Now I have the chance to get the truth, and if I’m going to do something as reckless as marry this man, I might as well get something from the bargain.
Aside from not getting drone-striked to death.
He considers for a long, tense moment, before taking some money from his back pocket and splashing it across the table. “You have a deal.”
“I do?”
He gets out of the booth and picks up the dress. “Should we shake on it? Or maybe we should kiss. Get some practice in before the wedding.”
“Wait a second.” My pulse races. He looms over me. “We’re not doing thisnow, are we?”
“Absolutely we are.”
“Who the heck is going to marry us this late at night?!”
“I have my sources.” He’s smiling again. The mask is back on, that charm oozing from him like oil, but now I know what he is. Now I’ve gotten a glimpse of the way this strange, beautiful man sees the world.
We’re all ones and zeroes. We’re pawns on a big board.
Every word, every action, it’s all just business.
I should stay right here in the booth. I should tell him this is stupid and there’s no way in hell I’m going to marry a man I met about an hour ago. But he’s got Aunt Yelena’s necklace, he knows more about what’s going on than I do, and I believe him when he says I won’t live long without his help.
I need him. But he needs me.
I don’t believe every relationship is transactional… but maybe I can get something out of this one.
I slide from the booth and shove out my hand. “How about we just shake on it?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. His grip is strong and his fingers are surprisingly calloused. I shake once, firmly, and expect him to let go but he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls me in. I think he’s going to kiss me and my heart goes wild with terror and excitement, but instead his mouth finds my ear.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll always treat you right.”
I really, really doubt that.
CHAPTER 4
NIKA
The dress fits. It smells like smoke, but it hugs my curves like a glove and makes me look…
Hot ashell.
For a girl that got nuked, I look incredible. I gape at myself in the full-length mirror and run my hands down the soft silk and lace. The dress is fantastic, obviously custom-made, something fancy and designer. It must’ve cost him a fortune. And somehow, it was cut for me.
The neckline plunges, showing off a hint of my chest. The back is low too. The skirt is tight, but in a good way. The beading is exquisite, and I feel more attractive than I’ve ever felt in my life. This is a dress that begs for attention, while mostly I’ve tried to keep my head as low as it could get.
If this were a normal wedding, every single eye in that church would be firmly locked on me.
Too bad it’s one in the morning and this place is empty.
I don’t even know where we are. Gabe drove for a half hour to a Catholic place I’d never heard of before. The priest is an older man in his sixties, exceedingly thin, with hard eyes and a kind smile. He let us inside and didn’t seem surprised about it. I was shown to this back room, a storage area with a mirror, told to get dressed, and left alone for privacy.
I’m still not sure this is really happening. Aren’t there laws about witnesses and paperwork? Weren’t we supposed to apply at the registrar or something? I have no idea how it’s supposed to work, but I get the feeling those rules only partially apply to a man like Gabe.
But who is my future husband? I wish desperately I had my phone on me, but that got left behind in the apartment inferno. Otherwise, I’d be frantically searching his name online.
