She turns to me, her green eyes searching mine. “Just be nice to me, okay?”
“I’m going to be better to you than I’ve been to anyone. I promise.”
12
SELENA
When I signed the marriage contract with Landon, we were excited about sharing our future together. We had just bought furniture. I had my dress, the favors, the flowers. The forecast predicted perfect weather. We only had to wait one week, and I was going to be his wife.
Now, standing with Griffin at the City Clerk’s office, I have just completed a second marriage application. We're getting married tomorrow—New York requires a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period.
I feel numb. I wish I had bigger, more complicated feelings, but I've dug down deep, and honestly, nothing has come up but nausea. I’ve felt sick for days now. Nerves, stress, and all the emotions I'm suppressing have settled comfortably in my stomach.
“Do you want to go out to eat? We should do something to celebrate,” Griffin suggests as we walk out into the bright sunshine. “I also want to pick out something special for you to wear tomorrow. I know it’s not the real thing, but you should feel pretty.”
“I have something,” I tell him. “I didn’t bring my wedding dress, obviously, but I have a white reception outfit I never wore. It’s in my suitcase.”
I truly do not care what I wear to a fake wedding.
“If it’s something you feel pretty in, then wear it. We have the rest of the day off... you don’t want to do something fun?”
I pause. I never really considered howhemight be feeling about all of this.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“No,” he says instantly. Too instantly. He goes stony and distant.
“Youarenervous,” I counter softly. “You’ve been nice all morning. That’s not like you. I appreciate it—it’s made me feel better—but I’m sure you’re not enjoying this either. You’re about to shackle yourself to a stranger for a year. You’re wondering if the partnership is worth the sacrifice.”
He stops walking and looks at me. “I will say I’m feeling overwhelmed. A distraction might take the edge off.”
Good. He’s being honest.
“We can get high and go see an old movie,” I offer. “I used to do that in college when I was stressed. I have edibles in my bag.”
He gives me a look like he wants to scold me, but then a smile breaks through. “We don’t have to go anywhere. I have a screening room at the penthouse. I can order any new release you want. Or we can watch a classic.Breakfast at Tiffany's? My mother loved that movie. One of the only times we did anything together was seeing it when I was home from boarding school.”
I’m excited for the first time since coming to New York. “I’ve never seen it! I’d love that. We can make popcorn.”
“That sounds delightful. We can have the chef make us cocktails and snacks... and of course, the cannabis.”
He is such an old man sometimes.
“Edibles, or weed. No one but crusty old hippies calls it cannabis.”
“Well, I’m certainly not a hippie.” He grabs my shoulder enthusiastically, squeezing it, and it makes me laugh. We’re having fun. Something I didn’t anticipate.
The movie was cute and quirky, and being high definitely took the pressure off.
Last night, we slept in the same bed, but I was so exhausted after the restaurant and the hot tub that we both just passed out. Tonight is different. We're buzzing, giggling, and relaxed. Legitimately having fun.
Getting into bed with him is infinitely more difficult because the tension has shifted from awkwardness to arousal. We are both painfully horny.
I stand on the side of the bed he has designated as mine. I'm wearing a silk camisole and matching tap shorts—my regular sleepwear. I don't like wearing underwear or anything constricting to bed, so I feel loose and airy.
Considering this is what I always wear, I don't feel particularly sexy, but I can't ignore the way Griffin is devouring me with his eyes.
“Is that what you’re wearing to bed?” he asks, his voice rough. He gulps down air, trying to keep his cool. He's only wearing boxer briefs, and his cock is literally standing at attention between us.
