Page 28 of Vicious Arrangement
“Purple.”
“Thanks,” I mutter dryly, “for the tie.”
“You know,” Asher says, “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Noah Templeton decided to let other men have a chance and get married.”
I bite my inner cheek because I refuse to laugh. “You never know, I still might cause havoc.”
Asher considers me. “You like her, though, I can tell. You’re nervous. You’ve checked your watch fifteen times and she’s not even late.”
“You know, I never thought I’d get married, either,” I admit. I sigh. “I’m not nervous, though. Just anxious.”
For as long as I can remember, marriage has never been on the cards. A therapist would tell me it’s not surprising. Look at my upbringing.
I got everything I wanted, but nothing I needed, like love and emotional support. And if that makes me sound like a whiny little bitch, then I’m a fucking whiny little bitch.
This isn’t something I share with Asher because he has a lot of words and views on the subject I’m not in the mood for this fine spring morning.
But I’m also not blind to the fact Oscar I didn’t want to get married, which is why he fucking did this.
I check my watch again, and Asher smacks my arm. I look up and almost forget to speak.
Aria’s here with minutes to spare, probably five of them. She gets out of an Uber with her dark-haired friend, the drunk from the other night. The drunk’s wearing a dark rose pink dress.
And Aria…
She looks fucking gorgeous. I look past her and wait until they’re almost at the top step, then I head in, not saying a word, leaving Asher to fill the gap as I make my way to the city clerk’s office where we’re getting married.
I know I’m being beyond rude, but holy fuck, I knew she was pretty, I knew she appealed to me, but I never expected her to look like a wet fucking dream.
We’re led into the room, and Asher and the drunk glare my way, though Asher less so than the girl, I think he gets where my brain is, but I have to speak to her.
So I turn, willing every single reaction to stay unresponsive.
But it’s hard. Her pretty red lips and her made-up eyes offer a burst of juicy color. Her hair’s swept up and clipped by a silk barrette, and her waving curls fall down her back and over her right side a little, like she’d done her hair and then we’d messed it up with hot sex.
I swallow. This dress is better than the red one. The simple white silk clings, dipping in the front and showing off her impressive cleavage. Then it follows the almost hourglass shape of her body and hits the floor. The gown’s underrated, utter perfection, and totally up my street.
She’s a vision.
I take her hand and raise it to my lips, kissing it. Her skin’s warm and soft, though the nails are short, unpolished hands from working in a hospital. I turn her hand to run my lips and nose along her inner wrist, and she smells like white oak, jasmine, and gardenia, like it’s just part of her.
Then I meet her blue eyes. “You look stunning, Aria. Really.”
Now that I’m looking at her, it’s almost impossible to take my eyes off her. I love how she blushes, the extra color adding to that absolute beauty that is her.
She licks her lips, like she’s going to speak, but instead, she looks down, clearly flustered. I try to think of something to say to make her smile, to ease the embarrassment of me doing something like fucking smell her wrist, when the door opens and the city clerk comes in.
“We ready?”
“Yes,” I say, not giving her a chance to ask for a minute.
“Good. Let’s get this done, and then you’ll be married. Hooray, and so on.” But he smiles and begins the brief ceremony.
Asher fumbles with the rings I handed him that morning. Hers is too big, and I make a note to get her another along with an engagement ring.
And then…
We’re married.
