Becoming Mrs. Lockwood Page 3

  I shook my head. “No, but I really do feel like I’m in some strange fairy tale.”

  “Fairy tales are good,” he said as he leaned back again.

  I stayed leaning forward. “But they’re usually just tales.”

  He quirked his brow. “Won’t this be a tale when you go home?”

  “True.” He was right. When I returned home, it would just be a fantastical story of a night that I spent with a prince.

  “Tell me about your home.” The change of subject made me wonder if he was trying to cool it down between us.

  “Well, you met my Mom.”

  He nodded. “She’s a character.”

  “She’s married to Mike. My dad lives in Chicago, and I get to see him about once a month and for a couple weeks in the summer.”

  “How far is that from where you live?” he asked.

  “It’s just over three hours.”

  I lost track of how many glasses of champagne I’d consumed, but before our meal had even come, the bottle was empty. Another bottle quickly took its place, and Weston refilled our glasses.

  The second bottle was half gone by the time our dinner arrived, and I was feeling a bit loopy. Weston ordered yet another bottle, and we dove in to our food—and even more champagne.

  “You know,” I started, waving my fork loosely in the air. “My mom and dad got married when they were my age. My age! They made it last waaaay longer than it should’ve, but I can’t even imagine it!”

  “Yeah? My parents have been married for thirty-seven years.”

  “My mom has all these warped ideas on marriage, especially about getting married at a young age. She has just beaten them into my head,” I said, my hand making the hammering motion I was trying to describe.

  “How long were they married?” he asked curiously, stealing the bite of food from my fork.

  My mouth dropped open, unable to believe he stole my bite. He was grinning and looking like a sexy little demon. Grabbing his hand, I pulled his fork to my mouth and stole his bite, my eyes daring him to object. Turnabout was fair play.

  He didn’t object, but he did wet his lips and bite his lower lip when my mouth wrapped around his fork.

  “So, how long?”

  I knew I was getting drunk when all I could think of with his question was how long he was.

  “Mmm, eight years, I think,” I replied, taking another sip and giggling.

  Weston leaned forward and placed a kiss on my neck, sending chills down my body, and I took in a shuddering breath.

  “I think we could beat that,” he whispered in my ear.

  “Yeah?” Excitement coursed through me.

  “Yeah. Come on,” he said, standing and throwing a string of hundred dollar bills down, then taking my hand.

  I stumbled a bit, but he caught me, drawing me in.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as he wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me to him as we made our way to the elevator.

  It arrived in less than a minute, and as we entered, he pressed his lips to mine. He kissed me, hard, pushing me into the elevator wall as it descended. I was buzzing, high from his lips, and probably all the champagne I had consumed.

  “Let’s get married,” he said, grinning like a kid on Christmas, his eyes sparkling.

  “Okay,” I replied, and pulled his lips back down to mine. I’d do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop kissing me. Maybe getting married was how I could stay with him. Maybe forever.

  I was giggling when the elevator reached the lobby. We climbed back into the limo and Weston directed the driver to head to the mall at Caesar’s Palace.

  “Why there? They have a chapel? Are we going to the Little White Chapel? That would be so cliché!” I giggled, loving the idea.

  His lips found my neck, his arms pulling me onto his lap. “We need rings, baby girl.”

  “Oh . . . yeah,” I said, distracted by his hand caressing my thigh under the hem of my dress and his mouth on my skin.

  Things seemed to blur, and time moved faster after that. I remembered sparkling diamonds, heavenly kisses, and a very excited “I do.”

  The next morning I awoke to something hard slamming into my forehead. Opening my eyes, cringing against the harsh light streaming in from the window, I found the offending item. Sitting on the ring finger of my left hand was a very large, pear shaped diamond ring.

  My eyes widened and I sat straight up. A bad idea as my head began to pound, and it suddenly felt very heavy. Unable to hold it up, I fell to the side to lie back down and burrow into my pillow. I was stopped before reaching the mattress by a warm, moving, soft body. The person I landed on groaned, his arms swinging to wrap around me.

  I froze, and so did the body, both of us halting our breath. Large hands roamed down my sides, then over the swell of my hips and butt.

  A deep groan escaped the chest beneath my head. How did this happen? My gaze flitted around, realizing that I was not in my hotel room. My eyes shot down, and I sighed when I found my dress was still on, and so was most of his suit, though his shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the sculpted chest beneath.

  One of his hands moved up and brushed the hair from my face before tilting my head back. Weston’s eyes widened when they met mine.

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ!” he cursed.

  His eyes squeezed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. I don’t know why, but his reaction made my chest tighten. I needed to leave, get away. Now.

  Using the hand on his chest, I pushed up, lifting my body from the bed and his warmth.

  “I . . . have to go,” I whispered.

  He opened his eyes at my movement and his hand reached out, grabbing mine as I tried to remove it from his chest. “Wait . . . What the hell is that?”

  My gaze followed his down to the large diamond ring I was sporting.

  “I don’t know. It was there when I woke up.”

  Quickly, he jerked his other arm out from underneath my body, his eyes widening when a white-gold band reflected in the light.

  “Oh my God!” I gasped. “Did we . . . I . . . how . . .”

  “I don’t know, but I think so,” he said in reply to my incomplete and incoherent questions. The same thoughts probably running through his own mind.

  Jumping up, he staggered and grabbed his head, quickly stumbling back to the bed. Trying again, slowly, he walked out of the bedroom to the large dining room table and picked something up from the glass top.

  He picked up another item, and then began mumbling and chanting “fuck” over and over.

  “What is it?” I asked from the doorway, though, I had a feeling I knew what it was already.

  “Well, Mrs. Lockwood, it’s our marriage certificate.”

  Fuck. Me.

  My stomach turned as I stared down at the tile floor that seemed to be disappearing from beneath me.

  The night returned in bits. Fuzzy images, but I remembered fun. I remembered Weston and how good his body felt pressed against me. His lips on mine, his hands roaming and lighting up my skin.

  I reached up to my rat’s nest of hair and remembered the feeling of his fingers tangling, knotting it up as we made out. Probably from dry humping and on the cusp of sex.

  “I asked you to marry me, in the elevator after dinner,” he recounted as he stared down at the items on the table. “We went and bought rings, and we found a chapel on the strip.”

  He was right. Vague memories surfaced, filling my mind with images of diamonds sparkling and walking down a short aisle to him. Though, I mostly remembered his body pushing mine against the wall inside that elevator. I stared down at the ring on my finger, entranced as I watched it sparkle under the light.

  I lived in the dream for the smallest of minutes, wondering what life would be like with him. Because I knew that I wouldn’t be wearing it much longer. Soon, he would be returning it to wherever we picked it up.

  And then we would go our separate ways, our
next contact in the form of papers to annul our drunken decision. Nothing left but memories of the beautiful being, his magical lips, and the most wonderful day of my life.

  A quiet sigh slipped from my lips.

  “Annulment is probably best,” I said, taking one last gaze at the ring before looking up to where he was standing across the room.

  His gaze shifted to mine, and I was shocked to see surprise in his features.

  “Annulment?” He glanced back down to the table. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Best.”

  He appeared saddened, not quite the reaction I was expecting. Turning, he moved past me and into the bathroom. I moved from my support and went to get a look at the certificate. It wasn’t the only thing lying on the table. There were a few photos of Weston and I, looking happy, excited, and in love as we said “I do.”

  Did I just think we looked in love? No, it wasn’t possible, but sure enough . . . it showed in the pictures.

  Oh God, my head was spinning, along with the light pounding.

  Weston came out a few minutes later and stood next to me as I stared at the photos.

  “Can I have one?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

  “As many as you want, as long as I get one,” he replied.

  “Whichever one you want,” I said.

  I watched him grab the one of us smiling like fools for the camera. The rings sat on our fingers, and I was holding a small bouquet of white roses. It was the best one.

  The room was quiet, neither one of us knowing what to say or do. It was suffocating, something I’d never felt with him . . . not that I’d known him that long.

  “I should get back. Mom’s probably worried,” I said, turning and looking up at him.

  He looked pained, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. His arm reached out and pulled me to him, and I was once again—probably for the last time—pressed into his warmth. He kissed the top of my head, hard, his hand cupping the back of my head, as if trying to embed his being into me.

  “I should go with you, let her know what’s going on. Give me a second to change,” he said, releasing me and moving back.

  I stayed where I was to give him some privacy. That’s when I noticed just how large of a suite we were in. It was easily bigger than my house. It was lavishly decorated, and a vast contrast to the room my mom and I had floors below. Moving to the window, I looked out at the spectacular view of the strip in awe.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Weston’s voice came from behind me.

  “Beautiful,” I said as I turned to walk back to him.

  “Here.” He held out his hands. Looking down at them, I found my purse, shoes, and the pictures.

  “Thank you,” I said solemnly, taking them from him.

  I removed the ring from my finger and placed it in his hand.

  “You probably want to return this.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, his voice almost sounding sad, and placed it in his pocket.

  The atmosphere was awkward between us, and I didn’t like it. I wanted what we’d had the previous day. But between our hangovers and what we’d done, I wasn’t sure there was a way to go back.

  “We should go.” Reaching out, he laced his fingers with mine, and we headed out the door to tell my mother the grave news.

  I could almost hear the snare drum in my head beating a march like we were walking to the gallows, its beat picking up in pace as my hand reached out to slide my key into the slot.

  My heart stopped as the door flung open, my mother standing there with wide eyes, worry etched into her features.

  “There you are! Thank God!” She pulled me in for a hug, then stepped back to let us in. “I tried to call, but it went to voicemail. I didn’t think you’d be out all night.”

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  She glanced at Weston and looked to me, her worry melting away.

  “Did you two have fun?” she asked with a smile and a wink.

  I wanted to facepalm myself from her one-eighty change in reaction. My mom was actually hoping I had sex with him? I hoped that wasn’t it.

  “I’m surprised to see you, Weston,” she said, smiling at him. “Well, hurry up. Checkout is in two hours, and I want to get another few minutes in at the casino before we head out.”

  “Actually, Karen, we have something to tell you before that,” Weston started before announcing, “We got married last night.”

  The smile fell from her face, and she looked at us with eyes what were almost bugging out of her head.

  “Don’t worry, Mom, we’re going to get an annulment,” I said hurriedly.

  “Why?” my mother asked. Her brow was scrunched, and she seemed genuinely confused.

  What the hell?!

  Only my mother. Rational people knew why.

  Weston stepped forward. “Because, this was a mistake. We just drank too much champagne. She’s only eighteen, Karen.”

  “So. You’re married now. Why not give it a try?” Her tone implying it was the most obvious answer.

  I couldn’t even form words. Be married, become a wife, to a stranger?

  Weston stared at her, his jaw slack, his brain unable to comprehend my mother’s words. “She’s eighteen and still in high school! We live in different states.”

  Mom put her hand on her hip. “Weston, do you like her?”

  He held up his hands to stop her. “That’s irrelevant.”

  She quirked her brow at him. “Just answer, please.”

  Weston’s eyes widened. “Well . . . yes.”

  “Good. She’ll go home with you, and I’ll send her things.”

  “What?” Weston and I cried at the same time.

  “Mom?” Tears stung my eyes as I stared at her, my chest tightening. Was she trying to get rid of me?

  “Oh, Wren, sweetheart,” she said and wrapped her arms around me.

  “Why?” I asked softly, my voice quivering.

  “I see your why and raise you a how. How do you two know this wasn’t meant to be? Maybe this was destiny hitting you both over the head,” she said, then turned to Weston. “Is that really your only concern, Weston, her age?”

  “I . . . ummm . . . she’s in her senior year.”

  “It’s only the fall semester. She can easily enroll in classes where you live.” She looked between us, then let out a sigh. “Look, Weston, there must have been something about her that interested you, otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked her to marry you. You bought a ring and said ‘I do.’”

  “I meant it.”

  I snapped up to stare at him. Meant it?

  There was a knot in my chest. We were both a bit hungover, but that’s not what I saw in his eyes.

  “It was a drunken mistake.” Wasn’t it? We were practically strangers with an attraction. Nothing more, right?

  “It doesn’t matter how much you had to drink, that was what you did. Drinking is not an excuse to wipe everything away in the morning.”

  Mom and her lessons—drinking doesn’t absolve actions. Though, the situation was a little extreme for a lesson, in my view.

  “This . . . Mom, I’ve known him for two days.” Did she really want me to go with an unknown man?

  “You two are married. Deal with it.”

  “Mom!” I cried, choking back the tears I felt pricking my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Weston and I had decided to wipe the slate clean, and here my mother was trying to push us back together.

  “Oh, no. You said ‘I do,’ young lady. You’re the same age I was when I married your father. These things happen for a reason. You have a connection, explore it. Don’t end this, because you can’t have a re-do. You’ll be left with ‘what ifs.’”

  “Weston?” my voice beseeched him, but achingly, while his expression remained deep in thought.

  He rubbed his hands across his face.

  “You do realize I’m closer to your age than hers.”

  “As much as I realize she is closer to your maturity level than I’ll ever be. Physical
age isn’t always relevant. Age is just a number. Wren will always be more mature than me. Much more responsible.”

  Why did it suddenly feel like ancient times and I was just traded for two sheep?

  A drunken conversation flooded back to me.

  “You!” I shrieked, my heart pounding in my chest. “You’re the one who bet we could stay married longer than my parents!”

  He grimaced and actually hung his head.

  Was that it? Just a bet?

  I sunk down to sit on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my waist. My stomach dropped.

  “I’m not a gamble.” The words that came were soft and as filled with crushed emotions as I felt.

  His eyes widened in disbelief before he stepped forward and crouched down in front of me. Reaching out, he took my hands in his. “I didn’t propose because I thought you were a gamble . . . well, not in that sense.”

  “Was it a sense of pride? To see if you could get the girl to say ‘yes’?” My anger rose again, and I pulled away from him. “Did you bet with yourself?”

  I knew I was getting ahead of myself, but it hurt, in an unbelievable way, to even think that was all the previous night was about.

  “Of course not!” he yelled. “I asked you to marry me because I wanted you to marry me!”

  My mom lit up, her smile taking up most of her face, while I just stared at him, guilt flooding in that I was getting so upset.

  “See!” Mom stood and clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

  Moving to the closet, she pulled out her suitcase to begin packing up, leaving Weston and me there, wondering how our lives were just flipped upside down in five minutes.

  “Are you sure?” I asked as I looked up at Weston.

  Weston tentatively placed his hands on my knees. “Wren, I’m not going to force you to do anything, but I want to try.”

  I swallowed hard and stared into his eyes, somewhat hoping they held all the answers. My stomach turned with the fear of what was about to happen. Going home with Weston, remaining his wife. We were married.

  I was married to a man I didn’t even know. People didn’t get married to strangers, at least not in modern day society.