One Night Bride by Marika Ray
21
Remington
I could just make out the sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the sand below us. The early morning sun filtered through the drapes, gently waking me up from the best sleep I’d had in years. Esme slept on, cuddled up against me with my ring on her finger. After last night, she was mine. Really mine. Not because of a drunken decision that led to a binding piece of paper, but because we’d chosen each other. We’d decided to build a life together.
Life could not get any better.
Well, one thing could make it better. I shifted so the morning wood I’d woken up to pressed against her backside. Trailing a hand across her silky skin, I found her breast, cupping her gently before sweeping down between her legs. Her breathing changed, shifting from low and smooth to short and fast, in a matter of just moments. The way her body responded to me had me feeling like a teenage boy who could explode at any second from the touch of a woman. Her arm moved to her face to rub her eyes open. And then it happened.
Her fucking phone dinged.
Repeatedly.
I swore I might just toss that thing out the window and into the depths of the ocean one of these days. Or at least get her to charge it in a different room. There was no reason to have your phone by your bed while you slept. Whatever or whoever it was could wait until you opened your damn eyes the next day.
Esme groaned and sat up, pulling out of my arms and reaching for the phone. I gritted my teeth and recited in my head the chores I would do if I’d woken up on the ranch instead of Auburn Hill. Anything to distract myself from the ache in my balls.
“Oh my God,” Esme murmured.
I opened one eye to see her jaw hanging open. My other eye popped open, and I sat up to try to see her phone.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” she chanted.
And that would have been fine and all if I’d been thrusting inside of her, making her eyes roll back in her head, but as it was, I didn’t like that coming from her mouth just from looking at her phone.
“What’s happening?” I asked cautiously.
Her face drained of color. Even her eyes looked like a wild animal caught in a trap. A sense of dread hit me like a horse kick to the chest. She’d freaked out about that photo of us from the retreat being online, but even then, she hadn’t looked like she was going to puke.
“What?” I asked again, needing to know what it was so I could talk her off the ledge. Nothing was that bad. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d find a way to make everything work out for her business and mine.
She swallowed hard, and when she turned the phone around to show me what had her so freaked out, I saw her eyes had filled with tears.
Fuck.
My gaze dropped to the phone to see a picture of us half dressed and making out on that blanket at the horse farm. It was from pretty far away and super grainy. Honestly, it could have been anyone. Then her finger swiped across the screen and I saw a picture of us walking out of the hotel in Tahoe, my arm around Esme’s waist as she looked back with a smug grin at whoever took the photo. The strap of her dress was hanging off her arm, her lipstick smeared and hair tangled in the back. Quite frankly, she looked freshly fucked.
Esme’s finger trembled when she flicked it across the screen yet again. The next photo had me scraping a hand over my face. Oh fuck was right. This was bad.
There in all its glory was a copy of our marriage license.
Esme snatched the phone back and frantically started swiping and typing, her shoulders hunched in on herself. I could only see the top of her head, but I just knew she’d gone into crisis mode, shutting me out so she could address the online world that mattered to her so much.
I laid a hand on her knee. “I know this looks bad, but we can still fix this.”
Her face flew up, thick eyebrows drawn together in a severe frown. “We can’t fix this, Remington. We’re fucked. I’m fucked.”
“Now hold on there. Let’s see how we can use this. The truth is out there now, thanks to someone I’d like to punch in the face.”
“Fucking Ashley,” Esme snapped, her head bent over her phone.
I stroked my chin, absentmindedly thinking I needed to shave. “Probably. Who else would have that Tahoe picture? Damn, that girl is a viper. Her cornbread ain’t quite done in the middle if that’s how she treats her bridesmaids. Aren’t you supposed to be friends?”
Esme’s face was a mask of condescension. “Cornbread? Seriously, Remington? Can you drop the cowboy schtick and help me?”
My hand dropped from my face. I was getting a little hot under the collar myself, but it was about Esme’s attitude, not this little speed bump of pictures being online.
“Cowboy schtick? You do realize I am an actual Wyoming rancher, right?” I may have a bit of a drawl occasionally, but I didn’t appreciate my wife pushing the dumb cowboy persona. We should be coming together in times of stress, not lashing out.
“Whatever,” she muttered, already back on her phone.
“What are you doing?” With all the thumb action, she could have written the goddamn constitution by now. I tried to see over her shoulder, but she stood up and paced the bedroom. I didn’t think she noticed she was naked, but I sure did. I was a bastard. Instead of mapping out a way to spin this, all I could think about was how fucking hot she was, even as she was having a meltdown.
“Oh my God, I already have, like, a hundred comments on my last video about all this shit.” Her voice trembled, and even though I was a little put out by how she was treating me right now, I didn’t want to see her so fearful she lost her composure. Time to stop staring at her naked body and actually help.
I stood up and pulled some sweatpants on. Both of us couldn’t be naked or all the blood flow would leave my brain and I wouldn’t be able to string a single sentence together.
“Okay. What’s the only thing that works in these situations?”
Her head popped up, and she stared at me wide eyed. “What?”
“Honesty, Esme.” I walked to her and put a hand on her arm. “We be honest about what happened and what we are to each other. Get out ahead of the story with the real scoop.”
She started nodding rapidly. “Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”
Then her thumbs started flying again, and I figured I’d make us some coffee. This wouldn’t be over with just one social media post. She’d need to release a formal statement while also updating her clients.
“I’ll be right back with coffee, okay?”
She didn’t lift her head, so I walked out and made my way to the kitchen. Damn, that girl needed to realize she didn’t owe her following anything. Sure, she owed a certain level of honesty and transparency to her paying clients, but she didn’t owe social media anything. Speaking of, I should probably put out a statement too, so I covered my ass with the nonprofit. Coffee first, though.
By the time I got the dang coffee maker big enough to be a vehicle to spit out a regular black coffee for me and a frothed latte for her, I was hungry. So I went upstairs to hand her the coffee, to which I received not even a head nod in acknowledgement, before going back downstairs to make us breakfast.
I cracked ten eggs into the pan and turned the heat down a bit. I liked mine over easy, mostly because that was the only way I knew how to make eggs. My own phone dinged and I picked it up while I waited the perfect amount of time for the egg white portion to be cooked just right.
Mom: What the heck is going on with you two? The internet says your marriage isn’t real? You better explain yourself real fast, young man. CALL ME.
I nearly bobbled the phone. Damn. When Mom calls you young man, even in a text, you instantly revert back to the ten-year-old boy bracing for a whack on the backside of the head.
What the hell was going on?
I pulled up the internet and typed in Esme’s name. What came up was a flood of hits to her various social media pages, but the one that got my attention was the new blog post on her website that went live three minutes ago entitled “The real story.” Looked like she’d taken my advice to heart. But then why was Mom texting me like I’d done something wrong? They already knew it was a hasty marriage that probably involved some alcohol to get us to the altar that quickly.
I clicked on the link and read the post, forgetting all about the eggs until the smell of smoke hit my nose. I threw the phone on the counter and turned off the burner, fanning the smoke in the air before racing over to open the kitchen window. Somehow the smoke detector didn’t come on, but I’d thoroughly burned the eggs, which were the least of my worries.
Esme had told the truth, alright. But her version of the events used a word I just couldn’t get out of my head.
Mistake.
I tossed the pan in the trash and picked up my phone to read that last paragraph again, not quite believing my eyes.
While the marriage itself is real and valid as seen by the license from the state of Nevada, the motivation behind the license was simply a mistake. I’d like to think I don’t make huge mistakes, but I’m human, just like you. I appreciate your kindness and patience while I right some wrongs.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
A burning sensation took up residence in my chest. Anger. Hurt. A deep sense of betrayal and disappointment. All of it felt like a pile of bricks pressing in on me and cutting off my breath.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and raced up the stairs, my lungs pumping like I was in a race to the death. Maybe the death of this sham marriage. Esme was in such a hurry to give an answer to faceless followers online, but she’d put that fucking phone down for two goddamn seconds to give me, her husband, a real fucking answer. And it better not have the word mistake in it.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, I saw that Esme had put a T-shirt on, covering herself while she typed away on her phone, completely oblivious to the fact that I stood there staring at her. Oblivious to the hurt she’d caused me. Oblivious to the fact that if she couldn’t come up with a good explanation in the next two seconds, this “mistake” of a marriage would officially be over.
“Esme.”
Nothing.
Anger threatened to boil over, and I’d had enough. I marched over to her and grabbed the phone out of her hands.
“Hey!” she yelped.
I threw it across the room, not taking my gaze off her lovely face even when it hit the wall with a thump. This might be the last time I looked at her. I’d asked her to be my wife for real last night, and not twelve hours later, I prepared to say goodbye by memorizing her features, knowing they’d haunt me the rest of my life.
“What the hell did you do?” I whispered, not trusting myself. If I spoke, it would be a yell.
She frowned, staring at me like she’d never seen me before. “I did what you said. I told the truth.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “The whole truth, Esme?”
Her gaze flitted away, and I knew she was playing scared again.
My voice gained volume and I couldn’t seem to stop it. “A mistake? Right some wrongs? Is that really telling the truth? Because last night you screamed how much you loved me when I had my cock buried in you.”
Her eyes snapped back to my face. “No need to be crude, Remington.”
I shook my head. “I’m not one of your followers, so it seems like the only other way to get your attention is to be crude.”
“That’s not fair.”
I scoffed. “You know what’s not fair? Proposing to a woman, introducing you to my family, changing my whole life to accommodate yours, and then having you call me a mistake. That’s not fucking fair.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t call you a mistake. I said getting married so hastily was a mistake.”
“That’s not what you implied and you know it.” I took another step, darkly enjoying it when she had to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. “Why do you care about those nameless people so much, Esme? Why do they hold so much power over you?”
“Those people are how I built this business, Remington.”
I could see in her eyes how much she believed that statement. She thought shaping public opinion of herself was why she was successful. It wasn’t her passion, her talent, her coaching skills. Nope. She thought it was the image she portrayed to the masses, no matter how false it was.
“Not much of a business when you have to lie to keep it.”
I backed up, snatched my shirt off the floor and exited the room. I heard her following me after a second, but I didn’t slow down.
“Where are you going?”
I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter and kept going for the front door. “Out. I have my own business to save and my family to deal with. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Right before the door slammed in her face, I muttered the one thing I should have said a long time ago when I first stood on this doorstep.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”