When I was growing up, certain expectations were placed on me. Being the first born child of a well-renowned surgeon and judge, my life was mapped out from day one. I had always been okay with that though. I like lists, plans, and I like having all my ducks in a row. So, at nine, when my school project was to write about what I wanted to be when I grew up, the five-page essay I turned in detailing every single plan I had up to the age of thirty-five was apparently alarming to my teacher. I remember her calling my parents in, who didn’t come – they sent Abigail, my nanny. My parents were too busy to be leaving work to go to school meetings. Plus, how would that look if Judge and Dr. Locklear had been spotted at their daughter’s elementary school for a meeting? The scandals. There would be rumors that we were losing money, that I was troubled. It would completely ruin their image. And my parents are all about image.
Which is why I went to law school instead of pursuing my crazy dreams. It is why I was to marry another lawyer by thirty, have at least one but no more than two children by thirty-five and be ready to jump off a cliff when I catch my husband banging the secretary and or nanny before forty. See? All planned perfectly from start to finish. No surprises.
At sixteen, I went through this rebellious phase. It’s kind of silly to call it rebellious, though. Most teens were sneaking out to drink or party, have sex or whatever. But not me. No, my big middle finger to my parents was my plan to run away, go live in the mountains and do voice over work. God, that was my dream, to be able to escape the real world and become the characters I read in books. I would listen to all the big books on CDs and dream of getting to be just like them. So, I planned to run, but unfortunately my mom found out my plan– because I was a teenager and used Dad’s credit card to get a bus ticket. They were so furious with me. I was irresponsible, ridiculous, and ungrateful. I wasn’t taking my life or my health seriously. How was I going to pay for my medication? My insulin? All of my inevitable stays in the hospital?
So, like the good daughter I was… and still strive to be, I threw my no longer hidden dreams of a cabin and a job I loved into the trash. I pushed all of those words they shouted at me into a box so that it wouldn’t affect my relationship with them, but I would still be able to hear them if I ever thought to try to step out of line again.
I still continued to read stories to my younger siblings, Henry and his twin sister, Adeline. They are about to turn twenty-one, but due to our age difference and the lack of attentive parents, I was seen as their mother figure. As kids, they always would want me to read them stories because I “did the voices'' whereas Abigail would just read what was written. Reading out loud to Henry and Adeline was the only part of my dream I allowed to stay alive. I became the best daughter I could. Graduated top of my class in high school, college and finally, law school. I worked harder than anyone else to make my parents proud, not that they showed it ever or said it. And I dated one abusive man after the other because they were the “proper fit” for me. Successful, wealthy, high class. Right, maybe in public. Behind closed doors, I was degraded, yelled at and lied to. But never hit–until Andrew.
Andrew was the first that got physical with me. I allowed it, stupidly. I allowed it because I’m “the good daughter”. Andrew was the one that would check off all their boxes on the husband list. He is the one that when my parents saw, they smiled. Smiled like I did something right. It didn’t matter how much I didn’t want to be there. Or even that he was hitting me–not that I told them, though Mother did see a bruise on my wrist once. I thought for sure she would put two and two together. But she just looked away and drank her wine. Two weeks later, he hit me for the last time. Atlas made sure of that.
“Your total will be five hundred seventy-two dollars and thirty-one cents.” The older woman behind the glass divider says to Atlas and I.
I watch as Atlas doesn’t bat an eye, he just smiles politely and slips his credit card, along with our IDs, to the woman. Glancing over at the dark-haired man, I can’t help but stare for a second. He's so tall and built. My eyes travel over the black button-down shirt he has on that fits his tapered waist perfectly. It’s funny how, minus the hand tattoo, he could actually pass for someone my parents would approve of. As long as they didn’t know his name, educational background, or profession. Or that he rides a motorcycle, yeah they would hate that… or his criminal record. Yep, as long as he stood there, not moving or speaking, he would definitely get my parents’ approval.
“So I owe about three hundred.” I whisper to myself as I pull out my phone to put the amount in my note app. Atlas’ hand lands over my screen and I’m now staring at his black and grey realism skull tattoo on the top of his right hand.
“I know my soon-to-be wife did not just offer to go dutch on our wedding service and try to make me look like a cheap asshole in front of this lovely clerk.”
Shit. How fucking stupid am I? We are supposed to be playing this like we are in love. I give him what I hope is an apologetic smile, though by the growing look of concern spreading over his features, my guess is it’s not working.
“Okay, I’m here!” Janie’s bright voice echos as she struts in wearing a tight emerald green halter dress that ends above her knees and glittery gold strappy heels. Her curly red hair is done and wild and wow, she looks like she’s really going to her best friend’s wedding. My eyes land on the reluctant giant of a man walking behind her, her boyfriend Fox. His eyes scan the area in that protective, possessive way he does with Janie. Fox has had to learn the hard way that Janie is a social butterfly about eighty-five percent of the time. Mix that with her obvious good looks and her warm energy that just draws you in, it’s safe to say she gets checked out, often. Fox being the large, massive “lumbersnack caveman hybrid” that he is–Janie’s words–gets to spend his time glaring and growling at everyone that turns to look in my best friend’s direction.
“Where is your wedding dress?” Janie asks after hugging me. “These places usually rent them out.”
“How would you know that?” Fox asks skeptically.
Janie flashed him a cheesy grin. “I’ve gone to many of these chapels for influencer weddings.”
I feel my cheeks getting hot and I shake my head. “I’m happy wearing this.” I say, gesturing to my jeans and my old law school t-shirt.
Janie stares from my clothes back to my face and I watch her upper lip curl. “You’re kidding. Look at how I’m dressed, and the guys! Come on, let’s at least look, I know it’s not a bridal boutique, but you know I can turn a sack into a gown easily.” She goes to pull my arm and I want to cry when Atlas speaks.
“I thought you already looked back there while I was getting dressed.” He says in a questioning tone.
I look at Janie, giving her the “help me” look that every woman can pick up on. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for her skeptical look to melt away. She stares at me for a long second and I see the realization hit her. Yep, that’s right, the dress sizes don’t go high enough. I’m too big for the chapel’s dresses, but didn’t want to make it a big deal, so much for that.
She rolls her lips inward as she realizes that now the guys are looking at us expectantly. Sighing, I roll my shoulders back and stare directly at Atlas. “Well, you wanted to marry me, so I guess we aren’t hiding things. The dresses in the back only go to a size fourteen. I’m too big for them, sorry. If I had known–”
“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Atlas turns his attention away from me and to the clerk. What the fuck? It was taking a lot for me to vocalize this to him and he just… dismisses me? I am about to yell at him for interrupting when he gives the woman a smile and starts to speak again. “Do we have time to run down the street to go dress shopping? I would like my wife to have the dress she wants.”
I have no idea what else he says to the lady because my brain is too busy shorting out. He turns to look at me and cocks his head to one side. “Ready?” He asks and I continue to stare at him dumbly.
Evidently, my brain starts functioning again about the time we get to his Tahoe parked outside. I stop walking once we reach his car and look up into his green eyes. “Atlas, what are we doing?”
“Going to get you a dress.” He says simply while opening the passenger door for me.
“What? Why? It’s not like this is a real wedding. I don’t need a dress.” Something flashes in his eyes, but before I can pinpoint what emotion it is, it’s gone and his neutral smile is in place. Some people, i.e. me, have RBF or “resting bitch face”. Well, Atlas has a “resting happy face”, it is equal parts adorable and irritating.
“It is a real marriage.” He says as he moves close enough to me that I can smell his masculine scent, woodsy and clean. Not what most would expect this giant tattooed goofball to smell like, but it has always drawn me in. Like a crisp autumn morning in the woods.
“We are going to say our vows, sign a license. This is real, pretty girl.”
Rolling my eyes, I back up closer to the inside of his vehicle. His scent is causing feelings to surface that need to stay buried deep down. “There is no love,” I mutter as I avoid his eyes. “This is a marriage of charity. Nothing more, so you don't have to take me to get a damn dress.”
I go to move away from him and head back inside. So what? My pictures will look shitty, my parents are already going to hate that I had a quickie marriage, my attire won’t matter. A firm hand grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me back. I gasp and instinctively put my hands up over my face before I realize I’ve done it. When I move them, my heart aches.
Atlas looks wounded, like I stabbed him. I watch as the look disappears and morphs into the dark expression I’ve become all too familiar with. “Lauren,” His low tone and the fact that he says my full name sends a shiver through me. “Did you think I was going to hurt you?”
I look from him, back to the chapel, and then back to him. “Atlas,” I plead as I reach out and grab his arm. “Please, just take me to get a dress and forget this.” I try, but the man isn’t falling for it. He backs me against his vehicle and I shiver when his hand cups my face. I look from his arm back to his eyes and notice the darkness is gone. His green eyes stare at me with so much warmth and protectiveness, it’s almost overwhelming.
“Pretty girl,” He breathes as his thumb strokes my cheek. “I know you can’t help it. And I’m sorry if what I did scared you. But I promise you, Princess, I will never hurt you. I will never lay a hand on you in anger. And I promise you, no one else will either, understood?”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I look away and then look back at him. “Understood.” I manage weakly.
He gives me a short nod and helps me into the vehicle before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s side before driving to the nearest dress shop.
“Ren?” Janie’s elbow digging into my side causes me to flinch, breaking me out of my trance. I look up to Atlas, his brows are pulled together in concern. Fuck, I’m not feeling good, is it showing?
“I-I’m sorry, what?” I look from Atlas to the woman performing our ceremony. She has a look of annoyance on her overly tightened face because I dared ask her to repeat herself.
“You may kiss the bride.” She states again, and I watch in horror as Atlas steps forward. I forgot about the kissing! We didn’t practice this! This wasn’t on the list for today! So do I open my mouth? Tongue? Partial open?
Atlas interrupts my thoughts when his soft lips land on mine. I let out an unfortunately audible squeak, causing him to laugh against my mouth as he places the sweetest chaste kiss on my lips. It’s so gentle, but it awakens something in me. And I know what that something is. It’s the something I’ve been trying to hide, the something I’m trying like fuck to deny, to keep in the fucking box, but this sweet kiss, his soft lips, it’s too much to contain.
As we walk down the makeshift aisle, the four of us make our way to a side room to have our ten photos taken that were included in our package deal. Those cheesy “by the minute” chapels in Vegas have nothing on this place. I can’t help but laugh at the balloons that are half deflated, the obviously fake flowers that look thrown together to hide broken parts and chipping paint on the trellis and my personal favorite, the deep green carpet with blue dots.
I turn to look at Atlas, who looks just as amused as me and can’t help laughing despite how exhausted I’m feeling. What we are all doing, it’s so reckless and ridiculous. It’s something that I would never think in my wildest dreams I would do. Me? Lauren Locklear, marrying Atlas fucking Hart? And for health insurance?? But here we are, his arms around me as the woman snaps the last photo. Thank God for that because I need some cold water on my neck. I'm starting to feel weak and really warm.
I excuse myself to go into the bathroom and change. Once in the restroom, I catch sight of myself in the long mirror, and for a moment I think about how this isn’t the dress that was planned for me. It wasn’t the wedding I had envisioned or planned for in great detail, in a scrapbook that is in a box under my bed. I do feel pretty, though. The cream-colored dress is floor length, off the shoulder flounce with a pretty eyelash lace. When I put it on and showed Atlas, his mouth dropped open, which was definitely a confidence boost.
Sighing, I slip out of the dress, but pause as I feel the familiar dizziness wash over me. Fuck, I left my bag at the apartment and I haven’t placed a new glucose monitor on me since getting out of the hospital. Real fucking smart Lauren.
I take a slow, steadying breath as I feel myself sliding to the floor, my rapidly increasing heart rate is all I can hear and I hope like hell that I am actually calling out for help, but I don’t know if I’m loud enough or not. I weakly slip off my heel and slam it with all my might over and over against the stall.
Of course this would happen. I enter into a fake marriage for health insurance and then I die.
Fucking perfect.