The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 7

Pippa seems like a nice woman. Asks questions, all enthusiastic and sweet, as though we’re her best friends reaching a major milestone in romance.

Lareina, too, is agreeable. And inexplicably sexy. Her voice is velvety, which feels good to my ears when she speaks, but I also sense a bit of steel underneath, which makes me respect her. Spinelessness is pathetic. Thinking back on the way she climbed over those gargoyles to reach my balcony, I’d say her balls are bigger than a lot of men I know.

She casts me sidelong glances from time to time, as though to gauge my reactions. Am I supposed to do something when she gives her name or birthday? We’re almost the same age, although she looks much younger. And more finely made, with a delicate arch to her eyebrows, the sweet, straight slope of her nose, a soft, full mouth and the supple lines of her long limbs. Her fingers are pale and slim as she lays them on the counter and fidgets a little.

Before I can think, I have my hand wrapped around them in a comforting gesture. She looks at me, her eyes wide. Hasn’t anybody ever tried to make her feel better? Or warm her surprisingly cool hands?

She must’ve had a lot of shitty boyfriends. A ball of acid forms in my stomach at the possibility that she might’ve been forced to date that step-cousin of hers, who obviously has to be a dick.

“So that’ll be—” Pippa’s request for money, very polite and professional, jerks me out of my random reveries. Her eyes are shining, silently wishing me and Lareina a world of joy as long as we can pay the fee. The situation seems a bit absurd. What happens if you’re too poor to afford a marriage license?

I almost wish I could declare myself too poor to pay the fee, except Aunt Jeremiah would immediately spot me the cash. She can be such a bitch. The Fogeys act like they’re concerned, but they only worry about me the way they want. If they really cared, they wouldn’t insist I get married to get promoted. Or worse, demand that I give up looking for Queen.

The lights are too bright, and Pippa’s smile is too white. Her face seems to melt a little, like one of Dali’s clocks. I touch my temples to anchor myself—before my head flies away like a balloon or drops off my neck to the floor. Either possibility seems likely.

Lareina reaches into her bodice for cash. I put out a hand for her to stop, and reach for my black AmEx. But wait. Harvey is a sneaky asshole; he might be monitoring my credit cards—illegally, of course. Just because he wants to hire a lawyer doesn’t mean he’s law abiding. I pull out a wad of cash and slide it to the clerk. Can’t let a woman pay, especially someone who’s helping me. Also…that kiss was amazing.

“You thought it was amazing too?” Lareina says, her cheeks pinkening.

I start. Did I say that out loud? Her eyes sparkle as she waits for a response, and I say, “Didn’t you?” The hot excitement from the moment is still buzzing in my blood.

Lareina’s face turns redder. Cute. I grin. Adorable, in fact.

Perhaps you can marry her and get promoted! my mind says.

No. I need respect and indifference in my marriage with a wife who embodies the tranquility and social acuity that The Fogeys are looking for. Lareina doesn’t fit the mold. A woman headstrong enough—and crazy enough—to climb across the outside of a hotel to reach the next balcony is bound to be wild and disruptive, even if she is a great kisser.

And even if I do want to kiss her again.

Pippa grabs the money with a prehensile gusto that reminds me of an eagle’s talons. Or a velociraptor’s.

A dinosaur? My head is a mess right now—which I hate. I keep my thoughts pristine and organized. No smiling at a woman I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours, thinking she’s cute or adorable. And no reliving the kiss we had to share to escape. And most definitely no hoping we can kiss again.

Fuckin’ Harvey. Just what the hell did he feed me?

“You guys are super sweet!” Pippa says.

“Thank you!” Lareina beams.

“We hear that a lot,” I add on impulse. Shut up.

I shove the license into my pocket and escort Lareina out. The wind chills my face and hands as we make our way down the street. She shivers in the dress. I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

She looks up at me. “What about you?” she says, even as her fingers curl around the lapel of the jacket. She really is adorable. And transparent.

“No problem.” Wonder what she’d say if I told her I wanted the jacket back. Would she pout? Or just hand it back with a sniff? Whichever way she responds, it’ll be cute. It’s hard to resist teasing her. “I’m a man. Men don’t get cold.”

The sound of her laughter rolls around me, sending a strange, tickling sensation to my heart. Absurdly enough, I want to just let go and join her mirth. The impulse is both exciting and sobering. I’m too much like my mother to relinquish control.

Perhaps I should give Lareina my credit card so she can find a place to stay. But Harvey’s people might be monitoring—

I wince as my head pounds. It’s like having a hangover. What the hell kind of drug is this? Hangover pain without any of the fun?

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. Just…a headache.” I’m going to murder my uncle. Actually, I can’t kill him. If he goes, Mom will get a shot at taking over their “family business.” And my mother plus the power of the mafia would be too dangerous. My brothers and I are older and wiser, but so is she. She wouldn’t use a method as crude as kidnapping again, especially when it failed the first time.

She got herself some hot women to seduce me. Or at least that’s what it sounded like based on Harvey’s warning, but they could be after Bryce and Josh. I should warn them.

But first… I inhale and try to organize my mind. I need to get Lareina settled somewhere safe, then hide from Harvey until I’m a hundred percent back to normal. Afterward, I’ll deal with Soledad and Harvey for conspiring to fuck with me, and see which of my dates, scheduled for the next three days, will make a satisfying wife for The Fogeys. As for the marriage license in my pocket, I’ll get rid of it once I’m back in L.A.

Suddenly, Lareina stiffens and throws herself at me, burying her face in my chest. “Rupert,” she whispers. “And Doris. My step-cousin and aunt.”

She shudders. Not sure if it’s out of fear or revulsion. Could be both. Either way, I hate that she feels either of those things at all. I pull her tighter, shielding her from her enemies.

“You here to get married?” somebody says from behind me.

I turn and face a skinny, black-haired man sporting a used car salesman’s ingratiating smile. He looks like he’s eager to unload a shiny Mustang with a rusted-out engine.

Before I can say no, he continues, “I’m Jonny. You guys look so good together, standing there so affectionate, just had to ask. The couple that was booked to come in just canceled. Bride caught the groom getting a hummer from a hooker. Apparently, the bride sucks at it—pun absolutely intended!”

The man laughs uproariously, slapping his knee, weirdly sincere in his amusement. Lareina and I just watch. He finally straightens up without a trace of awkwardness.

“Since we’re free… What do you say? Dan-tatata. Dan-tatata!” He sings the opening to “Here Comes the Bride” then shifts his attention to Lareina, who’s raised the lapel of my jacket to hide as much of her face as possible. “Your girl here is already dressed. And you don’t look bad. It’ll be a wedding you’ll never forget. Guaranteed!”

My gut really likes the idea. Why wouldn’t I want to have a wedding I’ll never forget? But at the same time, my brain says, No, no, no! Lareina’s too wild and hot to make a good wife who can be respectful and indifferent.

I narrow my eyes and try to recall the women I’ve booked to check out in the next few days. A lawyer. An accountant. An aspiring model. An influencer. Other than their occupations, nothing comes to mind. Not even their age range or faces, even though their profiles featured both. Meeting them is going to be a chore that takes time out of my already tight schedule.

What if none of them works out? You gonna give up on being a junior partner?

I scowl, not wanting to face that possibility.

Lareina is right here. And you already have the marriage license. Marry her and you can be a junior partner.

But is she a wife respectable enough to satisfy Grandmother? another voice argues, although it’s growing increasingly faint.

I look at Lareina’s wrinkled and stained dress, recall her climbing across the hotel wall, then pulling my head down for a kiss. Compare the images to Grandmother’s cool, composed presentation.

Probably not. But does it matter that much? We can solve each other’s problems. A husband from a powerful legal dynasty will keep her greedy relatives away. And a wife means promotion. Lareina can just put on a designer dress and smile prettily.

Suddenly, marrying this woman doesn’t seem so terrible. My workaholic heart even points out that I can cancel all those dates and spend my free time doing billable work.

“I won’t even charge you the rush booking fee,” Jonny says, probably worried that we’re taking too long to decide.

“Rush fee, my ass. You wouldn’t have any work without us,” I say. “So shouldn’t you give us a discount?”

“My man.” He wags a finger with a big grin, flashing yellowed teeth. “You think you’re pretty smart, eh?”

“I know I am.” Harvard undergrad. Harvard Law. Huxley & Webber. Countless high-profile clients and cases won and settled. And I play a mean hand of poker against my brothers.

“He really is clever,” Lareina adds, her words slightly muffled against my chest.

“Fine, fine. Hey, I can be nice about it, right? Tell you what: ten bucks off, but not a penny more or I’m gonna lose my shirt. Come on.” He starts to reach for Lareina, then glances at my face, changes his mind and gestures for us to accompany him. “This way.” He points to a squat white building in front of us.

How could we have missed it? A garish neon sign bleeds blinding red and purple against the black sky. Strangers in the Night Chapel. Their specialty seems obvious.

We walk through a faux-medieval wooden door that has a black iron support beam across it, held by big black rivets. There is lots of red and white velvet. Fake blue flowers sit in a few white vases decorated with golden ribbons. The ceiling is arched with panes of…vinyl covers of Frank Sinatra records?

Jonny thrusts his palm out. “Payment’s upfront. Five hundred bucks.”

“Seems high for the venue.” I’m certain there won’t be any food or drinks. At least nothing decent enough for me to touch.

“Got your wedding bands? I didn’t think so. We provide them, included in the cost.”

“Gold?” Lareina asks.

He sniffs. “Of course. Together with certificates of authenticity. Now, cross my palm. Cash or major credit card. No financing, though.”

I’m skeptical about the pricing and the bands, but hand over the cash. You can’t have a wedding without rings. Even Huxley, who was forced into an arranged marriage, had rings. Of course, he had his custom-made at Sebastian Jewelry. I’ll upgrade our hardware as soon as we’re back in L.A.

Directly behind the altar is a stage, and on it is a Frank Sinatra impersonator, complete with a white fedora, shiny black leather shoes, and a pinstriped pale-beige suit that’s just a tad too large. At the sight of us, the band starts up, and he belts out “Love Is Here to Stay,” his raspy voice booming from the surround-sound system.

Horror slaps me hard. I glance at Lareina to make sure her ears aren’t bleeding, then touch my own. No blood. A miracle!

“Go on,” Jonny says, elbowing me. “March on up to the altar.”

“What happened to ‘Here Comes the Bride’?” I ask, still shell-shocked.

“It’s more unique this way, don’t you think? I promised you a ceremony you’ll never forget.”

Well, that’s true. The volume of the faux Sinatra’s singing is inversely correlated to his ability. He’s not only off-key, but the melody is unrecognizable. His range is unbelievably limited—he can handle maybe four notes at best—so when he can’t hit a high or low note, he substitutes one he can manage, then compensates by singing louder. Where he ought to croon tenderly, he bellows like a shipwreck victim who’s just spotted the coast guard.

Lareina is staring with a mixture of horror and incredulity. “I feel like they should pay us,” she yells over the singing.

“It’s just one song.” At least, I hope he doesn’t try for another. It’d be against every international convention on human rights. Hell, forget international—it’s against the Eighth Amendment. I can sue his ass for violating my constitutional rights!

“Could’ve been lovely. I like the lyrics.”

She looks down at her hands, her eyes wistful, and I want to punch the Sinatra impersonator for ruining the song.

“Maybe we should go somewhere with better music?” Her eyes dart back and forth between the exit and the altar. Jonny subtly shifts his weight and puts himself between us and the door, then mouths, No refund.

I narrow my eyes. Nobody stands between me and what I want. Should I push this asshole out of the way? It wouldn’t be hard. Bryce, Josh and I grew up wrestling and busting each other’s chops, and my brothers are bigger and stronger than Jonny.

But Lareina’s greedy aunt and step-cousin could be loitering outside. What are the odds I could take her step-cousin and the “guards” her aunt brought with her? I’m good, but against three guys, two of whom are pro?

Now I wish I’d taken up the offer to go to Thailand for a year to train with a kickboxing master, rather than heading straight to Harvard undergraduate to please my grandmother. Constitutional law is my superpower in court, but it doesn’t do much outside of it.

And if I fail, what happens to Lareina? Abused even worse by her relatives for money, undoubtedly. I look at her pretty face again, the wide, innocent eyes and sweet curve of her lips. I’m not sure how much she’s worth, but I’ve seen people give up their dignity and humanity over a few thousand dollars. Once her relatives bleed her dry, she’ll be nothing more than an inconvenience to them.

Can’t let her suffer. The thought crystalizes and occupies the center of my mind, spreads to my heart with firm conviction.

The impersonator ends “Love Is Here to Stay” and starts singing “Fly Me to the Moon.” Oh, hell no. If he finishes this song, we’re flying straight to the asylum.

Grimly, I put an arm under Lareina’s knees and pick her up. She gasps and wraps her arms around my neck tightly. Her warm weight feels so good, reminds me I’m holding a real, flesh-and-blood woman, not some figment of drug-induced hallucination. She smells faintly of lemon and something else, sweet but not saccharine. I practically run to the altar just to end the song.

When we come to a halt a foot away from the singer, he stops. “Hello,” he says with a grin.

“Hey.”

His grin widens, and his chest expands. If he tries to go back to singing, I’m going to nut-kick him so he’ll have something to screech about for real.

Perhaps he senses imminent danger to his family jewels, because he doesn’t try to finish the song. “I’m so glad you could join us. Every couple deserves a Sinatra moment.”

“Yeah, and fuck the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.”

He wags a finger. “No fucking anything that isn’t your bride here. We run a wholesome establishment.” Faux Sinatra peers into my eyes for a second. “Jesus, what did you snort? You’re higher than the Hubble, aren’t you?”

Ha! A high would at least feel good. And less dangerous than whatever Harvey gave me. “Not high,” I shoot back.

“Can you make it quick?” Lareina says, sounding anxious.

“You not going to put your bride down?” Sinatra asks.

I frown. I like the feel of her way too much. “Do I have to?”

“Uh…” A shrug. “I guess not. Since you want it quick, give me your license?”

She reaches into my jacket pocket and hands it to him. “Are you legally able to do this?”

“Of course!” He puffs his chest out. “I’m a properly licensed and vetted officiant, and proud of it, too!”

“Proud of your singing, too,” I mutter under my breath. Or at least I thought I did, but I must’ve spoken too loudly, because he hears me.

“Damn right. Everyone does Elvis here. Super boring.”

Thank God he didn’t go for Elvis. It would’ve been unbearable.

Sinatra looks at me. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto her for as long as you both shall live?”

I open my mouth. “I—” Oh shit. Prenup!

No wonder I’ve been feeling off. I’m worth over two billion, thanks to the huge trust my grandmother on my stepmother’s side left me. Marrying without one would be stupid.

“Wait!” Lareina says suddenly. “I forgot the prenup!”

Wait, what? “What?”

“I should be protected, don’t you think?”

Most people don’t think about one. I doubt her inheritance is bigger than what my zaibatsu grandmother left me. “I’m worth about two billion,” I say, trying to play it safe—I haven’t checked my accounts in a while. But the amount should be pretty close, plus or minus a few million.

She looks at me like I’m joking. Sinatra rolls his eyes with a loud snort.

“Very funny,” he says. “Like billionaires get married here. And like they dress like that. Besides, if you’re smart, you would’ve done the paperwork before, not now.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” I scowl.

“Course not.” His arched look says, Yes. “And the prenup? What do you think I am? A lawyer? That’s way above my pay grade!”

“Maybe you should consider offering a legal-service-plus-wedding package,” Lareina suggests. She’s quite kissable when she’s serious, so why not just skip all this and go straight to the part where I kiss the bride? This ceremony is already a mess. Might as well just do the good part—

Sinatra waves his hand. “Forget it. I’m feeling generous, so I’m gonna accommodate you. For free.” He turns to me. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, and not take any of her shit, as long as you both shall live?”

What the hell? This is sooooo not legally binding. I should tell him so, but somehow my mouth won’t obey. Besides, saying yes seems like the best idea ever, especially when Lareina looks up at me with shining eyes and a pretty smile, like she actually is a happy bride. A teeny voice in my head says I might as well burn my law degree if I say yes, because I’m being stupid and leaving myself exposed to all sorts of legal issues down the road. Yeah, that’s true, but the urge to please Lareina is irresistible. It’s just a simple yes, not castration. “I do.”

“And you”—he turns to Lareina—“do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, and not take any of his shit, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do!” she says with more enthusiasm than I expected. “But is it really okay to just add that to the question?”

“No,” I mutter.

At the same time, Sinatra booms, “Of course. As your celebrant, it is within my power. Also, it’s a solemn promise between you and God.”

I stare at the man. There’s nothing godly about his presence or talent or the ceremony.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A beat. Where’s the “you may kiss the bride”? That’s the most important part of the wedding.

Before I can bring up my objection, Lareina says, “Where are the rings?”

“Oh. You paid for those?” Sinatra’s eyes shift left and right. “Gimme a sec. Most people don’t buy ’em here.”

Jonny runs up with two rings. They look more silver than gold. “Genuine white gold!”

“And I’m Santa Claus,” I say.

“Are you saying this isn’t gold?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“It’s real gold. We guarantee it. Everything sold here comes with a week-long warranty.”

I should argue that the law governing merchantability requires that they guarantee it for more than a week. But why debate the point when I’m going to buy a set of better rings anyway? Even if it does annoy me that Jonny and the fake Sinatra are selling me fake goods…

I lower Lareina, hating how suddenly cold I feel without her in my arms. My mouth tight—she really deserves better hardware, platinum at least—I put the smaller ring on Lareina. The size is just right, and the entire event of the day since I met Lareina feels destined. Like the way I met Queen.

Wonder how she’s doing? Hopefully her aunt and uncle are treating her well, better than how Lareina’s being treated. At least no one would be hurting Queen for an inheritance, given how poorly she was dressed and nourished.

Lareina slides the ring onto my finger. The thing is so cheap it’s painful, but seeing the matching one on her finger somehow makes it okay.

Sinatra signs the certificate and jots down a few things on the lines. Then he flashes it at us. “See? All legal and proper. And now”—he makes an elaborate flourish with one hand, building the moment—“you may kiss the bride.”

Finally.

I start to dip my head to taste her mouth. She looks up at me, her eyes shining.

“I’ll serenade you as the photographer commemorates the moment,” Sinatra says.

The moment shatters. “Please don’t.” I link my hand with hers, then dash out before he can finish “Fly Me to the Moon” and permanently scar both of us for life. No amount of therapy could cure us.

Jonny doesn’t try to stop us this time. “Happy wedding night!” He waves with a huge grin.

I kick the door open, and we run smack into a pasty man standing right outside. Short, strawberry-blond hair is gelled to his skull. Hyperpigmentation mottles his nose and face, and pale lashes surround reptilian green eyes. His shoulders are somewhat narrow underneath an ivory tuxedo complete with a white peony boutonnière.

“Hey!” he yells, then starts to shove us away. His eyes widen when they land on Lareina. “You!”

“Yuck,” she says.

“Who are you?” I step forward, shielding her with my body.

“I’m Rupert Fage.” He announces his name like I should know it.

“And that matters because…?”

“I’m her fiancé.” He drags the last word out, emphasizing each syllable.

“My step-cousin,” Lareina clarifies. “The one I was drugged and dragged to Vegas to marry. Remember what I told you before?”

“Yes. The penniless loser who wants your inheritance,” I say.

His face turns interesting shades of red and purple. “Stay out from this!”

“Can’t. She’s my wife now.”

“Your wife? Is this a fucking joke?” His eyes drop to my finger and hers. “That’s some cheap shit! It can’t be legit.”

“Take it up with the state of Nevada.” My head is growing increasingly fuzzy. Rupert is right about the rings, though. They aren’t just cheap shit. They look like it too. “But if you don’t know, no state in the U.S.A. has a law specifying the price of a wedding band.”

“You can’t get married!” he screams, his chest heaving.

“But she already did. And there’s no room for another ring on her finger.” I link my hand with hers, bring it to my mouth and kiss the fake-gold ring—the best five hundred bucks I’ve ever spent—giving him a stare full of challenge. Veins bulge in his forehead, and little blood vessels turn the whites of his eyes red. His nostrils flare. Pop a couple of horns on his forehead, and he’d look like a mad-cow-diseased bull ready to charge. I smile over Lareina’s wedding band, hoping my silent provocation pops one of those bulging veins.

“You can’t do that! You stupid bitch, you’ll ruin everything!” He jumps forward to grab Lareina.

I step right in front of him. “Back off.”

“You fucking back off!” He shoves at me, then swings fast and hits me unexpectedly hard in the gut.

My equilibrium is off from the drugs, and the sudden attack makes me stumble, then step on something jutting out of the sidewalk and land on my ass. The fall doesn’t hurt, but the abruptness of it leaves me frozen in shock for a moment. Talk about no dignity. Shit.

“Are you okay?” Lareina says, bending down to peer at me, her heterochromatic eyes wide with concern. With the blinding yellow and red lights glowing behind her, she looks like a haloed angel watching over me.

Like the girl who came to rescue me out of the shed in the burning woods.

I run my fingers along her soft cheek, brushing the pad of my thumb across her trembling lips. “Queen.”

“Ares?”

Rupert grabs her arm and yanks her up. “You whore, I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done.”

She tries to pull away from him, swinging her arm to loosen his grip. “Stop it! Let me go!”

“You’re going to annul this fucking marriage!” he says, and shakes her, spittle hitting her face.

Asshole. Although my vision and balance are still a little off, and the drugs are still gumming up the gears in my head, everything starts to crystalize. My day has been leading me to this.

I push myself up. “Let her go.”

“Fuck you,” he sneers with the confidence of a man who feels strong and powerful over others. Delusion springs eternal. “Get lost before I kick your face in.”

I roll my shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll try.”

He scoffs, his grip on her tightening. “Whatcha gonna do, loser?”

“Be her knight and protect her.” The words slip out as naturally as breathing.

“Knight?” He laughs. “Your armor looks a little rusty, bud—”

I kick his elbow, forcing him to let Lareina go. Then I smash my fist into his face. His head snaps back, blood spewing from his nose and mouth in a satisfying crimson fountain. “Principal.” His legs go wobbly, and I kick him in the gut so hard he folds in half at the waist. “And interest.”

He collapses and doesn’t get back up, but then, I’d be shocked if he did. Lareina starts to touch my face. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt? Do you need anything?”

I grin lopsidedly. She’s so cute when she’s worried, especially about me. Knights are supposed to get banged up for their queen. Hell, it’s an honor. “No. But I’d really love it if you could hold me for a bit.”

“Of course.” She embraces me, wrapping her arms around me like a warm cocoon. Her lemon scent tickles my nose, and her hair is like warm silk lying over my hands. I’m supposed to keep her safe, but somehow the world feels at peace as long as she has her arms around me.

I hug her back tight, then close my eyes and drop my guard.