Chapter 11

chapter eleven

Grant

Truthfully, I never gave a lot of thought about what my wedding would one day look like. But I can guarantee my wildest imagination wouldn't dream up a twenty-four-hour chapel in the middle of the French Quarter with a girl I didn't think I'd ever meet in person.

Or that my marriage would be a fake one, at least not on paper.

But here I am, standing in front of an officiant with absolutely not one fucking regret.

Except that my ma might kill me, but we'll deal with that later because right now, all I can focus on is the breathtaking girl standing in front of me and the fact that she's about to become my wife.

Holy fucking shit.

My wife.

She's magnificent, an actual fucking vision in a dress that could only be described as made for her. Her long, blonde curls cascade down her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face like a halo. The white fabric clings to her curves, making it hard for me to pick where to look. But when I drift up to the delicate freckles on her face and our eyes catch, my throat tightens.

"Do you, Addie Olivia Arceneaux, take Grant Alexander Bergeron to be your lawfully wedded husband? From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part."

I can feel the tremble in her hands, and I squeeze gently, reassuring her with touch. Arranged or not, marrying someone is a huge fucking deal, and I know exactly the thoughts that are running through her head because they're probably the same as mine.

A soft smile plays on her lips as she nods shyly. "I do."

The officiant turns to me before reading from the script in his book. "And do you, Grant Alexander Bergeron, take Addie Olivia Arceneaux to be your lawfully wedded wife? From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part."

"I do," I say without hesitation.

We're in this, for better or worse, for fake or for serious. There's no backing out now.

I shoot her a wink, and she giggles softly before rolling her lips together, stifling the sound.

Our officiant nods, glancing back down at his script, then asking, "Do you have rings?"

"We do," I say, dropping Addie's hand only to turn to Davis and grab the rings I picked up while she was shopping for a dress.

There wasn't much of a selection at the store she was shopping at, and I'm pretty sure it might turn our fingers green because they're only costume jewelry, but my options were limited with the time given.

I hand her the thin golden band I grabbed for me and wait for him to proceed.

"Whenever you look at these rings, may they remind you of this moment and the love you have promised to one another. Grant, please place the ring on Addie's finger and repeat after me."

I never take my gaze off her as I place the star-shaped ring at the tip of her finger. Her eyes are slightly wide as she glances up, her breath hitching.

It may have only cost ten bucks and be slightly bent, but I took it as a sign from the universe.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

I repeat the line, sliding the ring up her finger slowly, and then she does the same. The band is a tight fit for me, but since we decided to get married in less than three hours, it works just fine.

"By the authority vested in me by the State of Louisiana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Grant, you may kiss your bride."

Unhurriedly, I lift my hand and reach for her, sliding my palm along her jaw before cradling it in my palm. The rough pad of my thumb sweeps along her smooth skin in a motion that shouldn't feel so intimate, yet somehow, it does.

When I lean in and pull her toward me, there's only the briefest moment of what looks like nervousness flickering in her gaze before her eyes flutter closed, and her lips part as she sucks in a sharp intake of breath. The moment that my lips press gently against hers, her fingers tighten in mine. The kiss is chaste and too fucking quick, but every nerve ending in my body comes alive at the feel of her soft, sweet lips.

I shouldn't, but I want to do it again, and again and again. I want to know the way she tastes more than I want to fucking breathe .

She pulls back slightly, her eyes still shut and her dark lashes fanned out along her cheeks as she breathes shakily. Still so close, I can feel her warm breath against my lips.

Maybe I'll regret it later, maybe I won't, but when she finally opens her eyes and stares back at me with those deep, dark azure eyes filled with trust, I decide to give a shit about the consequences later.

My arm slides around her waist, pulling her flush against me, closing the distance between us.

I kiss her the way I should've the first time.

The way I should always kiss my fucking wife.

Gone is the soft, tentative brush of our lips and the hesitation of experiencing a kiss together for the first time.

My lips move against hers, deepening with every second that ticks past until I feel her hands fisting in the front of my shirt. As if she's pulling me closer and holding on all at once.

It's the kind of kiss that should be written about in books. Played in movies. Plastered on billboards. The kind of kiss that would be used as a measure of time.

The time before kissing Addie, and the time after.

When a throat clears beside us, I pull back, slightly breathless, staring down at Addie in my arms with the same expression mirrored in her own eyes.

We're standing in front of a handful of people, but it felt like it was just the two of us, lost in a moment that only belongs to us.

"Congratulations!" the officiant says cheerily, glancing between the two of us. "I wish you a lifetime of happiness."

Addie offers him a small smile and turns her gaze back to me. I realize I'm still holding her, so I drop my hands and step back.

Just like that… we're married , and for the first time since meeting her, I realize how much trouble I might actually be in. Because I liked kissing her far too much for an arrangement that is supposed to be fake.

We sign the marriage license shortly after, then say goodbye to Addie's family and Davis before heading out of the chapel to the parking lot.

I feel like I should apologize for that kiss, but shit, I'm not fucking sorry. I don't regret it for a second; I just don't want her to.

She's agonizingly quiet as she slips into the passenger seat of my truck, and I shut the door behind her. When I climb into the driver's seat, I turn toward her.

"I think I shoul?—"

"Should we?—"

Apparently, we're both still thinking about said kiss because our awkward words run together as we speak at the same exact time.

Her cheeks heat, and she ducks her head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Sorry, you go first."

I hate that she's too shy to look me in the eye, so I reach over the console between us and grasp her chin gently between my fingers, turning her to me.

Her gaze snaps to mine, and I watch her throat working as she swallows visibly.

"I should apologize for kissing you," I start, my voice low. "But I'm not sorry, Addie. I'm just sorry that I didn't run it by you first."

The dark blue of her pupils dilates, darkening, and she shakes her head. "It's okay. This is what married couples do. They… kiss."

I nod. "Yeah, they do. They kiss. A lot."

She's my wife now. And I want to kiss her again.

A lot. Until she's breathless and clutching onto me the way she did in that chapel.

Her nod mirrors mine as the air between us crackles and hums with an electrified charge. A brief moment that feels as if we can reach out and grasp it between our fingers as our eyes stay locked. I try to decipher the flickering of something in them. Time ticks by, but it seems to stand still all at once.

A shrill ring reverberates through the cab of my truck, and then the spell is broken. Addie jumps, fumbling for her cell phone.

When she finally picks it up with a shaky hand, she answers and puts it to her ear.

"H-i-i, Amos."

I bite back a grin, bringing my hand to rub along my jaw to cover the twitch of my lips. She's just as affected by this as I am. I shouldn't like that as much as I do.

She doesn't say much on the phone but nods along with whatever Amos is saying. Then, she says, "Sounds good. Thanks."

Once she hangs up, she lifts her gaze to me. "Um… Amos says he's going to drop Auggie off later. They're apparently going for a walk and a pup cup. Like he needs more whipped cream. I'm going to have to get him a doggie treadmill soon or something."

Chuckling, I shrug. "I could take him with me on my morning runs, if you're cool with it? It can be a guys-only thing."

Addie's laugh singsongs through the truck, and she nods, rolling her plump lips together. "He would probably hate it, but I think he could absolutely benefit from exercise."

"Cool. We'll make it a thing, then. Do you wanna go pick up your stuff? Not that I mind you wearing my clothes or anything, but you probably need supplies for class?"

"Yes. And I need to get Auggie's things. I don't have much, so it probably won't take me long to throw the important things in a bag."

"There's no rush. You can put me to work." I wink, relishing the shy smile she offers.

After she buckles in, I turn my truck on and put the address she gives me into the GPS before pulling out onto the highway.

It's only a few minutes from the Quarter, so it doesn't take us long to pull into a short driveway right off the road.

"This it?" I ask her as I pull to a stop at the end of the driveway.

"Yep. I… live over the garage though," she says as we pull up in front of a two-story Victorian with peeling shutters and massive white pillars. There's a small oval-shaped window above the garage, and that's where she points. Then, she turns to the building next door and points at the quaint little building beside the house. "And that's the bakery."

I park in front of the garage, and we walk to the side. She pushes the side door to the garage open after unlocking it, and I follow closely behind her into the stairwell.

"It's kind of a mess, but…" She trails off once we make it to the top of the stairs and into the open studio floor plan that's her room. She's not wrong—the walls are painted with what I think used to be a bright yellow paint but is now dull, and peeling, and the beam that's hanging in the center of the room looks unstable at best, but… it's apparent she's spent a lot of time making the space hers.

Her art is everywhere—on the walls, on the massive easel near the window, in frames along the shelves, and I can't stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

"That's beautiful," I say simply, eying the half-finished canvas that sits on the easel before looking back at her.

That delicious pink flush is back, and now it's traveled down to her neck at my compliment.

"Thank you," she whispers, holding my gaze for a beat longer before turning and walking toward her makeshift closet.

Seeing everything she's done to her room, making it an extension of herself, makes me wonder what she'll do to make my apartment hers too.

Even though our arrangement is temporary… we didn't set a time limit, but it will at least be as long as it takes to get through probate. In the meantime, I want her to feel comfortable there too. It's just as much hers as it is mine now.

"You should paint something to hang above the couch," I say as I sit at the edge of her bed, watching her packing things into a suitcase.

"You want me to paint something for your apartment?" I can hear the disbelief in her voice, like me asking her that is so hard to believe.

" Our apartment," I say playfully.

She looks up, laughing softly, "Okay, our apartment," before going back to her packing. She's moved on from clothes to smaller belongings, shoving them into the zipper pockets. Pencils, notebooks… underwear.

I try not to think about what they look like on her and drag my gaze to the canvases on her wall.

"Fuck yeah, I want you to paint something. Whatever you want."

There's a stretch of silence, and then she says, "Okay. Maybe."

And that's better than no.

True to what she said in the truck earlier, she doesn't have much. Most of what she's packed fits into one large suitcase, her backpack, and an oversized duffle bag.

I know there's probably no love lost moving out of here, but I still give her a moment alone in her space and carry everything down to my truck. It fits easily into the bed.

I turn toward the staircase just as Addie appears, no longer in the dress she wore to our wedding but in a pair of jeans with a cropped top covered in daisies. Of course, she's in her Mary Janes. She looks cute as fuck.

"Hi," she whispers, staring up at me.

"Ooooh. She's back with the Mary Janes," I tease with a wink.

Suddenly, I hear the front door violently slam shut, and when I look over, I see a man barreling toward us. His posture is tight and his expression furious, which has me stepping in front of Addie, pushing her behind me protectively.

It dawns on me that this must be her asshole stepfather.

He's tall, but not quite as tall as me, with salt-and-peppered, graying hair that matches his beard. I know from the second I lay eyes on him that he's every bit of the piece of shit that I figured he would be.

Addie's body goes taut behind me, and she reaches out to grasp onto the back of my forearm. Her nails dig into my skin, and I realize that she's fucking scared.

She's scared of him, and it makes me see red. The fact that she's cowering away from him makes me want to protect her from him.

"Where the hell have you been?" he spits when he makes it to us, his seedy gaze moving between me and Addie, who's standing still slightly behind me.

I hope he knows that he's not going to disrespect her with me here, and if he doesn't… well, he's going to learn really fucking quick.

"I… I just needed to grab my things, Brent. I'm moving out," she whispers timidly. So quietly that I wonder if he's missed it until I see the muscle in his jaw tick as he grinds his teeth together.

He steps toward her, and I move directly in front of him, blocking him from getting any closer. "That's far enough. You can talk to her from here."

"Yeah?" He laughs humorlessly before dragging his attention to Addie and then back to me. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Her husband ," I retort with finality.

He freezes for a moment before it registers, taken completely off guard by that revelation. But his anger is palpable as he directs his scorned gaze back to Addie.

"Bullshit. You're marrying Dixon Barrilleaux in less than two weeks, and you know that."

Addie stands straighter, lifting her chin slightly as she takes a long, deep breath and says, "No. I'm not." When she pauses, she reaches for me, sliding her trembling hand in mine as if she needs the strength. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, and she continues. "I've been seeing Grant… in secret, for months now. W-We got married, and there's nothing you can do about it, Brent. And I also know you lied, about everything. About the reasons you were forcing me into this marriage with Dixon, my mother's will. All of it. I've already spoken to a lawyer, and I know the bakery is mine."

Pride swells in my chest at how strong she sounds, even though I know she probably doesn't feel it right now. I'm so fucking proud of her for standing up to him. For letting this asshole know he's not going to control her for a second longer.

Brent's entire face turns a crimson shade of red, and I'm waiting for him to fly off the handle when he truly lets what he's heard sink in.

"You're a stupid, spoiled little bitch, and over my dead body will you take that bakery from me." Spittle flies from his mouth as he spews, the vein on his forehead bulging with each word.

That's when the small semblance of control I have frays, turning the edges of my vision hazy with rage.

I step forward, our chests meeting as I shake my head and seethe. "Don't fucking talk to my wife like that."

"Your wife?" His laugh is quiet and menacing as he shakes his head over and over. "I hope you understand how badly you've fucked up, Addie. Secretly dating, my ass. You think I don't know that this is a ruse? A way for you to cheat me out of what I'm owed and attempt to cheat the will. This is a sham. And I'll fucking prove it before I ever let you have what's rightfully mine."

"The bakery has never been yours, Brent," she whispers fiercely. "It was always my mother's."

"And who the fuck do you think has been taking care of it since she died, leaving me with the mess, huh? Who took care of you when you had no one? I did. This is the payment I fucking deserve. Payment that I fucking earned for dealing with this shit for years."

Fucking prick. Fuck this, and fuck him.

"Addie, get in the truck. You're not listening to this bullshit," I tell her, keeping my gaze fixed on him in case he does something stupid and reacts.

She hesitates for only a split second, then walks to the truck and flings the door open but halts when he calls her name.

"You think you're so smart. You've got it all figured out, huh? Except you didn't account for the fact that I'm not walking away, and I'm going to prove that this marriage is bullshit and contest the will. I'll have eyes everywhere, Addie. It won't be hard to catch you in your lies. You're not getting away with this. I'm warning you not to fuck with me."

When his threat comes, I'm beyond fucking done with this asshole. Addie shouldn't have to be subjected to this shit.

The hypocrisy of this man. He's the one who's been lying and manipulating her for who knows how long. Trying to force her into an equally fake marriage but for his benefit. She's endured enough at his hands.

"Fuck you," I spit. "I'm warning you . Stay the fuck away from my wife. "