EIGHT

Ronan

What the hell am I doing in front of an altar?

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stand and wait for Justine. There's a camera in my face and another somewhere behind me. I am seriously questioning my life choices.

I'm standing beside a simple wooden trellis stuck in the sand decorated with flowers and waiting for a bride I didn't choose on a stinking hot day when I'd rather be anywhere else. I count the petals on the huge white lilies. The number of seconds until this farce is over. The crazy number of beats per minute of my thundering heart. I'm not nervous. That must mean it's a cardiovascular problem. A thought I'd rather not indulge right now with multiple cameras fixed on me.

Damn it!

I pull the fussy handkerchief from my breast pocket and dab at my face.

This feels far too real.

Then something—perhaps an indrawn breath or hushed whisper—alerts me to her presence behind me. I turn and my mouth goes dry. The fitted corset of her dress hugs a slim waist and flares out slightly to accommodate wide hips. The stretchy white fabric of the skirt clings to curves I have a sudden urge to grab. It tapers in over thick thighs all the way down to where dainty human toes in strappy sandles peep from the hem.

Even her long red hair has been smoothed and tamed into a stylish chignon decorated with lilies and orchids.

What the fuck did they do with my junior assistant? This woman isn't her. This woman is fucking girl-of-my-dreams material.

I clear my throat, remembering the cameras trained on me, zooming in on my face for the world to see how my jaw drops to the fucking sand when she steps across the pebbly beach and takes my hand. I remember I'm supposed to be playing along and I don't know what to do with my face. It feels so unnatural to let my real emotions show that I struggle for a moment. Finally, I allow just a hint of the look of awe she deserves to have one day when she does this for real. From someone who actually knows her.

When she places her hand in mine, it trembles.

She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and her lips painted the perfect shade of red to compliment her hair. The perfect shade to draw my eyes and my attention. You know what they say about red to a bull...

"Hi."

"Hi." Is that all I can say back? There's nothing in my head except the swoosh, swoosh of blood rushing in my ears.

She turns. "Did we get it? Should I do it again?"

My jaw almost hits the sand again. Did I just buy into my own Reality TV program?

Fuck.

"No, no. You're all good." The camerawoman gives Justine the thumbs up. "Just act natural."

"OK." Amy, the producer claps her hands. "Let"s get the introductions and vows then. Just make sure you get plenty of footage of their faces from different angles and we can edit later."

"Sure." This is only an act. Playing a part. No different to work, really. Then Justine takes another step toward me, trips on the long hem of the dress and tumbles into my chest.

I catch her on instinct, my hands closing around her upper arms to hold her steady. Her flushed face, pink cheeked look scrambles my brain, just when I've managed to compose myself.

"Television gold," one of the crew whispers from the background.

All I can do is try to stop anyone from seeing how my nostrils flare as I breathe in deep to get more of her lavender and honey scent.

"Um, I'm Justine. I'm your bride for the day." She smiles at me as if she really believes we're going to live happily ever after.

"It's nice to meet you, Justine. I'm sure you know who I am." Mentally, I berate myself for the way that sounds like I'm the most arrogant bastard imaginable. "Please call me Ronan." God, I wish that didn't sound so fake. I've never been a great actor. Justine on the other hand is killing it.

"You, too." The breathless way she says it. The flush in her cheeks. This is the side of her that makes me wonder how much more there is beneath the surface. The side she showed me when she originally came up with this idea. Animated. Excited.

God, it's doing something to my chest I didn't know was possible.

To my left, Cedric Du Montfort, a gargoyle in a neat suit, folds his wings and steps under the arch, clearing his throat. I've always thought the host of Married for a Day was annoying on camera. That's nothing to how he is in person.

"Dearly beloved," he begins dramatically, waving his hands around in the long sleeves he's wearing to mimic a priest.

I just about stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"We are gathered here in the sight of upwards of seven million viewers to join this minotaur and this woman in reality TV matrimony!"

He pauses with a grin, presumably to allow the crew time to laugh at his terrible joke.

"Now, Ronan and Justine. You've come here to see what it would be like to really be married, and we take our little experiment very seriously. So I need you both to commit to giving this your all."

I grunt. Justine is nodding enthusiastically.

"Do you, Justine, promise to take this minotaur as your husband for a day, to have and to hold—" The damn gargoyle winks at the camera.

I realize I'm still holding Justine and step back. Everything grinds to a halt.

"Oh, no no, Ronan. That looked so good. Put your hands in his, Justine. That's right. Let's start over again." The producer makes a shooing gesture with her hands until I finally submit and move back toward Justine and she places her hands in mine.

A woman with a comb steps in, fluffs Justine's hair, and wipes an invisible spot from her cheek.

We're forced to endure the same godawful jokes seven more times until they decide they've got the footage they need.

"Do you, Ronan, promise to take this woman as your wife for a day, to have and to hold?"

"I do."

Everyone beams at me.

I sigh.

Cedric fixes me with a knowing smirk. "You may now kiss the bride."

What?

Why didn't I realize there would be kissing?

I'm still struggling to figure out how to navigate this moment when Justine steps forward. Looking up at me with a shy smile, her pale cheeks are flushed an adorable pink.

I can't refuse. Look at her. She's so fucking hopeful.

Making a quick calculation, I lean in, intending to brush my lips against her cheek. Surely, this is within the realms of acceptable under the circumstances. All the way down I'm thinking about the hernia Chester in HR will be having when he gets wind of this.

Then my lips contact her silken skin, her scent fills my nostrils, and there is absolutely nothing in my head at all.

What is it about this girl? She's fucking dangerous. More so because she doesn't seem to know it, and that's like kryptonite to me. Hell, I didn't know it until a moment ago.

I linger for far too long. Until it gets weird. I know it, but I can't pull away. My head is spinning.

Finally, I drag myself back and look away. My tail flicks against my leg.

The scene wraps and I'm handed a folding stool and a coffee. "Great. How did that feel?"

"Uh... fine." My mind is still strangely numb, like I'm listening through a wall of water.

Gary, the assistant producer, rolls his hands in front of him to indicate I should elaborate on my answer.

"Felt great. Really... great." I don't know what to say. I'm struggling to say something nice, without being far too honest. Because the honest truth is I feel like I've been socked in the guts.

"What do you think of Justine?"

I freeze in the lights, swallowing down a mouthful of nerves with a gulp of coffee. "She's... great."

A look of frustration builds in Gary's folded arms and I sigh. "She looks beautiful. I wasn't expecting her to look so good."

It's the honest truth. It also appears to be what they were after. Gary smiles and nods. They ask me only a hundred more infuriating versions of the same questions and I'm handed a sickly sweet muffin I don't want to eat. I glance over to where Justine has been positioned on another folding stool across the other side of the beach and watch her answering questions animatedly. She looks like she's having a fucking field day. Of course she is. She loves this show.

At least someone's dreams are coming true today.

God, she's adorable. I hate that this is the first thing that springs into my mind as I watch her. I scowl into my coffee and hope the board are satisfied after this. It's eleven-thirty in the morning already! I could have had several meetings and cleared my emails by now. Instead, we must have filmed ten minutes worth of footage. Not to mention this is a really, really bad idea.

I gingerly set the muffin on the napkin in the sand and brush my sticky fingers on my thigh before massaging the base of my horns.

An hour later, we're led into a large gazebo tent facing the ocean where a table laid with a white tablecloth and pretty white china is set for us.

More food. Hopefully there's something I can stomach this time.

I'm sweating like a swamp monster in the heat, so I take the opportunity to remove the ridiculous formal jacket they had me wear and set it over the back of my seat. At least there's shade in the tent and a slight breeze off the ocean.

I grab the glass from the table as I sit and gulp down half the contents in one go. Justine sits beside me. She looks just as perfect as she did when she stepped off the boat, so I guess the heat's not bothering her.

"There's conversation prompts on those cards." She picks one off a pile in the middle of the table and hands it to me with an apologetic look. "The producer said we might want to use them. To make this easier."

I'm silent.

"This is the part where we're supposed to get to know each other," she prompts me.

I stare down at the card in my hand. How do you picture married life?

Thankfully, at that point someone comes over and pours me a glass of champagne and I take a long drink of that, too.

Then I go off script. "Did you always want to get married?"

"Yes." Justine licks her lips, fidgeting with the edge of the table cloth on her lap. "You were probably expecting that answer, right? But it's the truth. I've always wanted the big white wedding and the beautiful dress."

"Just like this?" I can see why she dreamed of the dress at least. It suits her. She looks stunning.

She shrugs. "Sort of."

I lift my brow. "But?"

"Well, I guess I've always wanted to do it in front of friends and family and have everyone I love with me."

I nod. Makes sense. At least, it does if having family around doesn't remind you of the great big fucking hole in your life left by the person who's not there. "Yeah. That sounds... nice."

This was a bad idea. I should just stick to the plan. I don't need to start getting sentimental.

I pick the card off the table and read the question to her. "What do you think of when you think about a happy marriage?"

"This is going to sound unusual, but I actually picture it being a lot like my mom and my stepfather."

She goes on to describe her mother's relationship with her second husband; I have to admit parts sound appealing. They met after her father left her mother and had a whirlwind office romance. Apparently, Justine's stepfather instantly treated her like his own child and became the father she always wanted. The father she never had.

I forget about the cameras and the heat.

I'm surprised when the assistant producer comes over to the table.

"That was perfect, guys. Just perfect. Next we've got the winery tour and the cake-baking class, and then it will be time for your dinner date."

They have us busy all day with stupid set up dates. We're driven half way across the island in a golf cart for a winery tour where we listen to an ancient satyr harp on about grapes for an hour, then a plump French chef guides us in the art of baking chocolate tarts while ogling Justine's tits in the tight white top they dressed her in.

The second time I catch him I give him such a glower he tips the tart upside down and spills chocolate all over me.

After a day of this sort of indignity, Amy approaches our dinner table with an enormous grin on her face. That doesn't bode well. "It's going really well so far. It's just about time to head to the house, and get you all set up for the wedding night scene."

Justine squeaks and I give her a sideways look. "What?"

"Nothing."

The other woman moves off, already gesturing for the crew to follow.

I lean closer to Justine. "What?"

"Well, it's just that I'd forgotten about..." She gulps and her cheeks turn that adorable shade of pink again. "The only one bed situation."

I practically spit out the whole mouthful of champagne I was drinking. We have to share a bed? I'm damn sure that wasn't in the briefing!