“I can’t marry you without witnesses,” he says, grasping at any reason possible not to move forward. “By law, I need two witnesses to make it legal.”
“Fuck the witnesses. I’ll handle that part. All I need is for you to sign the document.”
“Saintlyn,” he tries one last time, his voice breaking. “I’ll figure something out. We’ll run, we’ll hide, we’ll?—”
I move in front of Saint and shove the barrel of the gun against his chest again. “Sign. The. Fucking. License.”
“Dad!” Saint scrambles, grabbing her father’s arm. “I want this. I love him. Please. Just give us your blessing.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes a second later, all I see is broken despair. “I’ll sign the paper, but I’m not going to give you my blessing.”
“Great.” I snarl and take a couple of steps back. “Make it quick.”
He drops the license onto the coffee table, grabs a pen from the small dish in the center, and signs his name across the bottom. It’s done. Saint James is now Saint Bishop.
The wife I forced into marriage at gunpoint. I put my gun away and snag the document off the table, folding it before sliding it into the pocket of my jacket again.
“You got what you wanted, now get out of my house.” Pastor James practically collapses on the couch.
Saint moves toward the stairs. “Dad, I need to get some things—my clothes, my?—”
“No. I said to get out!” His voice rises, grief and rage finally breaking through the pastoral facade. “I’ll bring you what you need. Later. When I can stand to look at you again without remembering what you just did.”
The words cut her deeper than any weapon could. I see it in the way she folds in on herself, the way her shoulders curl forward like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
“Dad, please—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t have anything. I need?—”
“You should have thought of that before you chose him.”
“Don’t talk to my wife like that.” My voice drops, quiet but sharp as a blade. “Your problem is with me, not her.”
He doesn’t respond, merely stares at me with venom in his eyes. I grab Saint’s hand and pull her toward the front door. She follows numbly, tossing one last look over her shoulder at her father. I help Saint into the truck and then head to the driver’s side, and I climb in beside her. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all. Just stares straight ahead with those dark blue eyes that used to spark with life and defiance, but now look flat. Empty.
I did that. Took everything that made her Saint and crushed it under the weight of Bishop brutality.
“I know you wanted your things, but I can buy you new stuff.” I start the engine. “Or your father can bring some of it over whenever he decides to visit.”
Saint doesn’t respond. Doesn’t ask where we’re going, doesn’t do anything except stare out the window at her father’s house like she’s memorizing it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not. I really am sorry. I didn’t…” How the fuck do I apologize when we both know that I would’ve done whatever I had to do to get her father to agree?
“Just stop. I don’t want your apology. It changes nothing. You got what you wanted. I’m your wife now.” The ring on her finger catches in the sunlight, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
“We both know this has nothing to do with what I want. I did this so you could live without being in constant fear. This was survival. Nothing more.”
Even as I say the words, I know they aren’t true. I did this to protect Saint, to protect myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a certain part of me is excited about giving Saint my last name. Making her all fucking mine.
“You know I never put much thought into what my wedding day would look like,” she says. I look away from the road and catch her staring at the ring on her finger. This strange possessiveness fills my chest. “Even if I had, I doubt it would have looked anything like today.”
“Weddings are overrated anyway,” I say, trying to lessen the heavy feeling in the cab.
“Right. Well, I thought, when the day came, I’d marry for love. That my father would smile and give his blessing. That I’d get this big fairy tale, happily ever after.”
“He’ll forgive you, Saint. I know it hurts and that marrying me wasn’t what you had planned, but like I said before, I’ll do everything in my power to make this marriage work. To make you happy.”
