Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
He moves us down the sidewalk but doesn’t go the same way we did earlier. Instead, he leads me to the front of a different hotel where there is a line of cabs. He walks to one, lets go of my waist, and holds the door open for me. I hear him mumble something to the driver as I lay my head back on the seat. I should not be this comfortable around him, so why am I?
We drive for what feels like only a few minutes before the cab pulls to a stop at what seems to be our destination. Kenzo holds my bag as he waits for me to get out, and that’s when I see the white chapel. My mouth hangs open as he tugs me into the chapel and speaks to a lady behind a desk.
“We have a few packages available. First, we have the Little White Chapel ceremony. This package is $225, and it includes the minister fee. We also have—”
“We’ll take the first.” He places three crisp hundred-dollar bills on the counter, and the lady smiles as he says, “Keep the change.” Her smile is big as she tells him to give her a few minutes to set things up.
Set things up?
What on earth is she talking about?
“I’m fixing your issue since you have a problem with lying. Now, no lies will be told,” he explains.
The lady comes back, and Kenzo fills in the forms as if it’s nothing. He does something with his phone, then places it on the counter next to him, looking at it as he writes. The lady walks off again, and I hug myself as I watch him.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Filling in your information.”
“You don’t know my information,” I retort. He nods to his phone, and I step up even closer. When I do, I can smell him again.
It really is unfair to smell like that.
It’s like my favorite scent, and I don’t even know what it is.
“It’s Bulgari,” he says, and I look at him, confused. “It’s my cologne.” Oh, shit, again. I shake my head, then see what he has pulled up on his phone. It’s a picture of my old driver’s license and passport, which has never been used and is rotting away in my drawer. I gasp at the fact that he has my personal information.
“How did you…”
“I can find anything.” He stops writing and looks at me. “Now, either you sign, or I sign for you. Your signature doesn’t look that hard to forge.” He zooms in on my signature from one of the pictures on his phone, and I reach for the pen on the desk.
“That’s illegal, you know. Signing for someone else.” He slides the papers my way, and I sign where he points with his pen. When he turns the page, he steps a little closer. I try to hold my breath so I can’t smell him, but he leans in closer and says, “There.”
I sign where he indicates, and his arm is basically around me now.
“And there.”
“Will you stop that?” I say, trying to shrug his arm off my shoulders, which is useless as he doesn’t move.
“Stop what?” he asks.
I turn my head toward him, knowing it’s a mistake the minute I do it. My gaze falls to his lips, the very same ones that touched mine only hours ago. I can still taste the sweetness from his drink on my lips.
“Mayve…” he whispers my name, “stop looking at me like that.” His voice snaps me straight out of it, and I quickly turn around and continue to sign these forms without another ounce of argument. It’s absolutely crazy.
Am I really going to go through with this?
Surely not.
Before I can say or do anything, the lady is back, and she takes the forms from the desk and guides us into the chapel. Kenzo stays at my back, silent as usual, until my feet stop at the first row of seats.
No, I am not this woman.
I do not lie to get ahead.
I may want this job, but at what cost?
I’d be labeled a liar if I went back to work and told them the truth, and the position I wanted would be gone.
Along with any other position I would want there.
“Stop second-guessing it. We can divorce in a month,” Kenzo whispers.
Divorce. Okay. That sounds…promising.
And in the meantime, I get what I want.
It’s not like I ever really pictured myself getting married. That has never been on the horizon for me or something I thought would happen. And yet here I stand, dressed in work clothes, while this hunk of a man who is probably a serial killer stands next to me, ready to marry me. I glance down at my clothing and run my hands along the black pants. I may not have ever pictured being married, but I didn’t think I would be in pants if I did, that’s for sure.