CHAPTER SIXTEEN DUFFY

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DUFFY

Charlie was being weird during our weekly drink. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Charlie was always a bit of an oddball. It made us kindred spirits. But he never seemed so .?.?. pokey before.

“So you and the photographer. Tell me all about it.” He brought his pint of Guinness to his lips. I pouted at my extra-dry martini accusingly. I didn’t even like martinis. I wanted a bloody cider with a side of chips. I was just so used to being a cardboard copy of every attractive cultural cliché men were attracted to that I sometimes forgot to break character and be my true, authentic self.

“Nothing to tell,” I said firmly, shoving away all thoughts about last night’s almost-kiss and my almost-meltdown that followed it. Since there was plenty to tell, I decided to go with a condensed version of the truth. I trusted Charlie. “We’re marrying so I can stay here.”

There. Out in the open. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Then why was pesky guilt nibbling at my gut, telling me I was a liar?

Charlie gave me the flat, unnerving stare of a headmaster who’s just been fed an emotional story about a dog who’s eaten one’s homework. “Yeah, I figured out that part pretty early on. But you guys are more than just friends, right?”

Were we even friends? It was hard to categorize my relationship with Riggs. Sometimes it felt like we were an actual couple. Other times, I swore the world wasn’t big enough for the two of us to coexist.

“I have a boyfriend,” I reminded him curtly.

“Ish,” he corrected, raising his Guinness in the air in a mock-salute. “And let’s admit it, he isn’t around to fight for your affections, is he?”

“No.” I swirled the untouched martini in my hand. “I don’t think he’s ever .?.?.” Given a crap? Properly courted me? Not taken me for granted? “.?.?. done any of that.”

The more time passed, the less I remembered BJ as a well-rounded, three-dimensional person. I couldn’t explain it, really, but he was becoming more of a symbol. A prop in my seriously, and I mean seriously, messed-up book. It wasn’t a romance; I knew that for sure. Was it a thriller? A horror? One thing was certain—it wasn’t self-help.

“Now, I don’t know much about relationships, angel, but I do know this—love isn’t a privilege. It’s a necessity. You’re acting like you and Brendan can mend whatever’s been broken, but if I’m being honest .?.?.” Charlie hitched a shoulder up, licking the Guinness’s foam off his upper lip. “I think you’re hedging your bet on the wrong horse.”

“There are no more horses in the race,” I reminded him. “The horse is more of a .?.?. lone wolf?”

“There’s another horse,” Charlie countered.

Do you reckon?

“Riggs doesn’t even like me.” I studied Charlie acutely, desperately wanting him to dispute my theory.

“Oh, he likes you. He just doesn’t like coming to terms with liking you.”

“That is . . . very confusing.”

“All matters of the heart are.” He swept a finger along the edges of his pint, hunting for foam.

“Charlie, don’t be ridiculous. We don’t fit.”

“That’s okay.” He finished the remainder of his stout, then plucked his jacket from the back of his stool and slid into it. “You’re not a pair of shoes, so that’s not a requirement.”

“Wait, where are you going?” I was still sitting in front of my lackluster martini, avoiding my Riggs-infested flat like it was a mosquito colony I had to brave through.

“Doctor’s appointment.” Charlie tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “Wanna come hold my hand?”

“Do you need me to?” Even if I did want to go home, which I decidedly didn’t, I wouldn’t mind tagging along. Although Charlie was perfectly handsome, worldly, charming, and sought after, he always seemed like a tragic hero to me. Someone I wanted to shield and protect.

“Nah. I’m good.”

I sighed. “Next week, same day, same time?”

“If life grants me another week—I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He winked.

Rolling my eyes, I shooed him away. So dramatic, this one.

“You’re lying.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes, fighting off tears.

“Why would I lie about something like that?” Kieran’s voice drifted into my ear while we were on the phone. “It’s not like I have an incentive for it.”

“I just don’t see why he’d do that.”

“Because he’s a wanker, Duff. Always has been.”

I shook my head, even though my brother couldn’t see me. This was yet another blow in my already shitty-licious week of job hunting and trying to ignore my roommate slash fiancé slash teeny-tiny-totally-minuscule crush. The same one I was going to marry in less than three days. After which a flurry of paperwork and bureaucracy would ensue, and I’d apply for my marriage visa.

Kieran sounded like he was eating something crispy. “I can forward you the email if you want.”

“Go on, then.”

“’Kay. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

I rose up to a sitting position in my bed, grabbed my Mac, and turned it on.

I logged straight in to my email, where the forwarded email from Kieran was waiting.

—————Forwarded message————-

From: Brendan Abbott <[email protected]>

Date: Fri, July 20

Subject: Things and stuff

To: Kieran Markham <[email protected]>

Kieran, my dude. Hope life’s treating you well. Things over here are awesome, but I miss your sister a lot (please don’t tell her I touched base with you. Poor thing’s only gonna miss me more, and between you and me, the more I have time to reflect, the more I feel like I’m ready to propose when I go back home).

Anyway, I got a few questions about opening a restaurant. I know you and your stepdad have a quaint fish and chips thingy. Just general questions about supply chains, contractors, staff hiring, etc.

Lemme know when you have a few minutes to spare.

Your almost-brother-in-law LOL

So he did have access to the internet.

“He thought you wouldn’t tell me?” For some reason, this was what I chose to focus on. Not the fact that BJ was getting ready to propose. He must’ve been a complete eejit to think my own twin would keep secrets from me.

Kieran snorted. “You know we get along fine, but BJ tends to be full of himself. He’s the kind of guy who thinks I won’t snitch on him because we shared an eggnog one Christmas.”

“But .?.?. why would he want to open a restaurant?” I asked.

“Listen, Duffy, something’s dodgy about all this .?.?.” Kieran trailed off. “Makes me wonder if he’s telling us the entire story about his getaway.”

BJ never showed any interest in opening a restaurant. He was also a horrible cook. If this was him looking for a new career direction, he clearly needed a better map.

“Thanks for telling me.” I sniffled.

“Course. It just seemed odd, innit?”

“Odd. Awful. Your pick.”

“What else is new?” Kieran’s voice brightened, signaling he was uncomfortable with my brazen display of emotions. “How’s that fake fiancé of yours?”

“Riggs?” I asked, distracted. “Good, last I checked.”

Which was a considerable time ago. I had been avoiding him all week, but I was positive he was alive. His mess was all over my flat, serving as vital signs of life.

“He’s been giving me advice about my fit neighbor, Shelby. I think she’s thawing.”

“Oh, goodie,” I mumbled distractedly. “Very nice.”

“I googled his name, you know. Found loads of photos he’s taken. He’s not a professional loser like BJ.”

“Hmm. Quite.” I was still contemplating the BJ thing. “Sorry, Kieran, I gotta go.”

After I hung up with my brother, I paced the living room. It was Saturday morning, and the job sites wouldn’t resume posting until Monday, so there was no point in checking.

Thankfully, Riggs didn’t sleep the night here. I knew he was hooking up with other women, because how else would you explain his night away? Not that I cared. He could shove his behemoth willy inside whoever he liked, as long as it wasn’t me. I tried lifting my spirits up by reminding myself that our City Hall appointment was in three bloody days, and with it, our meeting with Felicity Zimmerman, the big-shot lawyer Riggs’s friend had hooked us up with.

“Honey, I’m hoooome.” The door opened and Riggs swaggered in, looking deliciously rumpled and thoroughly fucked.

Bugger.Normally, I could hear him coming up the stairs and disappear into my room before he was able to chat with me. Today, it was almost like he’d tiptoed his way up here.

Right. Because he’s just been dying to talk to you.

“Hello,” I greeted coolly. “How was your night?”

“Nine out of ten.” He sauntered over to me while I opened the fridge, about to make breakfast. He slammed it closed before I could retrieve the egg white carton.

“I got a better idea.” He grinned down at me.

“Better than eating the most important meal of the day?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow. He stank of another woman’s perfume, and suddenly, this lie I’d been feeding myself, that I didn’t care about his manwhoring ways, wasn’t working quite so well.

“Oh, we’re having breakfast.” He flung his heavy arm across my shoulder, headlocking me and kissing the crown of my head. “And just like me, it’s going to be the best you’ve ever had.”

“Oh my God, Riggs.” I dropped my head back, moaning, à la Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. “I think my mouth just orgasmed.”

I dropped the fork I’d just sucked clean on my empty plate. This was hands down the best waffle I’d had since I moved to the States.

We were at a small, unassuming diner in Park Slope. It had checked black-and-white floors, bright-red booths, and pink-and-blue neon lights. All the staples of an underwhelming culinary joint.

“You know,” he said, elevating a thick eyebrow, “I could give the rest of you an orgasm if you—”

I raised my hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Not even as my wedding present?” He wiggled his brows rather adorably.

“How’d you find out about this place, anyway?” I circled the air with my fork.

Riggs picked up his coffee and took a slow sip. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” I insisted. “I’ve been waffle hunting for years, and suddenly you just happened to stumble upon the best waffles in the city.”

“Walked past it.”

“Coming from where?”

He glowered at me, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t dropping it. “I stayed over with a friend.”

“A friend?” I grinned, shimmying my shoulders. Inside, it felt like I was being knifed in the chest by every felon in the zip code. “From school? Work?”

“A fuck buddy.”

“Nice that you’d think about me right after having sex with someone else.”

His lips twitched. “I always think about you. You’re my girl, Poppins.”

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t control the butterflies stretching their wings in the pit of my belly.

“And your fuck buddies?” I asked casually, dumping too much creamer into my black coffee as a distraction. “What are they?”

“My outlet,” he answered shortly before flagging a waitress.

She came over quickly, shooting him a flirty smile. “Can I help you, handsome?”

“You sure can. Got any Advil?”

She threw him a pout, resting her cheek against her shoulder. “Sorry, but we’re not supposed to give away any medication. Liability stuff. We could get sued.”

“I won’t sue you.” He gave her his I’m-about-to-fuck-your-brains-out grin. The one I’d been avoiding all week. As expected, it worked like a charm.

Her gaze ping-ponged between us. “Doesn’t your girlfriend have any?”

So subtle. So smooth. Quick, someone give this woman a medal for diplomacy.

Well, as it turned out, I’d had enough of women trying to get a piece of what was about to be legally mine.

“Actually, I’m the wife.” I wiggled my engagement finger, flashing Riggs’s ring.

“But we’re getting a divorce,” he hurried to say. “As soon as today, seeing as wifey here is dead set on my not getting painkillers.”

I could see the waitress’s internal struggle before she sighed.

“All right. Be right back.”

Once she was gone, I swiveled to him. “Headache again?”

He nodded, rubbing his temples.

“You seem to get them a lot.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “For a couple years now. They keep getting worse.”

“And you never got it checked?” I eyed his still-full waffle plate.

He shrugged. “One in every fifteen men has chronic migraines.”

“If you have to pop fifteen to twenty painkillers a week, they’re not just headaches. You should see a doctor.”

“Don’t have one,” he hissed out, obviously in pain.

Maybe he didn’t have any health insurance. Didn’t the magazine he worked for cover anything? They sounded like a bunch of twats.

“Anyway.” He nodded in thanks after receiving the painkillers the waitress disposed in his hand, along with a handwritten phone number and some water. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“We’re getting married this week.”

“May I?” I reached over to his waffles. He nodded. I knew he wouldn’t judge me for it. When I looked up at him with a mouthful of hot, fluffy waffles full of whipped cream and syrup, Riggs’s eyes gleamed with joy.

“If this was a real wedding, who would you invite?” I asked.

“It is a real wedding.” He swiped his finger over his whipped cream, sucking on it. “And I invited the usual suspects. Christian, Arsène, Arya, and Winnie. Maybe Alice. She’s Christian’s faux-mommy.”

“Sounds .?.?. delightful. What about family?” I asked.

“They’re my family.”

“I mean extended one. Parents, uncles, cousins. You must have someone.” I reached for his plate again, but he was quicker, switching between our plates and taking my empty one.

“Nope.” His eyes caressed my face. “No relatives whatsoever. Not even a pet hamster.”

“How come?” I remembered the offhanded way he’d told me he’d had a miserable childhood, and how I hadn’t pressed for more details, and I suddenly felt terrible for being so selfishly focused on myself in that moment.

“Well, I’m always on the road, so no sense in getting a pet. But hamsters specifically freak me out. They eat their young. Literally.”

“Riggs!” I chided. “How come you don’t have a family?”

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“I’ve nowhere to go,” I pressed.

“It’s depressing too.”

On a whim, I reached out, touching his palm across the table. It was the first time I’d initiated anything physical with him. “I absolutely love depressing stories. They’re my favorite. Remember, I’m the same person who told you I think Jane Austen should’ve killed off Mr. Darcy and had Elizabeth and her family join Scotland Yard and find his murderer. The same person who told you I went to school with torn clothes and empty lunch packs. Depressing life stories are my comfort zone.”

He hesitated, a smile on his face, before dropping his head in resignation.

“I’ll give you the condensed, comma-free version: My very gay grandfather ran away from Scotland to San Francisco in his twenties after his Catholic family disowned him because of his sexual orientation. There, he met an older man with a daughter from a previous marriage. That daughter was my mom. Elderly Gentleman and my grandfather fell in love and lived together. Elderly Gentleman kicked the bucket three years later, when my mom was fourteen, and left pretty much everything to my granddad—daughter included. He got full custody and raised her as his.

“When she was eighteen, my mother got knocked up with my ass. The guy who impregnated her was some no-good bum, completely insignificant to this story. As soon as she pushed me out, she ran away with the asshole, and my grandfather raised me. Then, when my mom was nineteen, she died in a car accident. Fast-forward to when I was a preteen, my grandfather died. So, yeah, basically. No family. My grandfather had friends and colleagues, but no one to step up and actually take care of me.”

I stared at him, my jaw on the floor. He really didn’t have anyone. No wonder he was a commitment-phobe. He had no idea what it felt like to belong.

“And your biological dad?” I managed through a choke I hoped he didn’t hear.

Riggs hitched a shoulder up. “Don’t even know his name.”

“The family in Scotland?”

“Can shove it.” He sat back, looking disgusted. “They sounded like assholes. When he died, they’d offered I move to Dundee with them. Thanks, but no fucking thanks. I don’t have a taste for homophobia.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.

He slipped his hand from underneath mine, tipping his coffee cup in salute. “No need to be. I turned out fine, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I said seriously, feeling my cheeks heating up. “You turned out perfect.”

“And you?” He jerked his chin in my direction. “Who would you have invited? Other than your parents and Kieran, I mean.”

My parents, who somehow hadn’t heard or seen my viral proposal video before it was taken down, thank goodness.

I popped a strawberry into my mouth. “Most definitely Cocksucker.”

He smiled tightly. I didn’t know why. I thought he’d be beaming that I’d used his nickname for him.

“And .?.?.” I looked up at him, taking a final stab with my fork in his waffle. “Definitely, definitely, Gretchen.”

The day I’d dreamed about from the moment I was born—my wedding day—ended up costing thirty-five bucks. Forty-six and some change, if you count the iced americanos I’d chugged beforehand as liquid courage.

The bride wore powder-blue trousers from Marks & Spencer and a white Topshop blouse her stepdad got her two Christmases ago. The groom opted for casual black jeans and a V-neck shirt. He looked like a hunky Hollywood star, but one who was going on a vegan acai bowl run, not attending a red-carpet event.

Everyone in attendance was from the groom’s side, highlighting just how lonely I was in this city. There were Christian and Arsène, the rich-looking blokes, as well as their wives, Arya and Winnie. No farting dog, though, thank heavens.

We were all standing outside the courthouse, on the stairway, slurping iced coffees, ignoring the blistering heat wave. Arsène was scowling at tourists as if they’d personally attacked him, Winnie offered me homemade wedding-themed red velvet cupcakes, and Christian and Arya periodically checked their phones, obviously disgruntled about having to unplug from their busy day to attend this sham wedding.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting hitched.” Christian side-eyed Riggs through his Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

“I still can’t believe we’re treating this mess as a real marriage.” Arsène scowled, and I gathered he was the bad cop in this group’s dynamics. “The man picked up two women at the Brewtherhood not even a month ago.”

“Jesus, Ars.” Arya glowered, flicking his arm. “Duffy has ears, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“She also has a brain.” Christian slid his shades off. “Which means she knows better than to treat this as anything more than an arrangement. Right, Duffy?”

I nodded numbly. My mind was reeling. Riggs had a threesome? I hated that I was letting this piece of information crawl under my skin, but I chalked it up to the fact I was getting over BJ. Emotions were obviously bleeding into one another.

“Just make sure you sanitize that sofa.” Arsène shot me a glare that could freeze the Sahara Desert. “Our boy here is a pi?ata of STDs.”

Riggs laughed, enjoying this exchange, and in that moment, on the steps of a courthouse, minutes before what was supposed to be the most important moment of my life, I got cold feet.

It made no sense at all. I was the one who had begged Riggs to marry me.

I couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow that my marriage was being wasted on a coldhearted Casanova who enjoyed nothing more than picking up randoms on the weekend, wasting away as an eternal bachelor.

The worst part was that I couldn’t undo the chain of events that was unfolding.

Even if BJ did come back and propose, I would probably not accept. My life had started to fall apart like an elaborate domino display on the day he’d told me he was leaving, and things had been unraveling ever since.

I was never going to get my perfect wedding. This was as good as it was going to get. A detached exchange of vows with a relative stranger in a courthouse.

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

“Excuse me,” I piped up, beginning to make my way down the stairs and onto the street. I didn’t even have full control of my feet. They’d just left the premises of their own accord. As if they knew something my brain couldn’t fully comprehend. That marrying this man was going to be a terrible mistake, punishable by great heartbreak.

Before I knew what was happening, I was charging down the street, zipping past storefronts and commercial buildings and shoppers, my breathing labored, my forehead dewed with sweat.

Why did I want to stay in New York? I had virtually no friends here, no job, and a shoebox of a flat, and my most prized possession was a thermal laminator.

I was about to round a corner when someone jerked my wrist from behind. They tugged me into an alleyway before pressing my back against the sizzling brick wall.

I was crowded by a huge, male body. I sucked in a breath. It was classic Duffy Markham to get robbed on the day I’d decided to ditch my sham wedding.

“Out of all the crap I thought I’d have to deal with in this lifetime, a runaway bride wasn’t one of them.” Riggs’s beautiful face materialized an inch from mine. As close as he was the night we’d almost kissed.

“Christ, Riggs.” I pushed at his chest, snarling. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“You ran away on our wedding day.” He stared at me with what almost looked like raw pain. “A wedding day which, by the way, you blackmailed me for.”

“I wasn’t running,” I lied haughtily. “I just .?.?. needed air.”

“There was a sufficient amount of air on the courthouse’s stairs.” He turned to point at the direction of the courthouse. “Same level of air as anywhere else in this city. What’s going on?”

“I f-f-freaked out,” I said, stuttering out the truth.

He blinked at me, looking confused. “Care to give me some more information that wasn’t evident from you taking the fuck off?”

Whoa.He was pissed. I’d never seen Riggs this livid. Annoyed? Yes. Disinterested? Plenty of times. Even when he had his headaches, he was mostly irritated. But never, ever angry.

“It just dawned on me that this is my wedding day. I imagined it very differently growing up. And .?.?.” I gulped down a sob. “Well, there hasn’t been one day in my life when I haven’t thought about my wedding day. So it feels really sad that nothing about it is going to be as I planned.”

His frown collapsed.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, after a pregnant silence.

“I know.” Tears filled my eyes. The first tear escaped before I could wipe it. It ran down my cheek. Riggs brushed it away with his thumb. “The pragmatic part of me—the one who wants to marry rich—thought it was a good idea. Still thinks so. But I guess .?.?. well, I guess there’s another part to me. One that loves Pride and Prejudice just the way it is.”

I wasn’t making much sense, was I? And yet, it seemed as though my future husband knew exactly what I was getting at.

With a sigh, he pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. I did the same and found that I soon lost my hold on gravity with him so near. It felt like I was drifting on clouds.

“You’ll still have that dream.” His thumb brushed across my cheek, back and forth, in a soothing, repetitive motion. “Just not with me.”

“I know.” My voice cracked.

“And if there is a God, not with Cocksucker either.”

I snorted out a laugh, burying my face in his shoulder. Not because I was devastated—even though I was—but because I didn’t trust myself not to kiss him when he was so close. That was a whole new problem I wasn’t eager to unpack.

It was just that sometimes, when my eyes were closed and my heart was open .?.?. Riggs Bates felt like he was truly mine.

He stroked my hair, sweeping his hot lips across my temple. “There, Poppins. Everything’ll be fine. Take my word for it. I don’t throw promises around very often.”

I loathed that he called me Poppins. Was that all I was to him? An odd, eccentric character?

We stayed like this for a few minutes, wrapped in one another, breathing each other in, before Riggs’s front pocket danced with an incoming call. He pulled his phone out.

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to be late to your own wedding, lovebirds,” Christian’s voice announced on speaker. “And not fashionably so, if I may add.”

“We’re coming,” Riggs said shortly.

“Do you even have a bride anymore?” Arsène asked.

“Just barely,” Riggs gritted out, giving me a look. “You did a good job of almost scaring her away.”

“Not good enough, if the wedding’s still on,” Arsène said easily, not a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“Careful, Riggs, or I might suspect you actually want to marry me.” I tried to sound casual.

“I do want to marry you.” He killed the call and glanced at me. “Emmett’s going to have a really shitty time when I text him a copy of that marriage certificate.”

An hour later, Riggs and I stood in front of a court clerk and exchanged our vows. Riggs’s friends surrounded us in the simple, albeit offensively brown, room. Our backdrop consisted of wooden walls and a judge stand. The clerk was wearing a black robe. A fairy-tale wedding it was not.

The clerk introduced herself as Allison. Allison was extremely nice and seemed enthusiastic about her job marrying people, which deepened my guilt, since in our situation, the bride was in love with another man’s wallet and the groom was probably going to spend tonight with a different woman. Or two.

“Are you lovebirds ready to get hitched?” Allison shimmied her shoulders.

“Been ready my entire life for this woman,” Riggs confirmed with one of his dazzling smirks. Allison purred. His smiles should 100 percent be outlawed. The man could knock a woman up with a smirk alone.

“You’re doing amazing,” Winnie whispered in my ear, squeezing my hand.

“God,” I moaned. “Why did you say that? Do I look that frightened?”

Winnie flashed a warm smile. “Just a tiny bit.”

What was she doing with Satan’s more sadistic cousin? I wasn’t sure, but props to her for taking him off the market.

“You’re such a beautiful couple,” Allison gushed, oblivious to the farce she was becoming a part of.

“Believable too,” Arsène deadpanned before Winnie elbowed him in the ribs.

“You may hold hands if you wish.” Allison’s eyes ping-ponged between us, likely puzzled by the fact I stood six feet away from my future husband. “No need to be shy. Many couples don’t realize a courthouse wedding can be romantic too.”

Riggs didn’t have to be asked twice. He comically flicked away Winnie’s hold on me and grabbed both my hands, jolting me close. His touch was warm and dry and full of strength. I couldn’t believe I was marrying the same impossibly hunky god I’d caught only a few weeks ago screwing my former boss. Gretchen seemed like a distant memory now.

Allison began the ceremony with the “dearly beloved” speech I knew so well from the dozens of weddings I’d attended in my life back in London before reminding us of our duties and roles in marriage. The entire time, I had an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t believe my parents weren’t here—that they didn’t even know about the wedding. Plus, the part I had been trying to push into my unconsciousness finally reared its ugly head. I was going to be a married woman when BJ came back to New York. Our relationship was doomed from the start.

Riggs threaded his fingers through mine, tickling the inside of my palms in a bewitching way that made every hair on my body stand on end. When my eyes met his, he grinned.

“Hey, kid.” Riggs winked.

My entire being somersaulted. “Hello, old man.”

He laughed. I ducked my head and blushed. In our periphery, Christian slapped his forehead. “This has farce written all over it.” He grimaced. “In Riggs’s cum.”

“I believe you just lost a bet,” Arsène drawled.

“She seemed more levelheaded last time we met her,” Christian explained defensively.

“No woman is immune to the charm of Riggs Bates,” Arsène hissed. “He could seduce a nun in between bites on his lunch break.”

I was about to turn around and remind them I was literally right there, listening, when Allison decided it was time to get real.

“Are you, Riggs Carson Bates, free lawfully to marry Daphne Helen Marie Markham?”

“I am.”

“And are you, Daphne Helen Marie Markham, free lawfully to marry Riggs Carson Bates?”

“Yes.” My voice came out thick and awkward.

Allison smiled. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Riggs tugged me toward him by our linked hands. Then, smoothly—so smooth I didn’t realize what was happening at first—his hand wrapped around my waist and his lips locked in on mine. Unlike our subway kiss, this wasn’t a peck. It was a kiss kiss. With intention, wrath, and enough passion to burn down the entire place. His mouth opened against mine. My eyelids slid shut, and a feeling of drunken, achy euphoria took over as the tip of my husband’s tongue reached to touch mine.

A hot wave rocked through my body, and I clutched the lapels of his shirt while his tongue swirled around mine, circling it, rough and full of purpose. My breath hitched before I started chasing his tongue with my own. Soon, we were full blown snogging, really kissing, and I forgot everything non-Riggs related. Like time. And place. And myself. Goose bumps danced along my back.

His long fingers laced through my hair and moved across the back of my head until he grabbed the back of my neck. He leaned in, deepening our kiss. I groaned into his mouth. He laughed into mine.

Allison cleared her throat loudly, trying to bring us back to earth.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bates. I believe you’ll have your entire lives to polish off your kissing skills.”

A lopsided smirk on his face, Riggs disconnected from me. So easily, so casually, that I stumbled all over him. He righted me with the hand he still had on my waist.

“My bad. I got a little excited.”

His voice showed no trace of emotion, tightness, or elation. He seemed entirely unaffected.

I blinked up at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me. Somehow, this kiss had felt real. Different and wild, separate from everything I’d ever experienced.

But Riggs didn’t look at me at all.

“See you back home, Poppins.” He gave me a half-arsed hug with one hand, plastering his hot mouth to my ear as soon as Allison had left the room.

With that, he turned around and walked away with his friends.

Leaving me feeling like I was falling into an abyss so dark and vast I couldn’t even see the sky anymore.