But this isn’t about jealousy or power plays.
Even though there are only four of us standing here, and no one in the empty lawn chairs spread out on the grass, the silence stretches uncomfortably long. Iain vibrates slightly behind me, and I don’t need to look to know it’s from suppressed laughter.
I turn to Zaya, assuming she’ll be looking down at her own feet in shame.
Instead, she boldly stares right at me. The expression on her face is frankly exasperated, like I’m a little kid about to throw a fit because I don’t want to eat my vegetables. She doesn’t look afraid of my reaction, but like she pities me.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says to the justice of the peace, dramatically rolling her eyes as if they’re both in on some joke. “We can just skip that part.”
When the justice nods in sympathetic understanding, I want to punch the man right in the throat whom I begged to drive out here at dawn.
Zaya is in my arms before the justice has a chance to pronounce us anything. She stares up at me in obvious shock, and I relish seeing that look on her face. I give her half a second to pull away before I jump over my line in the sand and then blow up the whole beach.
She doesn’t even look away.
I kiss her like I want to suck the soul out of her body. If this were a real wedding, I’d be embarrassed by us both. But the only people here to see this are my best friend and a justice of the peace who probably got ordained over the Internet. No one who matters will ever find out about this, but I’m still determined to make it count.
My mouth owns hers, a prelude to what I’m going to do with the rest of her body. Her mocking smile evaporates as quickly as it formed. The pressure of my mouth won’t let her do anything but part her lips with a gasp. I bend her over my arm, forcing her body backward in a way that looks romantic but can’t possibly be comfortable.
If I let go of her, she’ll fall. I hope she’s smart enough to understand the lesson in that.
Her small hands grip my shoulders. Nails dig into my skin even through my dress shirt, but I ignore them. My tongue forces its way halfway down her throat until I inhale the sound of protest. She tastes like resistance and spun sugar, even though I woke her up in the middle of the night.
What started out as an attack quickly turns sensuous. I tease at her lips with mine, even as my tongue invades every corner of her mouth. I kiss her like she belongs to me.
Because as of this moment, she does.
When I finally release her, I have to hold on to her shoulders for a few seconds before Zaya can stand on her own. I make a point of keeping the look of triumph on my face when she looks up at me.
She glares at me, but keeps her mouth clamped shut.
The justice seems taken aback, but quickly recovers. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he fumbles for the bible in his hands.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
I can tell Zaya thinks I’m going to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to the nearest bed when the ceremony ends.
So I take her to breakfast instead.
The lodge attached to the vineyard is empty of other guests, but the hostess at the front greets us warmly and seats us at a table all the way in the back.
Surprise blooms on her face when the waiter places a prosecco and aperol spritzer in front of her before melting away into the background.
She picks up the glass and takes a careful sip before screwing up her face and putting it back down again. “How much did you pay them not to card you?”
I don’t bother to lie to her. “My father saved this place from bankruptcy with a low-interest loan a few years ago. I can do whatever I want here.”
She gives me the same annoyed look she always does when I spout off something about my charmed life that she finds offensive.
Spoiler alert, sweetheart: people only say that money can’t buy happiness when they don’t have enough of either. Sure, you can be sad and rich, but that is a damn sight better than being anything else and poor.
“One of these days, you’re going to want something you can’t buy.” She picks up the croissant in front of her, then sets it down again without taking a bite.
“Doubt it.”
“Not everything is for sale.”
“You were.”
That reminder doesn’t sit well, if her glare is any indication. Then her face clears, and a mocking smile curves her lips.
“Except you’re renting, not buying.” She smirks at me. “I wonder what people will say when they find out that Vin Cortland has to pay for it.”
I want to shove something in that smart mouth. My dick, for starters.
“People can say whatever the fuck they want,” I comment, keeping the anger at bay as I flip open my menu and pretended to study it. “And as soon as we’re done with breakfast, I plan to get my money’s worth and then some.”
“There goes my appetite,” she sneers. The plate clatters on the linen tablecloth as she pushes it away.
I just stare at her for a moment over the rim of my glass. We’re playing a game, I remind myself, and she doesn’t even know how many pieces I have on the board. “Finish your drink.”
Still glaring at me, Zaya makes a point of pushing the cocktail away.
Fine. I prefer her sober and clearheaded
