The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 9

“We gotta go before they catch us.”

A woman extends her hand. I stare at the long, slender fingers, the paleness of her translucent skin. Her unbound golden hair billows in the chilly breeze, obstructing my view of her grownup face. She’s in a white dress like before. The petals of a little pink flower tucked behind her ear flutter.

“Queen?” I murmur. It doesn’t matter that I can’t see her face or that we’re grown up now. From the way my heart picks up speed and every cell in my body calls out, I know it’s her.

The Fogeys are wrong, I think triumphantly. She’s real, and she’s here now.

“Come on. We can’t just lie around here all day. We have to go.”

Go where? The smell of dirt and vegetation surrounds me, just like twenty-two years ago. I have no idea what’s going on, but I trust her.

I shrug out of my jacket to put it over Queen to keep her warm against the wind. But just as I get close enough, flames engulf us.

The old scars on my arm and thigh throb as though they’re being seared into my skin again. I clutch my arm and hiss.

She turns around, hair still blowing and obscuring most of her features. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” I can’t whine about the old injury, not when she was hurt worse back then. I have to be strong.

She nods, then takes my hand. Her palm is surprisingly cool against my skin, and prickly sensations spread through me. I try to squeeze my fingers, but somehow they won’t obey. The right half of my body stays still, refusing my commands.

Queen tugs at me, but no matter how willing I am to go with her, I can’t. The fire around us expands, widening until I can’t see its limits, towering over us like a flaming deathtrap.

Shit.

“Go without me,” I say.

“No. I’m not leaving my knight behind.”

My chest tightens. It’s my job to keep her safe. “Queen—”

Her fingers rest over my lips, cutting off the rest. The scent of lemon tickles my nose.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispers, then crumbles and disappears before my eyes like a pillar of ashes.

“No!”

A slender rope wraps around my shoulders. Need to push it away, but I can’t. I’m bound tight, like before in the shed, when Mom tied me to the chair.

Somewhere in the fire, Mom’s manic chortle rings. Helplessness pummels me, and I grit my teeth. I haven’t spent all these years in vain. No way is she going to win. Adrenaline surges, drying my mouth and at the same time sending my heart rate through the roof. My skin grows taut, as though it’ll split in half at any moment.

“You lost,” Mom says, standing like a dark monster, backlit by the sky-high flames behind her. “Give in, Ares. Accept my love, and we’ll be family again.”

“Fuck you,” I grind out, only to have her throw her head back and laugh in triumph. “I’d rather die first.”

“My poor little prince.” She runs her index finger along my cheek. The touch is like a snake crawling over my face. She leans closer and closer until I can see the blood-chilling madness in her blue eyes. “You won’t be able to get anything you want without a wife by your side. So take my girl. Have her bear your children. The family line must continue.” She shoves a disheveled blonde at me.

“Never!” Shuddering, I flinch away and suck in air, frowning at how cool it feels in my lungs.

An ivory ceiling. Soft cotton sheets underneath. I’m naked, except for my boxer shorts. A hotel room, but not mine. How the hell did I end up here?

The last thing I remember is Harvey trying to force me to sign the retainer. I’m pretty sure I escaped successfully. His goon wasn’t outside the window, but after that…

No idea.

The more I try to recall, the hazier my memory becomes. And a figurative ax is grinding into my skull. Just what did Harvey feed me?

I wish I’d been able to find a lab or something last night to do toxicology. If I go to the police now, they won’t find anything. Harvey’s too smart to use anything long lasting.

I pray I managed to evade him and his goons, because there’s no way I’m providing legal advice to the mob. Grandmother revealed that one of the biggest reasons Mom wanted to marry Dad was that she was planning to rope Huxley & Webber into representing the “family business,” a.k.a. the Nesovian mob her family runs as it extends its tentacles into the United States. Huxley & Webber represents clients in all industries, but we don’t do organized crime in any shape or form. As a former prosecutor with a sterling reputation, Grandmother refuses to ruin the family legacy that way.

Water and aspirin, then coffee. Afterward, call Dad and Grandmother, explain what happened and put everyone on alert. Harvey won’t stop with me. He’ll go after Bryce and Josh as well.

I start to get up, then stop when I finally realize something is wrapped around my arm. Weird. I can’t stand anything restricting my limbs, and I rarely let anybody loop their arms around mine. It must be Harvey’s drug that made me not notice.

Ice skitters down my spine at the sight of a tangle of golden hair and a white gown. Harvey’s warning about Mom’s plan to have ultra-desperate women manipulate me back to what she calls “family” reverberates like an emergency alert. If Mom were normal, I’d brush his words off as nonsense. But I can never underestimate her deviousness or tenacity.

Besides, the end of my nightmare floods into my head, flashing like a big warning. My gut tightens.

I lift my head, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and who the woman wrapped around my arm like a squid is. And just what—

There is a silver ring on my left hand.

It glints in the morning light.

No. No fucking way I eloped!

I want the promotion, but not to the point of eloping in Vegas while high on Harvey’s drug. I couldn’t possibly have dragged myself into a chapel with some strange woman, could I? Sudden alarm clenches around my throat. I jostle the woman and hop off the bed, then turn on the lights.

“Hey,” comes a soft grumble.

The voice is low and raspy, surprisingly pleasant to my ears. She turns around and shoves the hair out of her face. Her winged eyebrows pinch together, small nose wrinkling and mouth pursing until it resembles a rosebud. Finally she opens her eyes, one blue and one green, and blinks at me.

“Lareina?” I say, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. What’s the matter? Did Mr. No-Neck chase us here?”

“No-Neck?” What kind of trouble are we in? The lack of control over the situation is worse than listening to a screeching violin. Or Soledad.

“You know, the guy you were running away from.”

Harvey’s asshole. “How do you know?

“Cuz I’m good.” A lazy, satisfied grin splits her pretty face. “He tried to catch you, but I got you instead. You said you’d managed to escape before somebody could make you sign something or other.”

I let out a sigh, my shoulders sagging. At least I didn’t do anything irreversible with Harvey.

“You’re welcome,” she adds. “It was karma. You helped me, I helped you.”

Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient? She just happened to be in the suite next to mine, then after I helped her leave the hotel without getting detected by her money-grubbing relatives, she just happened to run into me while I was out of my mind from whatever the hell Harvey fed me? And then she just happened to fall into bed with me?

I look at Lareina’s slim hand. A silver ring—one that wasn’t there yesterday—glints on her finger as well. She gazes up at me, her eyes hopeful.

Does she expect me to say “thank you”? Drop to my knees and vow undying gratitude and offer to do anything she wants?

My help was genuine. But hers? After the encounter with Harvey and the warning about Mom, I don’t dare take anything at face value. Some might automatically believe that Lareina really wanted to help, but I’ve never been that lucky. Queen was the only exception.

The real question is: who does Lareina answer to? Mom? Harvey? Or herself? And if the answer is the last one, where do I fit in her scheme? Nobody marries a stranger just to help. She wants something.

“By marrying me?” My skepticism is sharp enough to cut.

She opens her mouth, but her belly interrupts with a loud growl. Her cheeks flush. I smirk at the convenient timing. I start to say something cutting, except my stomach lets out a matching growl.

Seriously? Fuck you, biology. But once my body starts to protest the lack of food, I realize I’m famished. I probably haven’t eaten anything. I wouldn’t have touched anything Harvey might’ve offered, and Lareina was obviously too busy dragging me to a sleazy chapel to feed me.

“Food first,” I bite out, annoyed I need to eat at all when I’d rather continue the interrogation. “What do you want?”

She presses her lips together in concentration as though I just asked her to recite the entire California state constitution. “Whatever you’re having is fine,” she says finally. “I need to shower, too.”

The way she scrunches her face is cute, making her look like an annoyed bulldog pup for a moment. I forcibly remind myself that she won’t seem so cute once I’ve had coffee.

“Shower first, then food and conversation?”

I nod, frowning at her choice of words. “Conversation” makes it sound like we’re a normal couple. “Ladies first,” I say before she can offer to wash with me. I need some time to myself to gather my thoughts and come up with a preliminary plan.

“Don’t worry. The suite has two bathrooms,” Lareina says before disappearing.

Why did she get a suite this large if she needs to cling to me?

I check every drawer, closet and storage space. No purse, phone or tablet of hers. No locked safe, either. I don’t think her dress has a hidden pocket or anything. Weird. I can’t think of anyone who goes around without a phone. You might as well leave your life behind.

What wouldn’t I give to be able to remember last night! It puts me at a huge disadvantage, not knowing anything. I don’t trust anybody to tell me the full truth.

Lareina comes out of the bathroom, still in the wedding dress. “I need your help with the buttons in the back.” Without waiting for my reaction, she turns around and gathers her hair to the side, revealing the elegant line of her slender neck and spine.

I’m no stranger to feminine wiles. One of the things women do is act like they need help, then go all flirtatious, angling their bodies in the most provocative ways to showcase all their assets. I generally feel nothing but annoyance at those tactics because I’m too smart to fall for them.

But right now, my mouth is dry. Lareina’s brisk, businesslike manner says she has no ulterior motive except to get out of the dress, even though I know better than to accept that at face value. Nonetheless, the room feels warmer all of a sudden.

Satin laces have come undone and hang from the holes on either side, but the dress is also held together by endless, tiny pearl buttons and hooks. Whoever designed it didn’t want the bride to be able to get out of it—or wanted the groom to rip it off like tissue paper on the wedding night.

Since there doesn’t seem to be anything else she can wear, I unbutton them, moving my fingers carefully to avoid touching her. But the warmth from her skin can’t be denied. It sends a tingling sensation through my body—one that gathers in my dick. I can’t tear my gaze from her as more of the taut expanse of creamy skin is revealed. She smells more like a woman than citrus in the morning, and I want to bury my nose in the soft curve of her neck and inhale, then press kisses all over, stamp her as mine.

The urge grows stronger, and before I can draw another breath, she takes a step away. “Thanks,” she says with a quick smile over her shoulder, then disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Only then do I realize I was very close to kissing her. It leaves me feeling unsettled. My stepmother Akiko might call it “love at first sight,” since she still believes in things like true love and happy endings. But I’m a realist. It isn’t like me to feel this way. The remnants of Harvey’s drugs are probably still affecting my judgment.

Everyone is aware I’m particular about women. Most of my friends can’t believe I’ve only had four girlfriends, none lasting more than a few months. But I just couldn’t deal with them when they said they’d developed feelings for me. Every time they looked me into my eyes and said they loved me, all I saw was the unwavering determination in Mom’s gaze when she told me how much she loved me, how she’d do anything to be with me and how much she wanted me to understand she’d kidnapped me for my own good.

That’s when I end the relationship. And I can’t even look at another woman for a while afterward.

Nobody really understands why I dump my girlfriends as soon as they start to say they love me, although The Fogeys seem to believe it’s because of my obsession with finding Queen. Most people just assume I’m an asshole who’s easily bored. Mom and Harvey couldn’t have anticipated my uncharacteristically libido-centric reaction to Lareina…

Could they?

Or is Lareina the first in a long string of women they’re ready to throw at me, hoping one of them will stick? Can’t put anything past those two. Harvey made it sound like only Mom would stoop to using women, but he used Soledad without a second thought.

If only I knew Lareina’s true motivation, my situation would be much easier to handle.

After instructing the hotel concierge to send breakfast in half an hour, I head to the unoccupied bathroom and brush my teeth. I shy away from the mirror, not wanting to see my reflection with its similarities to Mom. Everyone, even my grandmother, who has a heart colder than a block of ice, says Mom is a stunning beauty, and I have my mother’s looks.

I glance down at the scar on my arm. If the wolf’s head had grazed my face instead, would it have been better? That way nobody would ever say I looked like Mom.

Stop it. The therapist helped me see that such self-destructive thoughts aren’t helpful. The goal is to avoid getting entangled in Mom and Harvey’s schemes, not fantasize about being harmed or disfigured.

A hot shower almost makes me feel like myself. The first-aid kit in the cabinet has a few packets of aspirin. I rip up two and swallow them. Hopefully they’ll kick in soon. Gotta be at one hundred percent when I’m about to face Lareina and tease out what happened last night.

Shrugging into a bathrobe, I go to the living room and check my phone. No battery. Great. I look around and eventually spot a charger at the workstation. I plug my phone in and wait for it to get enough juice to load messages and missed calls.

Three texts from Barry, who was curious where I went because he wanted to try his luck at a roulette table with the women he met, with me by his side. I’m apparently his lucky charm.

Ten from an unknown number, which all say something along the lines of, Where are you? I’m the only one who can protect you from your mother.

Harvey. No, thank you. You just want to establish a foothold in America, then launder hundreds of millions of dollars with my expertise. For some reason he seems to believe that just because we share a blood tie, I will never betray him. What stops me from fucking him over is that I haven’t figured out how to stick the knife in without anybody knowing. The mob would come after me if I did. But I’d sell him out for nothing if I thought I could get away with it.

One from Akiko, asking me to be careful and stay safe. I used to think she was being a little ridiculous until I realized this is how she shows she cares. She believes that America isn’t like Japan, with “so many dangers lurking everywhere.”

Two hundred texts from an unknown number. I love you.

Revulsion whirls in my gut.

Don’t you love me?

I think I’m pregnant with your baby!

Your baby needs you!

Just imagine our bright future, a family of three!

We’ll be the envy of the world!

Another one pops up: I’ll never stop loving you. You know that, don’t you?

Soledad. It’s as though she knows how to say all the wrong things. Disgust clutches my chest and nausea roils in my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

I start, then jerk my eyes from the screen and look at Lareina. She’s in a bathrobe, probably with nothing on underneath. Stop thinking about her naked body. The scent of the hotel shampoo and soap wafts over—the same as mine. Also not something to dwell on. Her damp hair hangs loose around her pretty pixie face. She looks younger without the makeup—more touchable. Her naturally pink lips are full and seem eminently kissable.

Don’t look at her mouth either.

She continues to stare up at me expectantly.

“What?” I say, feeling a little ridiculous. I don’t lose my train of thought or lose my place in a conversation. You can’t if you want to be a good lawyer.

“I asked if you were okay.”’

“Of course.” My answer is more out of habit than anything else. It’s always easier to say I’m fine than not.

She tilts her chin skeptically. Those heterochromatic eyes probe into mine, like she’s a lawyer not believing a word out of the witness on the stand. “You shouldn’t say something you don’t mean.”