Page 8 of The Marriage Mistake

Whatever “it” was.

I was still trembling by the time the pen was placed in my palm. The smell of ink was a sharp bite against the layers of old incense and wood in the chapel. Vision hazy around the edges, I stared at the wedding certificate on the little wooden table at the side of the chapel, knowing in the depths of my heart that I should turn around and walk out. Nothing good would come of this. My instincts screamed at me to run.

Glancing up, I met Jack’s gaze, and I frowned. I must’ve imagined the softness, the care. Now, his eyes were hard chips of ice again, his lips curled in a mocking smile. He arched a dark brow at me, challenging.

Steadier, I felt the walls around my heart knit themselves back together. He was a conceited jerk who danced through life doing what he wanted. Women fell over and spread their legs in his presence. He took and took and took and thought he deserved it all. Sure, he might care about his daughter and his grandmother, but he would never care about me.

And that was exactly as it should be.

We were entering into this marriage in order to both become considerably richer. Nothing more. Purely practical, the way I liked it. Things made sense when they were rational. Logically, this was the right decision.

And logic was my friend.

Whatever had happened at that altar didn’t mean anything.

I took the big ball of emotion that had risen up, and I shoved it deep, deep down inside me. It joined all the other emotions I’d suppressed over the nearly thirty years of my existence. My hand stopped trembling. I took another breath, and it eased through my lips without a hitch.

Yes, this marriage made sense. We had a contract. We had a deal. In a few months’ time—maybe a little longer, depending on how things went—we would divorce, shake hands, and that would be that.

Putting pen to paper, I signed.

When we walked out into the crisp fall afternoon, I inhaled the briny scent of the sea and took in the fluttering leaves that were beginning to change. Jack stood next to me, a wall of heat, a dark void of swirling energy that I couldn’t help but be intensely aware of.

I could sense the way he shifted on his feet, and even with my face turned away, I knew the moment his gaze landed on me. Seconds dripped by, and finally he touched my elbow. I turned.

In the golden sunshine, with a gentle breeze ruffling his hair, he was achingly beautiful. The kind of man who would never look twice at me.

Being married to him would be torture. Thankfully, it was temporary. And most importantly, it was fake.

“Let’s go see my daughter,” he said, and he led me down the steps.

JACK

She was quiet as we walked to our vehicles. She had only a small purse slung over her shoulder, the thick knit of her sweater catching on her full hips. I could see the shape of her through that prim, dark red skirt. Her steps were measured, her face blank. Everything about her was knotted so tightly that I wondered what it would take to pick her apart.

That was for another man to figure out. I gritted my teeth and tore my gaze away from her, refocusing on what really mattered. My daughter would be home from school soon, and I’d have to find the right words to tell her what I’d agreed to do.

Still, as I climbed into my SUV, I couldn’t help but glance over at Ember’s little sedan. I could see the line of her neck through the window, the way her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus on what was important. My daughter. My freedom. The agreement I’d just made with my new, temporary wife.

And yet, the only thing that filled my mind in that moment was the memory of Ember’s gasp when I’d held her and kissed her. The way she’d trembled in my arms. The press of her soft, full lips against mine.

Leaning my head against the headrest, I shifted in my seat and pressed a palm against my crotch, willing my cock to soften. The one thing I couldn’t do was sleep with the woman I’d just made my wife.

THREE

EMBER

I followed Jack’s dark SUV through dense forest, snaking through hills and arriving on Main Street in Marswood Harbor. We passed a bar called Rock Bottom with about a million motorcycles parked outside it, and I saw a few grizzled men wearing biker jackets milling outside. They watched us drive by as we continued into the town. They were the Reapers; I’d read about them when I was researching the town.

Right after passing a burned-out shell of a building with a charred sign naming it Life’s a Stitch, we turned off the main artery through town and into a residential neighborhood made up of mostly Cape-style homes on big lots full of mature trees. Leaves had begun to change, and they fluttered like jewels on their branches. A few residents looked up as we passed, lifting a hand to wave at Jack and flicking curious gazes at me.

Finally, we pulled up onto a long, curving drive that circled around a stand-alone three-car garage and a big cottage. A stone chimney jutted out from the steeply pitched roof, with dormer windows looking out over the big lot beyond. The gardens were meticulously maintained, with lush bushes, big trees, and neatly trimmed lawn. Jack was either a gardener or he hired one.

While he pulled into one of the garages, I parked on the driveway outside one of the closed roller doors. The drive from Chicago had taken me three days—I limited myself to under eight hours of driving each day, as fatigue was one of the main causes of roadway accidents—and had touched eight states. Last night, I’d stayed in a roadside motel outside Worcester, Massachusetts, and I’d gotten up early to make it here in plenty of time for my two o’clock meeting at Etta Mars’s house. I felt like the past three days had been a trip through a portal to another world. The air smelled nothing like the city, and I couldn’t help the urge to inhale its freshness deep into my lungs. I tasted grass, loam, and moisture.

Jack’s steps were easy, his expression relaxed as he walked out of the garage and pressed the button on his fob to close the door. He jerked his chin at my car. “I’ll help you with your bags.”