Tierney glances at the simple white dress laid out on the bed and for a split second, the anger drains. She seems almost…resigned. “It should be black.”
“That wouldn't be very pure and traditional.” I flash a smirk. “Even though we both know it’s not entirely accurate, yeah?”
Her face flames red, and the ire is back in full force. "You're disgusting."
“Nope, just honest. There's a difference.” I move closer, and she steps farther and farther away until her back hits the closet door and the dress hanger clatters against the wood. “You clean up nice for a woman attending her own funeral.”
“Yeah, because that's exactly what this is,” she snarls.
“Death and marriage do have a lot in common,” I say. "Both are permanent, and both change everything.”
She tries to sidestep me, but I shift around to block her escape. The movement makes her towel slip a little. She grabs it with lightning fast speed and pulls it tight.
“Fuck off and let me get dressed,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Don't let me stop you.”
“I'm not getting dressed while you watch and drool.”
“Shy? That's adorable. But drool? Don’t flatter yourself.”
A hiss of breath through her teeth follows that comment, and I’m pretty sure if there was anything remotely close to a weapon nearby, she’d drive it into my jugular and happily watch me bleed out.
I lean one hand against the closet door beside her head, partially caging her in. “Anyway, we're going to be legally bound in a few hours. Modest wife isn't really the role I had in mind for you.” My lips turn up. “I do have lots of other ideas, though.”
“In your twisted dreams, maybe.” Her blue eyes flash. “Now why don’t you just fuck off and give me some privacy?”
“Fine.” I step back, hands raised in mock surrender. “I'll be in the kitchen. Don't take too long. Wouldn't want to be late for our big day.”
About half an hour later, I'm dressed in a suit and drinking coffee in the kitchen. High heels click over the marble tiles. Actually, it’s more like they’re impaling the floor with each step she takes.
When she appears in the kitchen doorway, the tension she brings thickens the air to the point where I can’t breathe. But damn, she looks fucking incredible. The white dress fits her every curve…and I remember them all.
It’s simple, elegant, and somehow makes her look both innocent and dangerous.
“Coffee?” I say, nodding to the pot.
“I don't want anything from you.”
“Suit yourself.” I take a sip, watching her over the rim ofmy mug. “Though you might want some caffeine. You look exhausted.”
“I wonder why.”
With a withering look, she twists away and walks to one of the windows. A buzzing sound grabs my attention, and my jaw tenses when she pulls it from her purse.
Her whole demeanor changes the second she looks down at the screen. Her shoulders relax, a small smile commands her lips, and she types something.
That smile isn't for me.
Fury hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I slam my coffee mug against the marble counter and she looks up, startled.
I stalk toward her. “Who the fuck are you texting?”
She recoils, nearly dropping the phone. “What?”
“You heard me. Who are you texting on our wedding day?”
Her nostrils flare. “That's none of your goddamn business?—"
