Page 35 of Holding Penalty

“Woops,” I blurt, turning around. “Sorry about that.”

My voice is apologetic, but there’s nothing forgiving about the scowl of the rough-looking man I see.

“Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re stepping, princess?” The sandpaper rasp of his voice sounds like it’s been earned by decades of heavy smoking. The yellow on his teeth looks like it was obtained the same way.

Maybe it’s because I feel like I’ve received one too many kicks in the butt recently, but I bristle at his words. The fight I have left in me roars to life, and I don’t feel like backing down in the face of an asshole.

“Why don’t you learn to accept someone’s apology with a little bit of decency when they just make a tiny mistake?”

His nose twitches with a glower. “Listen, princess, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but⁠—”

“My wife, that’s who she is.” The low growl of Nash’s voice next to me takes my breath away, and the way he hooks his arm around my waist to tug me close has an eruption of sparks dancing over my body. “And if you like having all your teeth in your mouth, you better treat her that way.”

The aggression in the man’s face instantly melts into cowardice, and with one last scowl, he slinks away into the crowd.

My stomach feels full of butterflies. Even though I feel the heat Nash’s muscles are generating as I’m tucked next to him, my nipples suddenly tighten into sharp points like they’ve been rubbed with an ice cube.

I’ve never had a man make some macho, territorial display for me before. Or call me his wife. A fluttery, charged feeling fills my chest.

Maybe it’s just too much for me to feel comfortable with, since I know this thing between Nash and me is fake as fake can be. Maybe that’s why I protest.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” I tell Nash, trying to sound independent even though I can feel how flimsy my voice is with his arm wrapped around me.

A dimple carves into Nash’s stubble-coated cheek when he smirks. “I have no doubt my wife can take care of herself. I also know that she’s kind enough not to deprive me of the pleasure of taking care of her sometimes, too.”

Hearing the word pleasure from Nash’s mouth has a blast of heat spreading low in my center. Where did this playfulness of his come from? Did he somehow chug a dozen beers on his way back from the bathroom?

“Who are you and what have you done with Nash Miller?”

His smirk tilts higher, and that damn dimple carves deeper. “Haven’t you heard that marriage can change a man?”

Like whiplash, the dreamy look in Nash’s eyes disappears, the smirk and the dimple along with it. The lines of his face harden as he reassumes his usual serious expression. He steps away from me, shoving his hands in his pockets. I feel the loss of his warmth way too much, and I try to ignore the sense of disappointment that hardens in my stomach.

“There’s a coffee shop close by,” he says. “Should we get a cup and figure out how this thing is going to work?”

I’d rather get another drink here, see you threaten another guy for me, and then go to your place and do what a couple’s supposed to do on their wedding night.

The danger center of my brain activates at that unintentional thought. The last thing I need in my current emotional state is to make things complicated with Nash when this is supposed to be a cut-and-dry, mutually beneficial arrangement for something as dull and unromantic as inheritance and sponsorship money.

“After you, dear,” I agree, sweeping my arm toward the exit.

It’s a good thing that Nash and I are going to be doing this fake marriage thing at a distance. We won’t have to spend much time together. Because I think I could get too used to playfully calling him pet names.

And I think I could get way too used to hearing him call me his wife.

16

PIPER

“Did he make you sign a prenup?”

It’s nighttime, and I’m at Hallie’s apartment. I’m finally out of that fucking dress, borrowing a pair of her athletic shorts and a t-shirt. We’re sitting on her floor with an extra-large pizza from our favorite place between us, and an open bottle of wine next to it.

After Nash and I hashed out the terms of our arrangement—again, not how I ever thought I’d characterize my marriage—I had a call with my mom to explain everything that happened.

Well, everything that happened at the chapel. I didn’t tell her about the fake marriage to Nash yet. I felt like that was just way too much to drop on her in one day, right after she had to deal with her daughter absconding from the altar. I’ll tell her tomorrow, or the next day. But soon.

But she supported me in my decision to leave after what I heard. I always knew she wasn’t Crew’s biggest fan, but now that I’ve tossed him aside, she really let him have it through the phone. It kind of turned into an hour-long roast session of my former fiancé, and it was pretty cathartic.