Apparently, knowing someone beyond their first and last name was a luxury I wasn’t getting. And honestly, even Marco’s last name felt weird rolling around my head. Marco Grey. Lawyer. Pain in the ass. Professional brooder. That was it. That was the entire list of facts I had about the man I was about to marry.
Not to mention, the last time I saw him, he’d literally left me sitting alone on a bed he’d broken—one he still hadn’t bothered to fix. I mean, what was that? Who breaks someone’s bed and then just ... leaves like that?
It was embarrassing. Humiliating even, now that I was thinking about it—which of course I was, because self-respect wasn’t exactly part of my skill set lately.
The guy had bolted so fast I’d barely had time to blink, and now, suddenly, he was standing here volunteering to marry me?
He didn’t want me then, so what exactly was this supposed to be now?
Charity?
Obligation?
Or was I just another problem he thought he needed to fix—one more mess in Marco Grey’s endless list of responsibilities?
I hadn’t asked for this. Hell, I wouldn’t have asked for him even if he were the last man on Earth, because there was something humiliating about needing to be saved by someone who clearly couldn’t stand the thought of me.
It felt pathetic. Like I’d somehow become his burden. I hated how small it made me feel—how insignificant.
I glanced at him again, willing him to look at me. But no. Marco kept his gaze locked down stubbornly, hands deep in his pockets, jaw set tight enough to crack teeth. Even being here was too much for him.
Inside the courthouse, it was silent enough that the click of my heels echoed off the walls. There was no one here. Seriously, no one. Did nobody else decide to get impulsively married at four on a Thursday? Just me?
Marco still wouldn’t look at me. At least Dimitri had the decency to pretend he was busy checking his phone, and Max was staying conveniently quiet. But Marco? Silent treatment. Complete radio silence.
“Romantic,” I muttered, tugging nervously at my sleeve.
Marco’s back stiffened slightly, as if even the sound of my voice irritated him. Fantastic. We were off to a stellar start.
The clerk behind the counter glanced up from her computer, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Names?”
“Marco Grey,” he answered quickly.
“Valentina De La Vega,” I added.
The clerk nodded slowly, bored, clearly having seen weirder pairings. “License is ready. Sign here.”
Marco reached for the pen first, his hand steady. I watched him sign, looping the letters of his name. He slid the pen toward me, finally lifting his eyes just enough to meet mine.
My breath caught, chest squeezing tight. “You sure?” I whispered softly, almost too quietly for him to hear. “Last chance to run.”
“Sign the papers, Valentina.”
It wasn’t an answer, but it wasn’t a no. Somehow it felt worse. I bit down on whatever bitter retort sat on the tip of my tongue, grabbing the pen a little too roughly and signing my name with quick, messy letters, nothing like his.
The clerk took the papers, barely glancing at us. “Do you have rings?”
We didn’t, of course, because this was Marco and me, not some blissful young couple who’d planned things like matching wedding bands or honeymoon destinations. This was cold and awkward and vaguely humiliating.
But Max stepped forward smoothly, handing Marco a small black box. He’d clearly come prepared.
Of course he had.
Marco flipped it open, revealing two plain gold bands. Simple, generic, exactly as meaningful as everything else about this arrangement.
My heart twisted. I looked down at my heels, wishing I’d worn something else.Anythingelse. Maybe sneakers, so I could sprint out of here faster.
Marco picked up one of the rings, holding it carefully between two fingers. He reached out and gently took my hand, sliding the ring onto my finger without looking up.
