Page 9 of Betrothed To Love

“Have a drink ready as soon as I walk in the damn door,” she says. Because I don’t want to be a damn creep, I alert her to my presence before she gets too deep in her conversation. Loudly, I clear my throat and she turns around. Her eyes roll hard as hell when they meet mine. “Seriously? I gotta go but I’ll be there soon,” she says before placing her cell on her desk. Her eyes blaze into me then she snaps, “I honestly think something is wrong with you. Why the hell are you back in my chambers?”

“Honestly, to apologize again and make sure you’re good,” I admit because I hate that things went left and I have her in this predicament.

We’re married, and at least until the election, we need to stay married. For me, it’s a fucking win-win. There’s not a man on this earth who wouldn’t want Mireya. My wife is beautiful, confident, feisty as shit, and sexy as hell…

My wife.

The thought of her as my wife causes a smile to form on my face. She sees it and doesn’t like that shit at all. Her eyes squint and she shakes her head in disgust. I’ve got some work to do to win her over.

“Well, I’m definitely not good.” She shakes her head again before turning back to her standing coat rack. She adjusts her judicial robe then steps behind her desk. “I need you out of my office and out of my face,” she says as she gathers her things.

“I can do that. We probably should go somewhere and talk this shit through anyway,” I suggest.

She stops moving, places a large designer bag on her desk, rests her hands on the bag, then lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I’m going my way and you’re going wherever the hell you go,” she says, then raises one hand. While waving it between us, she adds, “Because this… This married nonsense is too much to digest right now and I can’t. Not tonight, and hell, probably not tomorrow either. However simple your intentions were, the ramifications of them are far from simple and it’s fucking with my life and career. I can’t deal with that or you right now.”

I truly feel like shit so I respect her boundary and merely say, “You got that. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“You might be but that doesn’t change this,” she says while shaking her head. After lifting her bag, she says, “Go home, Counselor, and since my aide seems to have an affinity for you, leave your number with her. When I’m not feeling murderous, I’ll contact you.”

The fire and anger in her eyes blazes but there’s also something else, maybe pleading. She really wants me to leave. Respecting her verbal and nonverbal wishes, I nod then walk out of her office. Her aide Kenya is back at her desk, smiling.

“So?” she asks pensively.

“She told me to give you my number,” I respond before reaching inside my jacket pocket. After grabbing my business card holder, I hand her one of my cards.

After examining it, she smiles then says lowly, “I’m going to give you her number but please, please don’t let her know you got it from me.” She grabs her sticky notepad, scribbles numbers, then gives it to me. “If you do something to hurt her and make me regret this, I’ll come for you,” she says, then winks.

“What do you think is going on?” I question, curious as hell. She’s been nothing but nice to me for some unknown reason.

“I’m a judicial aide for the top judge in this court. Anything regarding her makes it to me, anything.” Her eyes raise and she glares at me. “She doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. Ever.”

I don’t either. At some point last night, I’d decided to marry her just like she did me.

“We’re alike with that,” I admit.

“I figured. Good luck,” she says, then nods.

“Thanks.”

After folding the note with my wife’s number and placing it with my business cards, I leave the office to head home. I’ll give Mireya her space and some time to fully digest this shit. Hell, I need it too. At the end of the day, I know just like she does that we have to stay married. I just need to make my wife like me and be at peace with our new dynamic.

I’m a married damn man.

FIVE

My head has been swimming since Quintus Bako announced in my damn courtroom that he and I were married. Married. Actually-fucking-married. And there’s a damn video.

My life has been ransacked in a manner of hours, minutes really. In a moment that I can’t seem to remember, I left the rooftop of The Metropolitan with him, accompanied him to his suite, and married him. I logged into an internet marriage site and exchanged vows with him, a stranger. This is definitely not how I imagined my big day.

In my mind, my wedding day would be special, a small and intimate ceremony with the man I love, my grandparents who raised me, and my small circle. Cancer and loneliness took my grandparents from me five and three years ago, so sadly that part of my special day has changed, but nothing else had, at least not until late last night.

“Now tell me why I had to change the menu for tonight,” my best friend Giselle asks as she slides into her theater seat.

“We have to wait on Alex and Kyrah. I can’t repeat this shit more than once,” I admit, referring to my other besties.

When I say my small circle, I’m talking about these three phenomenal ladies who have been with me through every adult phase of my life—college, law school, heartbreak, the loss of my grandparents, and my election. They celebrated all of my wins with me and comforted me through my losses. I came into this world an only child, but our eleven-year friendship confirms I have three sisters for life.