CHAPTER 53
GREYSON
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The bishop spoke while Hailey tried to wrench her arm out of my grasp.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“I am not going to marry you. How many times do I have to tell you no, you sick son of a bitch?” Tears cut tracks through the pink flush on her cheeks.
The bishop didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to. As a friend of my family’s, he’d turned to us for assistance when he was caught dipping into the collection plate funds, to the tune of several hundred thousand.
“Skip to the good part, Your Excellency,” I said as Hailey switched from trying to pull her arm out of my grip to instead beat my arm with her balled fist.
“Do you, Greyson Stockford, take Hailey Wrenn to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” I said, giving her a grin, and she snarled at me.
“And do you, Hailey Wrenn, take Greyson Stockford to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer?—”
“Fuck no. He can burn in hell by himself. I’m not doing this. And fuck you too.”
To the bishop’s credit, he did not even skip a beat before pronouncing us man and wife. It was a small formality to have the pseudo-religious ceremony, but it mattered to me. Later, when Jameson was no longer a threat, I’d give her the wedding she deserved, but for now, I didn’t want to just forge her signature on a piece of paper. I wanted her tofeelmarried, to feel the religious weight of it. I wanted her to know she was now mine before God and man.
Even rich soulless assholes like myself occasionally believed in the power of something greater…when it helped our purposes.
Hailey let out an aggravated scream when I grabbed her around the back and dipped her, slamming my lips down on hers. She fought for a second and then melted into the kiss, like she always did.
“I’ll have the papers sent to your lawyers. May your marriage be a long and fruitful one,” the bishop called over his shoulder as he left the aircraft and got back into his limo.
“I hate you so much,” Hailey seethed.
“I’m sure you do, but you’ll get over that eventually.” I tossed her over my shoulder and headed for the bedroom. Time for the fun part of the wedding.
“Mr. Stockford?” the flight attendant called. “Did you want to stay in New York or…”
“As soon as the plane is done refueling, we need to take off,” I instructed her, not breaking stride. “Back home as quickly as possible, there should be no reason for any delays like last night. Have the Dom Pérignon and strawberries left outside our door. Thewifeand I are not to be disturbed.”
I kicked the bedroom door closed behind us and then tossed Hailey down onto the bed.
“You are seriously fucking twisted if you think I’m going to just let you fuck me between New York and Virginia.”
“A whole hour. I’m flattered you think I need more time than that.”
She threw a pillow at me as the engines whined to life, and we taxied to the runway.
There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it to find a tray with a bucket of ice, the bottle of champagne, two flutes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a small bowl of whipped cream.
I opened the champagne, letting the cork pop in a rag, and poured us each a glass.
“Go to hell,” Hailey snapped, hurling a book from the nightstand. I batted it away with my elbow and set both glasses on the sideboard.
I took her hand, pulled her off the bed, and sat down on the large recliner with the seat belt, pulling her into my lap and buckling the belt around us both.
“I’m not consummating this marriage,” she pouted. “And I am not toasting this…this…hostage situation.”
“A hostage situation implies there was some type of ransom. There was no ransom. You’re my wife now. I’d say I’ve gotten what I wanted.”
Her face got bright red, and there was a little vein in her forehead that throbbed as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
