“Let’s do this,” he said, and Maggie smiled.
“I’ve got something to say.”
The ceremony was short and sweet, but when the dude launched into the standard wedding vows bullshit, I spoke up, cutting him off.
“Oh… I’m sorry.” He looked from me to Maggie and back. “It was my understanding that you hadn’t written any vows.”
“We didn’t,” I said, holding Maggie’s gaze. She looked a little panicked. Probably wanted me to just stick to the script, but fuck it. “Got something to say to my bride.”
The dude cleared his throat and gestured for me to take the floor. “Of course.”
“It’s not much. Just something I need to say to you, here and now, in front of your dad.” I didn’t even glance over at Dizzy. Didn’t have to, to know he was eating this up. “The first time I met you,” I told her, holding her hands tight in mine and looking straight into those gray eyes, “I thought you were adorable. Also thought you wouldn’t last. You had those invisible braces, remember?” She smiled a little and chewed on her lip. “And so much fucking courage. You stayed. You never gave up on me, even when you should’ve. Since the beginning, you’ve been my girl. Even though you didn’t know it yet. Far as I’m concerned, this is just making official what I’ve always known. I love everything about you, Maggs, even the stuff that annoys the shit out of me, and I’m never letting you go.”
Her gray eyes flared at that. Probably because me declaring outright in front of Dizzy that I was in this for the long haul went against her little plan that we’d soon get “divorced.” Well, fuck that. She agreed to marry me.
I never agreed to give her a divorce afterward.
She stared at me, stammering out some stuff about loving me too, when the dude prompted her.
After that, I’d have to say it was kind of a blur. Maybe because my eyes were kinda wet.
Chapter Eight
Maggie
“You catch the look on Dizzy’s face when they pronounced us husband and wife?” Zane nuzzled into me so he wouldn’t be overheard; his arm went around my waist. He’d barely let go of me since we’d left the hotel.
To any observer, we probably looked exactly like newlyweds should look. Happy, a little adrenalin-buzzed, and all over each other. Random people honked their horns at us as they drove by.
We were standing on the curb outside the chapel, about to pile back into the limo, and Zane had put his cap back on, so I didn’t think anyone saw his face. They were just happy for us. Total strangers, and they were probably happier for me than my own dad was.
Dizzy was happy, sure. For himself.
I sighed, because yes, I’d seen the look. Not a look I could recall ever seeing on my dad’s face. Pretty sure it was pride.
Lukewarm approval was about the closest I’d ever seen before, and that was years ago, when I’d first told him I’d been hired to work for Dirty. At the time, he’d been a lot less interested in the particulars of my job than in what name I’d be using for work; he was royally pissed when I told him I’d be continuing to use my stepdad’s last name, Omura, instead of his. Dizzy was adamant that having his last name would open doors for me in the industry, but I wasn’t that naive. I knew he was more interested in what doors might open for him if he could associate himself in any way with Dirty.
For a moment, I allowed myself to wonder what he’d think when he found out I wasn’t taking Zane’s last name either. He’d probably say that was a mistake, too. Good thing I didn’t care what he thought, right?
Except that I did care. Hence this whole ridiculous farce.
Yeah, I really had to do something about this fucked-up little masochistic streak of mine. Starting tomorrow.
“I saw it,” I murmured distractedly, as we watched my dad making a flashy, embarrassing spectacle of tipping the chapel staff.
“Should we rescue them or what?” Zane asked, flicking his chin at the staff. They’d been pretty much trapped by Dizzy, who was waving a fistful of cash around as he told them some bullshit story about whatever great thing he figured he’d done most recently. Dizzy had a bullshit story for every occasion. Especially when he’d been using.
“No,” I said, but I appreciated Zane deferring to me on this. No one could really “handle” my dad, but after the years I’d spent working with Dirty, I had a knack for knowing when to step back and let the biggest ego in the room have the floor. “Just let him have his moment.”
For fuck’s sake, though. You’d think he was the one who’d just gotten married. I just hoped he wasn’t being rude.
The chapel staff had been incredibly accommodating, and my suspicion that Zane had paid them to shut down for us had been confirmed—by my dad, at his first opportunity. It was grotesquely clear to me by now that in his eyes, the fact that I’d just married a man who had the cash, the influence, and the balls to do that kind of thing meant I’d won the husband lottery. In fact, he’d warmed up extremely fast to the idea that I was marrying someone who, in his mind, was a lot like him. This, evidenced by the fact that he’d used the phrase “Zane and I…” to start about every second sentence he’d uttered since we left the hotel.
As in, Zane and I would’ve preferred you in a white dress, Maggie.
And so on.
Which just got me thinking…
I eyed my dad and tried as hard as I could to see him objectively.
The frizzy, bleached-out hair, all scraggly
