Page 123 of Make You Mine

It may be Joseph’s. That makes more sense. He took a big blow. It may not be blood at all.

A lump materializes at the back of my throat.

Devon stops right by the reception.

The entrance is decorated with small candle lights I didn’t see before and a blanket of petals imitates a red carpet leading us in. He strolls in, where the path made of dark-colored flowers and candles illuminates the way, to the last door.

At the back of the reception, there’s a room resembling the storage room. It’s the copy machine room. A small, narrow space, where there’s nothing but a copy machine and piles of paper for refills.

Candles are placed in every corner of the room, petals spread around them too. The main path mimicking the red carpet stops right at the copy machine.

He opens the lid with one hand and rests me on top of the clear, cold surface. Except it isn’t hard, nor cold. When my bottom lands on the machine, it’s soft and smooth. He placed a round cushion on it. I stare down at it—a heart-shaped one, dark red.

This is…

“What is this?”

Devon clears his throat. “It’s not the most romantic, but I did my best to make it memorable. It’s our first time after all, my wife.” He pauses. “I imagine us years from now, telling our friends the story of how we met, and⁠—”

“And we’re going to tell them you fucked me against a copy machine?”

“No, baby. You’re going to tell your friends that. And don’t pretend you girls don’t talk naughty.”

I can’t help myself; the nerves, combined with the ridiculousness of the situation, scrapes a laugh out of my throat.

“Whatever.”

Then, he takes out his phone and presses a few things on it.

I squint my eyes at the sudden glow, taking a few moments to adjust. The room’s brighter than before—the same decorations that were scattered around the first floor are hung from the walls, giving it a celebratory vibe.

I stare at Devon, in this newfound light, and he’s clearer. No traces of shadow on him.

He’s broad-shouldered and tall, wearing all black. The hoodie covers his hair, and the mask fits his face structure perfectly, concealing his identity well.

I examine him, try my best to find a clue about who I’m dealing with. I come up empty.

“I like the darkness better,” I say, pressing my hands to my sides.

The light intimidates me, brings out the doubt within me. Reminds me I’m out of my mind for doing this.

Letting a stranger take something I’ve been keeping for so long.

“That’s too bad. I’m not dimming the lights.” He pushes the phone into the pocket of his hoodie. “I need to see all of you while I do this. Every single part. So I can memorize it and cherish it.”

“Oh, yes. This is going up your wall of fame, isn’t it, hubby?”

“I like to see you warm up to the idea of it, my wife.” Devon laughs, another robotic cackle. He leans forward, robbing me of the temporary distance between us, arms locking my body in between them. “That’s it. Don’t resist it. Let me give you what you deserve.”

My heartbeat picks up. He can be so black and white. Sweet at times, reckless at others, even funny.

This moment leans to cheesy, and there’s a warmth in my chest I don’t want to recognize.

My very own masked man is about to take me in the copy machine room.

I am one-hundred-percent certain why we’re here.

It’s in my diary, and he knows it, too.