The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 8

Ares slumps in my arms. Just how hard did Rupert hit him?

I wish my step-cousin were a stick-armed dork, but he’s shockingly strong from years of practicing karate. The punch to the stomach must’ve hurt Ares. A lot.

Hot emotion fisted my heart when he stood before me like an impregnable wall and said, “Be her knight and protect her.” I don’t know how much of it he meant, since he’s becoming more and more out of it as the evening wears on. He’s been sweating nonstop, although I don’t think he realizes. His complexion isn’t the best, either, especially compared to how he looked this afternoon. A hint of ash under his tan makes me wonder just what he was forced to take. He kept muttering to himself about his mother and family. Lots and lots of talk about laws and something about dinosaurs. Then random stuff like needing “better hardware.”

“Hey,” I say softly. “You okay?”

He merely shakes his head. “Where are we going next?”

“Not sure. The hotel, maybe?” Exhaustion weighs me down. Besides, it probably isn’t a good idea for him to be out and about like this, not when he’s unwell. When Doris and her cronies drug me, it tends to get worse—a lot worse—before it gets better.

“But your relatives are there, right?”

“Probably, yeah.” Or not, since they aren’t thinking about anything except catching me and forcing me to marry Rupert. They’ll be even more desperate now that they know there’s some competition.

“We can go to a different hotel.”

“True. Vegas is full of hotels. I’ll pay.” Ares has been paying since we met. He even tried to give me money earlier.

Was he thinking about being my knight at that point, too? Thousands of butterflies flutter in my belly, and I press my lips to savor the warmth coursing through me.

“How am I going to let you do that? My wife doesn’t pay. I have money.”

“Fine, half. The vow said no taking each other’s shit.”

He slowly shakes his head. “Not legally binding. Need a separate contract. I’ll take care of it—soon as I feel better.”

“Why? Because you’re worth two billion or something?” Two billion, hahaha. It’s sort of cute. Reminds me of a little squirrel I saw on YouTube guarding his acorn stash.

Ares’s expression is serious. Guess my humor didn’t penetrate. “It isn’t just about money. Not having one could mess up a lot of things. Like what happened with my parents’ marriage.”

“Was it bad?” I ask cautiously. I’m curious about his family, but I don’t want to look like I’m prying.

“Awful. It’s a miracle nobody died.” His words are more slurred now.

Wow. Must’ve been a nasty fight. Doris gossiped about a friend’s divorce, breathlessly relishing how bitterly the couple fought over every penny. They even argued over who should get the dog—and the husband suggested they divide the poor Scottish terrier in half because that would have been better than letting the wife have custody. Apparently, it’s normal for a couple breaking up to get that nasty, and that was one of the tamer cases. They probably fought over each grain of soil in their garden, too.

“A prenup would’ve helped, but they didn’t have one. Love at first sight. Eloped in Tenerife. Passionate and classy beginning, messy and ugly ending. Dad should’ve known better.” Ares sounds regretful. Maybe even a little angry.

Explains why he wants one, then. Well, I want one too. No more leaving myself vulnerable to others’ whims. Ares saying he’d be my knight and protect me is thrilling and stirring, but Doris expressed a similar sentiment when I became an orphan and Grandfather passed away. She squatted so she could see into my eyes, then hugged me tightly. “My poor child. I’ll keep you safe.”

What she meant was: “I’ll keep you alive so I can use your money.”

I look into his glassy eyes. I doubt he’d take my money—he said he has two billion, a huge contrast to Doris and Vernon, who have enough to be okay, but not live in the kind of luxury they believe they deserve. He might want more, once he realizes I have about thirty times his net worth. But hopefully I can get the inheritance and prenup—post-nup?—squared away before he becomes greedy.

If he becomes greedy.

We start walking. Gotta put some distance between us and Rupert before he regains consciousness. “We’ll sign a prenup. But I need my own lawyer for that.”

“Yes, my dear,” Ares says with a crooked grin.

“And you can’t change your mind about ‘not taking my shit.’”

“Of course.”

A beat of silence. “You aren’t asking me if I’m going to change my mind about not taking your shit.”

He cocks his head. “Are you?”

“No. But shouldn’t you worry?”

“Should I?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re more pleasant when you don’t answer everything with a question.”

A lopsided grin splits his face. “That’s unbecoming. I apologize, but I’m an agreeable kind of guy. Why would I worry about you changing your mind? My wife should spend my money.” His pupils are even more dilated, and he’s probably being amenable without realizing what he’s agreeing to. Likely he also forgot our marriage isn’t technically real, even though the state of Nevada recognizes it as legal.

We slip into a glitzy hotel and get a room. “The nicest suite, please,” I say. I want to be able to splurge on myself—and someone I like—for once. Oh, wait. I need to economize. “A two-bedroom suite, actually.”

The clerk takes our IDs, then demands plastic. Sadly, I don’t have a credit card on me, so Ares gives them his expense card with the company name embossed in front.

“Can you do that?” I whisper. “We aren’t working. Are you?”

“No, but I don’t have enough cash and it’s linked to my company, so my uncle can’t trace it. I’ll take care of the charge later,” he says with a shrug. “You want a suite, and we don’t have enough cash to cover it.”

I frown a little, but let him. The concierge rushes out to escort us to our suite. How nice. Did the hotel Doris book offer the same service? If so, how did she explain the fact that I was drugged?

Or maybe people don’t care. Sort of like how most staff at my house have looked the other way, all the while either knowing or suspecting something nefarious was going on. The ones I bribed cared, but then, they were paid to do so.

We go inside the suite. The concierge hovers. “If you need anything—”

“We’re good.” I smile. “Oh, if anybody asks about us, we aren’t here. I have a stalker I’m trying to shake off. A very persistent ex, you know what I mean.”

“Of course. Certainly. How awful,” she says with all the assurance she can muster. Don’t care if she thinks I’m weird.

Then I remember the creepy guy who was after Ares. “And my husband, too,” I add quickly, then flush at how intimate “husband” feels on my tongue. It’s super weird when I haven’t even had a boyfriend or a fiancé. Nobody ever proposed to me, and I feel cheated out of the entire courtship process.

After the woman leaves, Ares stumbles to bed.

“Wanna sleep?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think they provided any pajamas.”

“’s’all right.” He toes off his shoes, then starts to unbutton his shirt, his fingers surprisingly nimble. Given how his reflexes seemed off, I assumed he’d fumble with the buttons. Then I could’ve helped—

Stop it.

But the kiss was amazing. And he thought it was great, too. We could kiss again. Or maybe do more than that.

And let him see your horrific scar? He might just puke all over it.

I hate it when my mind won’t let me ignore reality.

Because nothing can defeat reality.

The burn on my shoulder from the fire twenty-two years ago has grown increasingly fouler over the years. The gouge marks haven’t faded one bit. Instead, they stretched out as I grew bigger. They look like teeth, and there is something that looks like an I between them. Doris said it’s terrible that I have a scar I can’t get rid of, because no man will want a woman so damaged and disfigured.

“Thank God for Rupert! If he hadn’t rescued you, it could’ve been worse!” she told me more than once, in case I ever forget it’s her stepson who saved me from the fire.

She and Rupert hypothesized the I probably stands for something awful, because why else would anybody brand me with it? The mark has to be shameful, and I should reflect on what I did to get it.

But nothing comes to mind. Whatever happened to scar me must’ve been horrific—enough to be permanently etched in my brain or permanently deleted from it. The therapist Doris hired said it’s probably the latter. He told me I should hide the scar to alleviate my sense of shame and try not to think too much about how I got it. “The I could be anything. Or nothing at all.”

Easy for him to say—it’s not on his body. At least it isn’t a J for Jezebel. What other bad things start with an I? If it were an H, I might’ve guessed “hoe,” but that seems a little off. Too plebian and silly. If you’d go this far, you would do the W for whore.

Shoving aside the unpleasant thoughts, I lie on my side of the bed and watch Ares get undressed. More buttons come undone, revealing more of his taut, golden skin. From the sexy way his suit fits him, I figured he was an office worker, but the lean muscles on his chest are thick, the ridges on his abs deep and shadowed. A sprinkling of dark hair dusts his belly, then disappears below his belt.

Cuff links clink on the nightstand on his side. The shirt drops to the floor. I let out a soft gasp at the sight of long, twisted burn scars that stretch from the top of his shoulder all the way to his wrist. They’re slightly raised and pale, except for several gouges that are a shade or two darker than his regular skin. No hair grows on the paler scars, which covers at least a quarter of his right arm.

He doesn’t seem to notice my staring. Or maybe he’s just ignoring me. His expression doesn’t show anything other than methodical calmness as he sheds his clothes. He unbuckles and drops his pants. His lower body is even more muscular and powerful than his upper, taut muscles rippling as he moves. The kick he delivered to Rupert must’ve hurt like hell. It’s too bad he didn’t kick him in the balls. If Rupert got his balls busted for real, he might decide to leave me alone.

As Ares shifts, I spot a small, triangular burn scar on his upper thigh. Did he get it at the same time as the ones on his arm? Does he remember anything about the incident that gave him those marks? Or was it too traumatic? To be injured like this would be pretty bad, wouldn’t it?

“How did you get them?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He knows what I’m talking about. “In a forest fire. Would’ve been worse if somebody hadn’t saved me,” he says quietly.

“Do they bother you? Like… Do you think, um…they’re gross?”

“The scars?” He sways and frowns, looking down at his arm. “Do you think they’re gross?”

I shake my head. “You survived whatever hurt you. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.”

The tension in his brow eases. “Well then. I won’t worry about them, unless you want me to cover them up.”

“I don’t.” I lay my hands over a pillow and rest my chin on them. My gaze falls on the silver wedding band. Even though his uncle fed him something, he didn’t have to marry me. He still had enough wits about him at that time, and he could’ve said no. So why say yes? “Do you think I’m pretty, Ares?”

“Yes,” he says promptly.

“Even if I have some burn scars of my own?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“You didn’t ask me where or how big.”

“Do I need to?” He tightens his lips in confusion. “I think you’re amazing just the way you are. Gutsy and smart. Pretty.” He smiles then plops on his side of the bed. “You think my scars are fine. Why do you think I’d care about yours?”

“Because I’m a girl…?”

He snorts. “What you are is silly.” His eyes start to droop.

I shift and watch him succumb to sleep. He’s beautiful, his eyelids fluttering as they close. The tension on his face melts away, leaving the stunningly gorgeous features, from the slanted eyebrows to his full, relaxed mouth. His entire body slowly goes limp, like a high-performance machine powering down.

The wedding gown isn’t that comfortable, but I can’t undress myself without help. Doris picked this particular outfit not just because it’s pretty, but because it leaves me helpless.

I think you’re amazing just the way you are. Gutsy and smart. Pretty.

Recalling Ares’s words brings a smile. Nobody’s ever called me pretty without reservation. And smart! Doris had me homeschooled mostly, although she was forced to enroll me in a few online classes on subjects she couldn’t manage. But I never did well enough to get into a decent college. I could only do an online college, and Doris allowed it because it would have looked bad if she hadn’t let me attend it.

My husband thinks I’m gutsy and smart and pretty!

Joy and anticipation cartwheel in my heart. For the first time, I feel like my life is finally on the right track.