Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3) - Page 115

Rex’s eyes widen slightly, but I sigh and walk ahead of him. He’s done his job, and I’ve been death marched to my shotgun wedding, so we might as well do this.

Unsurprisingly, the asshole I have to marry looks gorgeous. A stylish navy suit hugs his muscular frame in all the right places. The way he’s standing, his broad shoulders look even more massive, even more powerful. When I get closer, I see his suit even has pin stripes. Perfect.

As I come to a stop in front of him, Rafe cocks an eyebrow at me. “Black? Really?”

I glance down at the unsuitable wedding dress. “I wasn’t making a dramatic statement. It’s the only dress I own.”

“Would you like to go buy a white one first?”

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

The radiant smile that was on Laurel’s face as she stood by Sin talking to Skylar about the pretty waterfall melts right off when she overhears me. Now frowning, she leaves Sin’s side and comes over to me. With her left arm she’s holding Nicky on her shoulder, but with her right hand she holds out a bouquet of blue hydrangeas and baby’s breath.

“I have your bouquet. You went with a black dress, huh? It’s pretty,” she offers. Indicating a pink striped bag on the floor at Sin’s feet, she adds, “We got you a wedding present, but it was really last minute notice, so I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Sliding his arms around my waist and tugging me close, Rafe assures her, “I’ll unwrap it later. Thank you.”

Her smile comes back briefly, but she looks at me again and it slips. “Is everything okay? I thought you’d be, like… out of your mind with excitement.”

I don’t have the energy for this. I try a little harder to look like I’m not at my own funeral, bringing my free hand up to rest on Rafe’s shoulder. “Just bummed my mom couldn’t make it.”

Since she’s not an idiot, Laurel looks between us, not convinced. “What’s going on with you two? Why are you getting married in such a hurry? You weren’t even in a relationship yesterday. I assumed based on the fact that you actually liked each other yesterday, Rafe finally came around and decided to act on impulse, but right now, this? No. What is this?”

Since our half-hearted ruse didn’t fool her, I pull away from Rafe and fall back a few steps. Rafe doesn’t appear pleased that I did such a piss-poor acting job, and he is not prepared to explain.

His tone lacks patience as he tells her, “It’s complicated. Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it. She’s been in love with you for years, and now she looks like you killed her cat. What did you do, Rafe?”

Ignoring her, Rafe signals to someone behind my head. “We’re ready.”

Grabbing my arm, Laurel demands seriously, “Do you want to marry him?”

Sin finally comes over and steps in, pulling Laurel away. “Come over here. Leave them alone. They’ve got their own shit to work out.”

She lets Sin drag her away, but I hear her asking him, “What did he do?”

Cracking a smile, Rafe murmurs, “She’s so sure I’m the one who fucked up.”

A bespectacled man approaches with a briefcase. He puts it down on the wall of the fountain and pops it open, drawing out a form.

“This is your Clark County marriage license,” he informs us, glancing from one of us to the other. “It’s all filled out, if you’d both just go ahead and sign it.”

“Virginia Ann Malloy,” Rafe murmurs. “I didn’t know your middle name. It’s cute.”

Virginia Ann Morelli.

Suddenly my good humor evaporates and my fingers start to shake. I watch Rafe sign the paper first, his grip firm and sure. The nib of the pen glides across the paper like he’s not signing his life away, but I guess he’s not. I guess only I am. He can get out of this anytime he wants with a change of his mind and a single bullet.

My stomach starts to twist up in knots. I swallow as he hands me the pen.

“Um, shouldn’t there be—shouldn’t we have a pre-nuptial agreement?”

“No,” Rafe says smoothly. “You’re married to me for the rest of your life. There’ll be no divorce.”

I feel queasy. The rest of my life, he says. Not the rest of our lives. He’s 7 years older than me and given the difference in our lifestyles, it’s probably a given he’ll go first if we both go naturally.

“I can’t do this.”

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