Page 48 of One Night Bride
What the hell was going on?
I pulled up the internet and typed in Esme’s name. What came up was a flood of hits to her various social media pages, but the one that got my attention was the new blog post on her website that went live three minutes ago entitled “The real story.” Looked like she’d taken my advice to heart. But then why was Mom texting me like I’d done something wrong? They already knew it was a hasty marriage that probably involved some alcohol to get us to the altar that quickly.
I clicked on the link and read the post, forgetting all about the eggs until the smell of smoke hit my nose. I threw the phone on the counter and turned off the burner, fanning the smoke in the air before racing over to open the kitchen window. Somehow the smoke detector didn’t come on, but I’d thoroughly burned the eggs, which were the least of my worries.
Esme had told the truth, alright. But her version of the events used a word I just couldn’t get out of my head.
Mistake.
I tossed the pan in the trash and picked up my phone to read that last paragraph again, not quite believing my eyes.
While the marriage itself is real and valid as seen by the license from the state of Nevada, the motivation behind the license was simply a mistake. I’d like to think I don’t make huge mistakes, but I’m human, just like you. I appreciate your kindness and patience while I right some wrongs.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
A burning sensation took up residence in my chest. Anger. Hurt. A deep sense of betrayal and disappointment. All of it felt like a pile of bricks pressing in on me and cutting off my breath.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and raced up the stairs, my lungs pumping like I was in a race to the death. Maybe the death of this sham marriage. Esme was in such a hurry to give an answer to faceless followers online, but she’d put that fucking phone down for two goddamn seconds to give me, her husband, a real fucking answer. And it better not have the word mistake in it.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, I saw that Esme had put a T-shirt on, covering herself while she typed away on her phone, completely oblivious to the fact that I stood there staring at her. Oblivious to the hurt she’d caused me. Oblivious to the fact that if she couldn’t come up with a good explanation in the next two seconds, this “mistake” of a marriage would officially be over.
“Esme.”
Nothing.
Anger threatened to boil over, and I’d had enough. I marched over to her and grabbed the phone out of her hands.
“Hey!” she yelped.
I threw it across the room, not taking my gaze off her lovely face even when it hit the wall with a thump. This might be the last time I looked at her. I’d asked her to be my wife for real last night, and not twelve hours later, I prepared to say goodbye by memorizing her features, knowing they’d haunt me the rest of my life.
“What the hell did you do?” I whispered, not trusting myself. If I spoke, it would be a yell.
She frowned, staring at me like she’d never seen me before. “I did what you said. I told the truth.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “The whole truth, Esme?”
Her gaze flitted away, and I knew she was playing scared again.
My voice gained volume and I couldn’t seem to stop it. “A mistake? Right some wrongs? Is that really telling the truth? Because last night you screamed how much you loved me when I had my cock buried in you.”
Her eyes snapped back to my face. “No need to be crude, Remington.”
I shook my head. “I’m not one of your followers, so it seems like the only other way to get your attention is to be crude.”
“That’s not fair.”
I scoffed. “You know what’s not fair? Proposing to a woman, introducing you to my family, changing my whole life to accommodate yours, and then having you call me a mistake. That’s not fucking fair.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t call you a mistake. I said getting married so hastily was a mistake.”
“That’s not what you implied and you know it.” I took another step, darkly enjoying it when she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. “Why do you care about those nameless people so much, Esme? Why do they hold so much power over you?”
“Those people are how I built this business, Remington.”
I could see in her eyes how much she believed that statement. She thought shaping public opinion of herself was why she was successful. It wasn’t her passion, her talent, her coaching skills. Nope. She thought it was the image she portrayed to the masses, no matter how false it was.
“Not much of a business when you have to lie to keep it.”
