Chapter Eight

Nash

December 2nd…

Some people got wedding day jitters. Not Nash.

Marrying Chelle Finch was the most efficient way to get what they both wanted. It was as simple as that.

Of course, that didn’t mean everything wasn’t total fucking chaos in Chelle’s apartment today, thanks to the combination of animals and his cousins.

Chelle’s cat was on top of the bookshelf in the living room, taking whacks at anyone who got a little too close to its lair—which was exactly why Nash had made sure to tell his cousin Dixon to stand there. Nash would pay for that later, no doubt, but it was worth it to watch his cousin jump a foot in the air in surprise when Sir Hiss had given him a quick one-two thwack.

Then there were the dogs that were shut in Chelle’s room with her as she got ready for her walk down the aisle, but barking their heads off because the living room was filled with Becketts talking loud, trying to coax the cat down, and offering Nash pre-wedding advice he didn’t need because this was an arrangement, not a forever. He’d managed to ditch them all—at least as much as he could in a packed living room—when his mom started sharing memories of her wedding night.

There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to erase that from his brain, and just as horrible Dixon and Griff were headed right toward him, looking exactly like they had that time when they were twelve and triple-dog dared him into spending the night in the supposedly haunted tower at Gable House. Nash had no idea what those two were up to now, but he knew it wasn’t going to be good. Thank fuck, he was saved when Chelle’s friend Karmel clapped her hands.

“If I can have everyone’s attention,” she said as she made her way over to the fireplace, where the ceremony would take place. “The show is about to start.”

While everyone settled into their chairs arranged so there was an aisle that led from Chelle’s bedroom door to the hearth, Nash took his place up front, next to Karmel. Chelle’s friend was wearing what looked like a vicar’s costume from some British TV show where there was a grizzly murder every episode, and he couldn’t help but think that Grandma Betty would have approved. She was a woman who liked making a statement.

“You know,” Karmel said, keeping her voice low so that only he could hear. “They say that when a woman gets to a certain point in her life, she stops having one-night stands and instead has auditions. Just something to keep in mind when you turn around to see your bride.”

She pressed the play button on her phone, and the wedding march started playing through the Bluetooth speaker. Nash didn’t bother to wait to turn around. Looking past his family, he sucked in a breath when he saw Chelle standing in the open doorway, flanked by her pugs who were in doggie formal wear. Chelle had skipped the veil and had left her dark hair down. Her pale-pink lace dress clung to her curves and stopped just below her knees. That was all it took for Nash to start to wonder how in the hell he could get an audition.

The pugs pranced around her feet as Chelle walked up the aisle, making their crystal-encrusted leashes sparkle in the sunlight coming in through the apartment’s big windows. By the time she got all the way up the aisle to stand next to him, the dogs had circled their leashes around her calves enough that she was taking tiny little steps.

“I know how that feels,” he said as he knelt down and unwound the leashes from her legs while the pugs gave excited yips and yaps in-between delivering happy kisses to his face. “There, got you.”

When he glanced up at her from his position, his fingers still brushing the sides of her calves, he could have sworn he heard a crack of thunder, but the sky outside was bright the way only a cloudless December sky could be.

“You know there are training techniques you can use to get them to walk on an assigned side of you,” he said, the words coming out even as he could feel his entire family wince behind him—and, in fact, heard several of them groan. “The key is to hold the lead so that—”

“Nash,” Chelle said, cutting him off. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The rest of the wedding ceremony went by fast, and before he knew it, he had a simple gold band on his finger, and she had a matching one on hers.

“If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace,” Karmel said, pausing for a moment before opening her mouth to continue.

“I object,” a man called out from the back of the apartment.

Every head in the room turned as if on a synchronized swivel to look where a scrawny guy in a huge cowboy hat stood in the doorway.

“Uncle Buckley,” Chelle said, her entire body practically vibrating with fury. “You weren’t invited, and you aren’t supposed to have a key to this place.”

This was her asshole uncle? The man had the perpetual shithead vibe to him that made it seem plausible that his hobbies were pulling the wings off of flies and telling small children that Santa Claus was fake. His narrow-eyed gaze focused on Chelle with an intensity that made Nash take a step forward to put his body between hers and her uncle’s as Groucho and Mary growled at Chelle’s feet, the fur on their backs going up in spikes.

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be honoring your father’s will, not making a farce of it,” Buckley said. “That’s why I object.”

“On what grounds?” Karmel asked, annoyance dripping from her tone.

“Because all of this is a joke,” Buckley said, spittle flying from his lips. “There’s no way anyone would think of you as an eligible bride.”

“Why the hell not?” Nash asked, the words coming out before he realized he was going to say anything.

“Look at her,” Buckley spluttered. “She’s too old to have kids. She’s fat. She’s weird.”

Everything inside Nash went absolutely still, and his vision narrowed down to the point that all he could see was that dipshit’s bulbous nose. The one he was going to go break—maybe in more than one place.

“One, I don’t want kids,” Nash said, his fury rising with each word. “Two, she’s fucking gorgeous. Three, a person is either weird or an asshole, and we all know where you fall on that spectrum.”

While Chelle’s uncle practically spit he was so mad, Nash was walking toward the asshole before he even realized he was moving. However, Chelle’s hand on his arm stopped him, pulling his attention away from the shitbird and to the way the gold band on her ring finger glinted in the sun. Then he looked up at his wife. Her jaw was tight and her eyes suspiciously watery.

Nash had never wanted to commit murder more in his life.

“Please don’t,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not worth it.”

Something inside Nash snapped in that moment. It was so sharp, so intense, that he heard a crack like a tree branch getting hit by lightning and shattering.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t consider.

He just pivoted, cupped Chelle’s face in his hands, and kissed her.

It started out for show, a fuck-you to her uncle and his asshat objection, but it didn’t stay that way. Sometime in the second between his lips touching hers and his tongue sweeping across the seam of her mouth, everything changed. It morphed from a declaration to a plea, from a protective action to a promise, from a spur-of-the-moment impulse to a need that went marrow deep.

Chelle let out a low moan as she melted against his chest and opened up for him. He didn’t hesitate. There was no way he could have. It felt too perfect with her lush body pressed against him and her fingers gripping his suit lapels as if she needed to hold on or she’d get sucked under by the same unexpected wave of lust that had him ready to strip naked right here and right now.

It wasn’t until he felt a tap on his shoulder that he pulled back.

“The dogs scared the shit out of that knobhead before your cousins scooped them up. Then your uncle ran his little fake cowboy ass out the door,” Karmel said, sounding bloodthirsty and slightly disappointed in that outcome. “So if you two want to go ahead with the ceremony to make this whole marriage thing official, you should stop making out now. Some people looked uncomfortable about seeing that kiss. I mean, I thought it was hot as hell, but you should probably go ahead and finish the I-dos.”

Which was exactly what they did—or at least that was his assumption, because the rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. She said words. He said words. They showed their phones to prove that she’d responded to his Bramble bio. Now they were on opposite ends of her non-efficiently arranged living room, with her charming the shit out of Griff and his fiancée, Kinsey, without even glancing his way, while Nash couldn’t stop watching her. All he could think about was that kiss and how good Chelle had felt, all of her soft curves pressed up against him. And that little moan she’d made? He’d be hearing that tonight when he had his hand curled around his dick.

Alone.

Because this marriage wasn’t real.

Well, they were legally bound together, but this wasn’t a marriage in the true sense. Just two people coming together for mutual orgasms.

No!

For mutual benefit.

For fuck’s sake, Nash, get your shit together.

“Oh, honey,” his mom said, slipping her arm through his and laying her head on his shoulder. “I knew you two would be perfect for each other.”

“Mom,” he said, reminding himself of the truth almost as much as his mother. “It’s a transactional situation.”

She let out a dramatic gasp—the same one she used when she was shocked, shocked, her cell phone bill had to be paid every month—and took a step back. “Then why did you kiss her like that?”

“Because I’m not a total asshole like her uncle.” And it was better than punching the old geezer in the face even though he’d deserved it.

“You know, for someone who thinks he knows everything, you sure don’t know yourself.” She gave one of those headshakes of disappointment that only moms made. “But don’t worry, the universe knows, honey. I’m sure you boys will figure out some other way to determine who should get your grandma’s last present.”

“It’ll be mine because I’m going to win that bet,” he said, unable to stop watching his wife as she went from one of his overwhelming family members to the other seemingly totally at ease. “I am not going to fall in love with Chelle Finch.”

He had no doubts.

He was right about this.

He was always right.

“Of course not, honey.” His mom patted his cheek hard enough to border on a smack. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”

Nash knew his mom was humoring him, but he wasn’t kidding. His was going to be one of the countless loveless marriages out there.

His plan was perfect. He had absolutely nothing to worry about.