“My name is Cannon for every purpose except contracts.”
“This is a contract!” she cried, shaking the paper.
“That I don’t remember signing!”
Her face fell. “You’re right. God, of course, you’re right.” She stood by my side and faced her father. “Okay, so what? We get married tomorrow, anyway, and at least we’ll remember it this time.”
Her father blanched. “No. God, no. Can’t you see what a disaster it would be? He just beat the crap out of one of your oldest friends. You absolutely cannot marry him.”
It was barely a punch, but whatever, my mind was reeling. All this time, we hadn’t been married. We could have walked away from this at any time, but here we stood, and she was fighting for us. Fighting for us when I’d just done what she’d explicitly asked me not to.
“Daddy, I’m a full-grown woman, and—”
“You did this to make your mother happy. I admire you for it. I admire both of you for it. But what you don’t see is that she’s going to live now, and when you two crash and burn? That will kill her.”
“You don’t know that,” Persephone whispered.
“He can’t even make it through one morning at the club without humiliating this family! Without humiliating you! I am begging you, honey, don’t go through with this. Think about it.” He gave me a withering look and then left us alone in the ballroom.
I suddenly felt out of place, like an actual bull in a china shop.
“How could you!” Persephone shouted, turning on me.
“Whoa, what? Are you seriously pissed that I didn’t sign my name right when we were both drugged out of our minds?”
“No! I’m seriously pissed that you punched out Michael on the damned putting green! Why couldn’t you just hold your temper? Why?” Color rose in her cheeks.
“Because he said some really sick shit about you that doesn’t even deserve repeating!” I backed away from her, putting more than a few feet of space between us.
“He said something? You punched him because he said something?” She shook her head. “Unbelievable! You broke rule number seven at our rehearsal brunch!”
I blinked. “Rule number seven. You’re pissed that I broke rule number seven.” No fights.
“Yes! You promised! God, why are you so incapable of expressing your emotions without using your hands?” She crumpled the copy of our marriage license in her fist as she shook.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I said. “This is the rule you want to start shit over?”
She blinked in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do, Princess.” I stalked forward until I had her pinned against the wall, one of my hands on either side of her head. “You begged me to break rule number five. Begged me.”
“That’s not the same,” she said quietly, but there was no fear in her eyes, even though I had her trapped.
“Then you went and broke rule number four all on your own. I told you not to, and you did anyway. Did you see me throw a shit fit when you dropped that bomb on me?”
“Bomb?” Her eyes narrowed. “My love isn’t a bomb, and if you knew how to use your words instead of your hands—”
“Princess, you like it when I use my hands. You fucking love it when I use my body to show you how I feel about you.” Fuck, I was on the verge of showing her right now.
“Do you want to marry me?” she asked, shocking me to my core.
I pushed off the wall, giving her an exit. “It has nothing to do with want. What I want isn’t what’s right, and it isn’t what’s good for you, that’s for damned sure.”
“Why? You give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married.”
“One? You only need one?” I laughed. “Fuck, Persephone. I don’t belong in your world. I hate the vests, and the parties, and the fake ass way people cut each other down with a smile. The only thing I remotely like about your world is you.”
“That’s enough,” she insisted. “Liking me is enough!”
“It’s not. You are good and pure and kind, and I have enough baggage to open my own luggage store. I’m dangerous. My temper isn’t something I’m proud of. You’re right, I’m shit at discussing emotion, and I know that’s something you need.”
“So we can work on it!” she cried.
“I’m not built like you! I can’t just throw my heart around and watch and see what happens!”
“Throw my heart around? I love you, Cannon. I’ve only ever loved you.” She moved toward me, and I stepped back.
“I know you think that.”
She stilled. “Don’t you dare belittle my emotions just because you can’t express your own. I love you. That’s real.”
I shook my head. “Love…it isn’t easy like this—” I gestured between us. “That’s infatuation, and it was bound to happen. I’m the first man you’ve ever had sex with, and those chemicals are a bitch, but they’re not real. Real love? It takes sacrifice. It means you’re willing to lay your body down and take whatever pain you have to in order to keep it from the person you love.”
Horror washed over her face. “Cannon…”
“Love means you make the best decision you can for that person with no thought for how it’s going to destroy you. Love is brutal, and it’s ugly at times. Love is what remains when all the fuzzy feelings disappear, and you’re still ready to wage war to protect that person.” I looked around the ballroom, at the expensive linens, the china, the crystal…the opulence. “Jesus, have you ever had to sacrifice for anything?”
She blinked, then perused the room the same way I had. “You’re not being fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. It only looks that way when you’re born into the type of privilege that makes you assume it is.”
The door opened, and both our heads snapped to see who it was.
“We’re busy!” Persephone called out.
“Well, that might be so,” her mother said with a knowing smile as she glanced between us. “But we’re going to miss our massage appointments if we don’t get going.”
Persephone’s face fell as she looked at the crumpled piece of paper she held. “Mom…”
My own mother’s face flashed in front of my eyes. The hectic way she’d packed the car, and the scared, but hopeful smile she’d given us as she made sure we were buckled in before she ran back inside to get her purse. She’d never gotten the chance to be happy.
“Go,” I said softly to Persephone, cutting off her attempt at a confession.
“What?” Confusion wrinkled her brow.
I crossed the distance between us and took the license from her. Then I kissed her forehead, lingering a heartbeat longer than I should have to take in her scent. Fuck, this woman was my everything, but she wasn’t my wife.
Of course, she wasn’t. I wasn’t the kind of man who was allowed to have good things in life, to include Persephone.
“Go with your mom. We’ll talk tonight.”
Her eyes searched mine, confused, apprehensive, and hopeful all at the same time.