Don't Kiss the Bride

I guess you could say I was a damsel in distress, and he was my knight in shining armor.

But more accurately, I was a girl with a lot of bad luck, and he was a guy with a lot of muscles and tattoos.

Jude “Lucky” Lucketti wasn’t just a sexy, brooding construction worker. He was my own personal hero who seemed to be in all the right places at the right times. Like when my car broke down and I needed a ride home, and when I face planted on the sidewalk right in front of him and had to be taken to the emergency room.

Those weren’t exactly my best moments, but they were his.

We became friends, and it didn’t matter that he was sixteen years older than me. We had a lot in common—like our love of old rock music and vintage fast cars, and our aversion to relationships.

When he approached me with a crazy idea to help me out, I couldn’t say no.

The arrangement was supposed to be temporary. A marriage on paper and nothing else.

It should’ve been easy, but it wasn’t.

Because here I am, eighteen years-old, still in high school, and married to a man I was never supposed to fall in love with.

We had just one rule—no kissing the bride.

But we broke that rule, and it sealed our fate forever.