“Viacava?” A court clerk calls our name before she can respond.
“Saved by the bureaucracy,” I murmur, taking her arm. “Come on, Mrs. Viacava. Time to make it official.”
The ceremony takes place in a sterile room with fluorescent lighting and beige walls. My family files in behind us, creating a wall of expensive suits and cold stares. They’re here for support but nobody’s got any delusions about who is marrying into the Viacava empire.
Tierney stands beside me, every line of her body screaming resistance.
“We are gathered here today,” the judge begins in a monotone voice, “to join these two people in marriage...”
I tune out the standard speech, focused instead on the woman beside me. Her fists are clenched so tight, herknuckles are white.
“Do you, Bronx Viacava,” the judge drones, “take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife...”
“I do.” I put everything into those two words. Possession. Promise. Threat. “Completely and permanently.”
Tierney's head snaps toward me, and I meet her gaze with a raised eyebrow.
“And do you, Tierney Blake,” the judge continues, “take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband...”
The pause stretches out. Her murderous gaze doesn’t scare me. It excites me. I’ll save that one for later to rile her up again, not that it’s gonna take much to accomplish that goal.
“Say it,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear. “Say you're mine.”
Her jaw tightens. “I do.”
It's barely audible.
“Louder,” I tell her, my voice just as quiet but infinitely more dangerous. “I want my family to hear you accept me.”
Those blue eyes flash with pure fury, but she lifts her chin.
“I do,” she says, her voice loud and clear.
We exchange the rings. Her eyes drop to the diamond and platinum band I slide onto her finger, glaring at it like it’s a shackle.
“You may kiss the bride.”
She goes rigid when I cup her face in my hands, tilting her chin up.
“Try not to bite me,” I say, aware of our audience. “We have company. Save the kinky shit for later.”
Her lips part, no doubt to make a comment. But instead, I capture her lips with my own. The kiss is claiming, possessive,and designed to show everyone in this room exactly who she belongs to now. For a second, she melts into me. Then she remembers and tugs herself out of my grip.
“There.” I say loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now you're officially Mrs. Viacava.”
Outside the courthouse, my family offers their congratulations with varying degrees of warmth ranging from arctic to crisp before dispersing to their cars. Back in my Mercedes, Tierney is quiet, staring at the ring on her finger.
“How does it feel to be married?” I ask.
“Like I'm wearing handcuffs.”
“You're not wrong.” I watch her try to twist the ring off. “Beautiful, expensive handcuffs.”
“It's too tight?—"
“It's sized perfectly. It's not coming off.”
She drops her hand into her lap. “So what happens now?”
