“We’re getting the license today,” he grunts. “You wanted me to take you seriously. I don’t know what could be more serious than me actually following through with this. Yes. Naturally. Okay. There’s another call coming in, Coach. It’s Collin. We’ll talk.”
The more I think about this situation, the more my heart breaks. I’ve been dreaming about my wedding day since I was a little girl. My parents never told me fairytales. Instead, they told me their own stories of a whirlwind romance and overcoming harsh odds to make a beautiful family.
“Love always finds a way,” my mom would say. “It doesn’t matter how rocky things seem or how insurmountable the mountain appears to be; when your vehicle is love and the love is unconditional, it will always find a way.”
I had dreamed of finding a man as kind and caring as my dad. A man who values me for who I am and treasures the love I have to give. I’d marry a prince of my own preference and we would overcome our odds together.
Instead, what I’ve wound up with is a knock off version of a British Stalin. A man who puts himself first, a man who knows nothing of hardships and will most definitely not treasure me.
I’m pulled from the cloud of my thoughts once again by Maverick’s incessant jabbering. This time, he catches my interest with a magic word - prenup.
I suppose it makes sense. We both know this marriage is bound to end in divorce anyway and I have nothing but a birth certificate and generations of poor credit to bring to the table. I’ve never had a problem working for what I want so I’ll have no problems walking away from this sham with the things I entered with. Still, I find it offensive that dear old Collin seems to think I’m a money-grabbing tramp.
“Okay, we’re all done here. Let’s get you dried and glamorous.”
I manage to smile at Bridgette who seems to be watching me intently.
“So how long have you two been going out?” she asks as we cross over to the dryers.
The words, “we’re not going out” spring to my lips, but I opt for more tact.
“I’ve known Maverick for a long time.”
“Hmm. So have I, and I’ve got to say, there has to be something special about you.” She pauses. Smiles. “No offence, dearie,” she tacks on. It’s obvious she’s not buying this whole sham we’re about to put on for the entire world. Can’t say I blame her.
“None taken,” I mumble.
“He’s really not a bad kid, you know.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask because it is the most decent response I can come up with.
“There’s a lot to be admired under that tough surface.” Of course, if he was shelling out that kind of cash to have me wash someone else’s hair, I’d find a few nice things to say about him too.
Still, I stare at her with my brows furrowed. She chuckles, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “There’s actually a fully functioning human heart beating inside his chest and a warm soul buried somewhere deep inside there. I’ve seen it. Trust me.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Maverick snaps and Bridgett stands upright, placing a hand on his shoulders.
“I was just letting Beth here know that she has really beautiful hair. It’s amazing how well it’s persevered despite the infrequent Bridgett treatments.” She winks at me and I blush. “You should bring her here more often, Maverick.” She scolds him and he shoots me a stern glance.
“Oh don’t look at her like that. I’m just saying it’s nice to see you with a decent girl for a change and not one of those plastic airheads you usually dangle from your wrist.”
If looks could kill, Bridgette would be a very dead woman.
“Stop twisting my arm, Bridgette.” He looks at his phone and then back at me, sour disappointment scorching through his irises. “Make sure she looks decent by the time you’re done with her, will you?”
Yeah. Functioning human heart and warm soul. Sure.
I don’t bother looking up at him as he goes.
“He doesn’t mean that,” Bridgette says, once he’s out of earshot. Her smile is a lot weaker than it was moments ago and I can tell that she’s struggling hard to put the puzzle of me and Maverick together.
“There are some things money can buy,” I say, leaning back, an easy smile on my face. “Maybe I’m one of them.”
It’s not a full answer to Bridgette’s unasked question, but at least it’s something.
14
It always pays to have friends in high places. If my father taught me nothing else, he certainly drilled that into me. Of course, the word ‘friends’ is used very loosely in this context. Daddy dearest had only enough time to make money and very little time for frivolous things such as friends or family. But the apple, you see, hasn’t fallen far from the tree, so I’m in no position to judge.
Still, it’s on days like these that I’m especially pleased with the fact that I come from money.
Lots of it.
In one afternoon and with some cooperation from a pouty and eerily quiet fiancé, I have managed to get the marriage license and several photos in and it’s not even the end of the day yet.
Miguel had sent over the pictures and even I’m impressed with how well they turned out, considering the quality of the subject. Looking at these pictures, it would be impossible to know that we had been feuding for as long as we’ve known each other.
Beth’s long graceful neck looks inviting with the diamonds strewn around it. Her eyes miraculously shine with something that looks a lot more like love than hate as she smiles up at me, holding onto the crook of my arm.
I swipe the screen to reveal a picture of her blushing as I lean over to ‘whisper into her ear’. We’re at a restaurant and she’s wearing the Max Mara Silk Fil Coupe Jumpsuit Jessica had picked out for herself the last time she came over. The strapless design and Beth’s coiled up-do reveals more of her smooth neck and chest. I’m surprised at how supple her skin is and how well the fitted bodice of the jumpsuit hugs her curves, making her much more alluring than she should ever be.
In the next series of pictures, we’re smack in the middle of the road, traffic be damned. Beth’s lips are curved upwards and she seems to be glowing as I pick her up and twirl her around on the sidewalk.
There are no photos of us kissing.
There will never be photos of us kissing.
Anywhere.
Ever.
Period.
Hoisting and twirling is just about as far as I will go with my wife. Isn’t that a shitty fucking situation to be in? And to think that I, of all the fucking people in this world, will be damned to a sexless marriage.
“The things I do for hockey,” I hiss, throwing the tablet onto the sofa and strutting over to the mini bar to drown my sorrows.
Not only am I married, but I’m married to freakin’ Bethany Hendrickson.
My smart watch buzzes and I glance down at what I instantly know will be the saving grace of my whole mood for the evening.
“Ethan! What’s up mate?”
“Where the hell did you go today? You just vanished.”
“Hockey stuff. You know how it is.” I nod, trying to reassure myself that this is what makes the sacrifice worth it.