spend my wedding night the same as I’ve spent most nights of my life—sleeping alone, but this time I’ve the worst case of blue balls.
All thanks to the beauty sleeping in my shirt not ten feet away.
All in a day's job of getting married.
Chapter 4
Waking up the day after my wedding with a pounding headache, aching feet, and cool bed sheets beside me are signs of a successful wedding. It may not be what the movies show, but to me, it’s proof that I had a great time with my friends and that Logan didn’t take advantage of my lowered inhibitions. Instead, he tucked me into bed in his shirt, while he somehow crammed himself onto the too-small sofa.
Standing in front of him, it’s hard to deny the obvious: he’s beyond handsome and exactly my type. From his tanned muscles to the tattoos covering almost every inch of skin I can see, to the silver nose ring glinting in the morning light. Not to mention the fine dusting of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers.
The man looks like he could crush watermelons between his thighs without breaking a sweat. He’s exactly the type of man I’ve fantasized about with my hand in my panties more times than I care to admit. However, he hasn’t done anything to set off warning bells in my brain—which is worth more than all thegood looks in the world. Still, I remind myself, it’s early days yet. I shouldn’t be counting my chickens before they hatch.
“Did you get your fill, or do I need to lie here longer, Princess? I could flex for you if you want a better look.” Heated grey eyes lock onto mine, pinning me in place. Ignoring the blush creeping up my cheeks, I take a step back, playing it off.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Good thing you’re awake though. We need to meet my dad and Jonathan before breakfast.” I turn towards the bed, grabbing my suitcase. Someone must have dropped it off earlier—my money’s on Lily. Pulling out a white jumpsuit and my toiletry bag, I head into the bathroom and quickly make myself look less like the walking dead and more like a newly crowned mafia wife. Which, to be honest, still feels surreal. Stepping out of the bathroom, I nearly collide with Logan’s bare chest.Hello, don’t mind if I do!
I sidestep, holding my hands up in mock surrender, praying he doesn’t notice my burning cheeks. His chuckle tells me otherwise. I need to work on my poker face. God bless men and their ability to get ready in no time, because within ten minutes, he steps out and my jaw goes slack. Hair pulled into a man bun, navy pinstripe suit on, and looking every inch the mafia boss, ready to face the firing squad.
“After you, wife.” He gestures for me to lead the way, following close behind.
“You just want to look at my ass.” And if I put an extra little sway into my hips that’s between him and I.
“You know the saying. I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go. Now tell me. What am I walking into this morning?” I brush off his comment about my ass, focusing on the second part of his sentence as we wait for the lift.
“Well, when my dad approached me with this, he was full of promises of a meet-up happening before the actual wedding. Which never happened. So, I made a few stipulations to make it easier for me to go into this blind. Jonathan agreed and the two of them thought it was best to have a discussion this morning. Owen, Peter, and Alex will also be joining us.”
At Logan’s nod, I mentally prepare my conversation ahead. When we arrive, I spot Alex and Peter already seated at the table. They both stand as we enter. Logan takes his seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a practiced ease, and they follow suit, dipping their chins in acknowledgment towards me.
Owen throws an arm round my shoulder before pushing me towards my dad. After he helps me into a seat between him and Jonathan, silence takes over the room.Ugh, men and their pissing contests.
I’m sure this isn’t what most brides deal with the day after their wedding, but then, I’m not most brides. The only thing about this whole situation that really confuses me is what exactly someone like Logan gains from this. Surely taking over his organisation should come with the freedom to marry whoever the fuck he wants. Or hell, stay a bachelor if that’s what he prefers.
“I hear Abigail had some things to lay out before we move forward,” Logan opens the conversation. His voice is calm, cool and collected but the way he sprawls back in his chair, taking up as much space as possible, alludes to his need to command the room. Which, fuck me, has no right to be so hot.
“She does, and I thought it would be best to have this conversation with everyone present to avoid any...let’s call it…misunderstandings,” Jonathan confirms, his gaze fixed on Logan.
“Alright, Princess, I’m all ears.” My husband smiles. Grey eyes lock onto me. I clench my thighs. For no reason.Nope. None at all.
“First, I want to be here for Cora’s wedding and my bridesmaid duties,” I begin, ticking it off on my fingers.
“When is the wedding?” Peter cuts in, a thoughtful frown marring his face as he pulls his phone from his pocket.
