ut the way they envisioned, but mine is so far from my vision…well, there’s no point in even talking about it. When I was a child, I dreamed of being a fairy tale princess. My favorite was Sleeping Beauty. I thought it was so romantic that a prince would fall in love with the princess—sight unseen—risk his life to slay the dragon and rescue her from the castle. Then afterward, they got married in a gorgeous ceremony and lived happily ever after.
As I grew older, I realized how silly that dream was, but I was certain I’d find a life partner, somebody who would love me to pieces. We’d get married and live happily ever after with a dog…maybe a golden retriever.
But now I see how ridiculous that was.
Chapter Eighteen
Annabelle
It takes maybe half an hour from start to finish. And by start, I mean getting the marriage license, and by finish, I mean saying “I do” to the judge and having a wedding band slipped onto my finger. Elliot must’ve planned everything because I don’t think it’s possible to be that quick otherwise.
And nobody in the courthouse treats him with lazy bureaucratic indifference. They’re warmly courteous, moving briskly to ensure we get our ceremony done ASAP.
Before walking out of the chamber where the judge pronounced us man and wife, Elliot dips me with an easy elegance that would make a ballroom dancer weep with envy. I clutch his arms, gasping at the unexpected gesture, my heart skipping a beat. He presses his mouth against mine.
The moment stills. His tongue probes my lips, and I part them, acting on instinct. I get a taste of him that instantly has heat threading through me, my face warm and flush.
Before I can do anything more than kiss him back, he sets me back upright, the public display over. The clerk who stands as our witness sends him an email of the photo, while I try to recover my bearings.
I raise a shaky hand to my still tingling mouth, knowing that our kiss was just a kind of show for him. I feel slightly dizzy, and I grip his forearm.
Everyone smiles and offers their hearty “congratulations”. My face quickly goes numb from smiling and thanking people.
The grin on Elliot’s handsome face is so convincing, even I can almost believe he’s genuinely thrilled to marry me. He’s put on his usual black button-down shirt and black slacks, gold cufflinks with his initials the only spots of color. But the somber clothes merely accentuate his harsh beauty, the steel underneath the affable mask.
Finally we reach the parking garage, and I let go of all pretense of being a happy bride. Misery seeps through me. What the hell am I doing? After telling Caroline off about selling her body for money, am I not going exactly the same route? The only difference is my price was higher.
Granted, the man is hot. He can make me want him, pleasure my body like no other. Need throbs in my veins every time I think about what we did in the restaurant. But he’s made it clear he’s only buying me for a year. The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that the marriage has nothing to do with what I said on his birthday and more to do with what he wants.
I’ve gone along with all this because I’m stupidly desperate. And for the first time in a while, I resent my dad. If he’d been just a tad more honest, Nonny and I wouldn’t be in this situation. We would’ve at least had people we could’ve counted on…friends…somebody. But no, he had to be greedy, unethically and illegally so. And we’re the ones paying the price.
Elliot and I reach his Maserati. I stop and press my palms against the roof of the car, bracing myself and breathing deeply. My knees are trembling, and my skull feels like it’s about to be crushed. Now I wish I’d eaten some cereal—maybe half a bowl—even if I had no appetite before I left.
“You’re pale,” Elliot says, the low timber of his voice washing over me. His dark brows form a deep V.
“I’m fine. Give me a minute.” I breathe slowly until the dark spots in my vision disappear.
He studies me. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Not that long. Besides, didn’t you see me eat at dinner?”
“Did you sleep well last night?”
“I’m fine,” I say again. I’m not telling him I spent most of the night thinking about the way he brought my body to a killer climax.
“Get in. I’ll buy you lunch.”
I pull back. “No, thank you. I’d rather go home.”
“Which is where?”
“The apartment…” I pause. That place isn’t my home anymore. His movers are probably done by now. I’m living with Elliot in his home.
One dark eyebrow rises. I tear my gaze from his and get in the car. There is nothing I can say.
He drives us downtown. I steel myself. Most likely we’re going to his place. I’m nowhere close to figuring out why he’s doing this, because the idea that it’s all for sex is ridiculous. He has an ulterior motive. I just want to know what it is so I can prepare myself.
Much to my surprise, we stop at a rather ordinary sandwich shop. It isn’t one of those chains, and the décor is contemporary and warm with dark furniture and bright lighting. Kelly Clarkson comes from the speakers, singing about paternal abandonment. The branded white paper napkins read Galore. A friendly worker with the loveliest tan takes my order of a ham and cheese sandwich and iced peach tea, while Elliot gets a towering monstrosity, everything you can imagine piled high on rye bread, chips and iced coffee.