“I’ll do it,” Ashley sighs, “But only because it’s you.”
My shoulders sag in relief, but the woman isn’t done. She turns her fiery eyes to me and pins me to the spot.
“I swear to God if you do anything to hurt her, I will kill you myself.”
“Noted.” I dip my chin in understanding.
“This is insane,” She mutters as she climbs into the back of the truck, and I catch Niamh’s wide stare.
“She’s intense,” I whisper under my breath.
“I heard that,” Ashley yells from the backseat, which forces a small, amused smile from Niamh. It doesn’t sink those pretty dimples into her cheeks, the ones I have craved to see since I saw them that night at the bar, but it does crinkle the corners of her eyes, adding a light to them that wasn’t there before.
“No, we’re family.” She shrugs and climbs back into the truck. We drive an hour to the next city over in silence, though the air vibrates with unease and tension. Niamh has barely looked anywhere other than out of the window, and I feel Ashley glaring at the back of my head. I get it, she’s protecting her friend, but it’s not like I’m forcing Niamh to do this. Sure, there was a little bribery involved, but I didn’tmakeher sign the contract; we simply came to an agreement.
I pull up in a free space outside the county clerk’s office, and it takes no time at all to get a marriage license before we head to the courthouse.
I cut the engine and turn to Niamh, but she’s already looking at me, her hands in tight fists resting against her thighs. She wets her lips and releases a breath.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
“Nope,” She pops the P. “Let’s go.”
A small bit of guilt tugs at my gut as I let my eyes drag down the woman about to become my wife. She’s wearing a pair of ripped denim jeans and a faded old band tee tucked into the waistband with a pair of cowboy boots to match, and I’m not much better in my Wranglers, shirt and light jacket. I don’t know what her views on marriage are, but I doubt getting married in a pair of jeans was in her plans.
“Getting cold feet?” She challenges.
“Fuck it, let’s go get married.”
Chapter 8
Roman’s pull on people should probably scare me, how he’s able to weave his charm around them, bending them to get what he wants. He got us an appointment within a few minutes of being here, and now we’re getting fucking married.
My hands tremble as I wipe my palms on my ripped jeans.
Ashley stands just off to the side of the two of us, but I can’t bring myself to look at either her or Roman. I’m barely listening to the man in here marrying us, repeating when I’m instructed to.
“Do you have rings?” At that, my head whips up. I never even thought aboutrings.
“Yes,” Roman keeps his eyes on me as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and produces two ring boxes.
He hands a dark blue one to me while keeping the red box.
“Niamh, would you like to give Roman his ring?” I’m prompted.
“Right,” I stammer and snap open the box, finding a simple gold band inside. The ring is cool as I tug it from the cushion it’s embedded in and reach for his hand, slipping it onto his finger.
“Roman,” For a second, Roman doesn’t move, just stares at the band now on his finger, but he recovers quickly and opens his box, the air stalling in my throat.
It’s beautiful. A simple and delicate platinum band with a half band of smaller diamonds framing a huge square-cut diamond in the center.
I shake my head. “That’s too much.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him, my chest tightening the further he slips it onto my finger. The diamonds catch in the light, sparkling with every turn and twist of my hand.
“It’s beautiful,” I blink a few times and look back up to him, but he isn’t looking at me; he’s looking at the ring on my finger, a look I can’t recognize twisting his face.
A throat is cleared, and we snap our heads around.
