One Night Bride by Marika Ray
6
Remington
Esme stood there, looking as beautiful as I remembered through the whiskey fog I’d been in that fateful night, if a bit more stiff and professional. Gone was the sundress with nipples poking through the thin fabric and hemline flirting with the round curve of her ass. In its place were high-waisted dress pants, kitten heels, and a blouse that covered everything but her neck.
She reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me inside her house and smiling slyly. “Back for seconds?”
I shook my head, if only to clear it. “What? No, I—well. Did—?”
She tugged me behind her, not waiting for my response and dropping the paper on a table inside her living room. My breath caught as I took in the wide expanse of windows that made up her living room wall, the view of the ocean below worthy of stopping a human in their tracks.
“I just finished up working. How about I get us a drink?” She turned around and gave me a wink. “Just one this time.”
I huffed out a breath at her joke, thinking one drink would indeed be wise. Something a little stiffer than the water I’d had at lunch would be welcomed for the conversation to follow.
Esme walked over to a bar area set into the far recess of the room, pulling out a bottle of white wine from the mini fridge and pouring two glasses. I took the moment to look around, finding her home absolutely charming and as breathtaking as the view.
“This is your house?” I asked absentmindedly, looking up to take in the wood beams high up on the ceiling.
Esme walked back toward me, her little sniff drawing my attention back to her. “Yes, it’s my house. Can’t a woman be successful and own a home? Or is it still the 1800s?”
I jerked back and put my hands up. “Whoa. I didn’t say any of that. Considering you’re twenty-four, I’m impressed. Nothing to do with your gender.”
I hadn’t seen the spitfire side of her the night we shared in Tahoe, but I found I liked it. Liked it very much. If the pesky detail of our marriage wasn’t in the way of things, I’d have tried for another night with her just like she suggested.
Esme frowned, but handed me a glass of wine. “How do you know I’m twenty-four?” Her cell phone pinged three times in a row from her pocket, but she didn’t break our locked gaze. “Ignore it.”
Something about the business clothes or the way she snapped orders, but this was definitely a confident, serious side of Esme, so very different from fun, flirty Esme who’d pressed her breasts into my shoulder to get my attention at the bar. Although, she had been pretty forward about what she wanted that night, so I should have guessed she had an intriguing level of confidence.
“I, uh, just talked to your parents, actually,” I admitted, taking a sip of the wine.
Esme blinked and leaned her face closer. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Well, I was looking for you and I only had your driver’s license, so I knew you were twenty-four. I went to the address on the license, but turns out it was your parents’ house. Nice people, by the way.” I gave her a smile. “Oh, and your father said, and I quote ‘contact the DMV to get your address changed as soon as possible, young lady.’”
Esme set her drink down on the end table and crossed her arms over her chest, still blinking. “Let me get this straight. You somehow have my driver’s license, which I find quite creepy, by the way. And you’ve chatted with my parents already?” She gave me such a funny look I wanted to laugh out loud. “I feel like I should be calling the police right now.”
I held up my index finger and walked over to the table where she’d put down the marriage license. “Hold off on that for a second. This should explain everything.” I came back to her side and handed it to her again.
This time, she scanned it, gasped, and then reread it again. She plopped down onto the couch like her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. I knew the feeling. When I first saw that marriage license, I’d felt like I’d been hit by a truck. With a little time to process everything, I’d come to see it for the gift that it was.
She finally looked away from the paper and up at me, eyes wide.
I held my hands out to the side. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
A fire lit inside her brown eyes, turning them positively golden. She jumped to her feet, slapped the license to my chest, and walked out of the room. I almost followed her, but figured she probably needed a moment. I’d known about the marriage for twenty-four hours already. She needed time to process.
I took her place on the couch and sipped my wine, nearly choking and spitting it out when I heard a loud scream from somewhere upstairs. It was muffled but I could certainly make out the expletives, one right after the other in rapid-fire succession. Oddly, I found myself proud of some of her word choices. They were creative curses that told me a little more about the woman I’d married. She sounded pretty pissed off though, which put a damper on my excitement. I frowned, looking out at the ocean and feeling a calmness about the whole thing I didn’t think Esme shared.
The doorbell rang right before the door flew open and voices sounded in the foyer. I stood and walked over to the doorway of the living room where I could see the front door. Four women stood there, all talking over each other as they flipped off shoes. One was very pregnant and one looked exactly like Esme, had her hair been shorter and everything about her had been softer somehow.
They started to walk in my direction before the short blonde one, whose hair was in a severe bun, caught sight of me. She came to an abrupt halt and put her hands out to prevent her sisters from advancing. They all looked up and saw me then, little gasps and grins a cascade of varying reactions.
“Who are you?” the blonde one asked with a frown.
“Remington Roth,” I replied, moving forward with my hand extended. “And you are…?”
“Oakley Smith.” She pointed at each woman as she spoke. “Amelia Jackson, Izzy Waldo, and Vee Waldo. Esme’s sisters.”
“Please dear God, tell me you’re the cowboy from Tahoe,” the pregnant one, Amelia, said with a wicked grin on her face. She looked like trouble.
I couldn’t help the cocky smirk that spread across my face, knowing Esme had already told her sisters about me. That could only mean that after the initial shock, she’d be amenable to the marriage, right?
“That’s right, ladies,” I positively drawled, resorting to the slang that always made the females putty in my hands.
Oakley frowned harder, Vee bounced over to lay an appreciative hand on my bicep, Izzy tilted her head as if deep in thought, and Amelia positively cackled.
“Here’s the thing,” Amelia started, clearly the spokesperson for the gaggle of girls. “Esme only got a quick one night with you and didn’t properly document a few things. Would you be inclined to letting us get out a tape measure?”
“Shut your mouth right now, Amelia Jackson, or I’ll shut it for you.” Esme’s voice snapped through the air behind me.
I turned to see her back in the living room, her hair slightly disheveled and her cheeks a bright red, but that same fire still burning in her eyes. Her hands jammed on her hips while her chest heaved. I wanted to stare at her while she battled her sisters, verbally or otherwise. I was here for it.
She was magnificent.
“I merely wanted to know how big his…biceps…are, darling sister,” Amelia said, all innocence in her wide eyes. “Titus has huge arms, but this guy might just have him beat.”
Oakley snorted. Izzy sighed. Vee stroked my arm, looking up at me with a big smile and stars in her eyes. Jesus. It was getting a little scary in here.
Esme didn’t move. She just leveled her death stare at her sisters and spoke as if I wasn’t in the room. “Remington swung by to hand off something I’d accidentally left in Tahoe. You all can leave now.”
None of the girls moved an inch.
Oakley scratched the side of her head. “It’s a long way from Tahoe to deliver something.”
“The postal service would have been a better option,” Izzy agreed, nodding.
Vee gave my arm a squeeze. “I think he’s perfect.”
“There’s the USPS, FedEx, UPS, and even hand-delivery services,” Amelia ticked off on her fingers. “You didn’t have to swing on by on your horse, cowboy.”
I looked at her in amusement. And a trickle of fear, I won’t lie. “I didn’t…that is, I don’t ride a horse. Actually, I do, but not here.”
I cleared my throat, and the ladies left the room in silence. They all looked at me like I was a brand-new species of animal at the zoo, there for them to peer at and observe. Esme finally walked forward, her heels echoing off the tiled floor, her arms shooing the girls back to the front door.
“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”
Amelia grumbled the loudest, while Oakley said something about pulling out her Taser. Esme had to physically pull Vee away from my bicep.
Izzy calmly stated, “But I live here.”
“Fine. You can stay. The rest of you, out!” Esme nearly shouted.
She finally got the door slammed behind three of the ladies. Then she glanced down, swooped to the floor to pick up a pair of shoes and threw them out the door before slamming it shut again and locking it.
“I’m going to head to my room,” Izzy said softly. “For now.”
She patted me on the forearm as she crossed the room to the stairs. “Nice to meet you, Remington.”
I smiled back and decided she was my favorite. When her door had closed upstairs and Esme and I were finally alone again, I sat back down on the couch and picked up my wineglass.
“Where were we?” I asked smoothly. “Oh yes, you were freaking out. By the way, my mother is not a bitch.”
Esme flopped onto the chair opposite the couch. “Oh, don’t act like you didn’t freak out too. I just wasn’t there to witness it.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “No. Because you snuck out of my room before we got to that part.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret, but I could assume she wasn’t exactly happy with me. I studied her as we lapsed into silence, both of us, perhaps, trying to figure out what to do with this situation we’d gotten ourselves into.
Her dark eyebrows were perfect commas over her flashing eyes, making me wonder if they were fake. Could eyebrows be fake? I knew girls had fake nails, fake hair, and fake tans, but were fake eyebrows a thing now? Somehow I doubted anything was fake on Esme. She looked put together more than any woman I’d seen in a long time, but she looked that way due to sheer force of will. Not by any fake means.
I hadn’t known Esme long, probably not even a full twenty-four collective hours, but I already knew this marriage choice—though some would argue it wasn’t much of a choice when neither one of us remembered doing it—was going to be exactly what I needed.
“Look,” I said, breaking the silence, “I know neither of us intended on this marriage, but what’s done is done. We need to form a plan on what to do from here.”
“Agreed,” Esme said quickly, looking relieved.
“So, can I stay with you for a few days while we figure things out?”
Esme’s painted lips opened and then closed. “Here?”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “I mean, I could stay in a hotel in town, but I figured it would be best to get our story straight before I meet any more of your family or people in town who know you. Rumors of the marriage kind can travel fast, if your small town is anything like my small town.”
Her face went positively white.
“I’ll make up the guest bedroom,” she whispered, looking more scared than I’d ever seen her. I found I preferred her angry rather than fearful.
I wanted to stand up, pull her to me, and kiss away whatever it was that had her frightened. Which was ridiculous. We weren’t actually married. I mean, we were. But in name only. I didn’t have the right to pull her into my arms whenever I felt like it.
Did I?