My Darling Bride

“I wasn’t born under a rock. Yes.”


I grab the stuffed Wilbur off my nightstand and hold him out. About twelve inches tall with pink fur and gentle eyes, he’s a little ragged from all the years. “Whenever one of us is going through a tough time, we take the pig and sleep with him. Sometimes Jane gets him. Sometimes Andrew. We still do it to this day, not nearly as seriously, of course, but Wilbur is meaningful. Jane has noticed that I’ve had him for a week. You see, we’ve been through so much together, and she knows when something isn’t right. Wilbur is here to make it better. He’s a hopeful, dreamy, soulful little creature.”

He gives the pig a look.

“Don’t doubt the pig. He is magic.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I mean it. He knows you’re angry with me for telling Jane. Do you want to hold him?”

He cocks his head. “So you’re saying that she saw you giving extra love to Wilbur and deducted that you were faking an engagement?”

“Mostly. It’s hard to explain, but sisters have a weird connection. Andrew? Clueless. Here, catch.” I toss him Wilbur, and he catches him and stares down at the animal with a perplexed expression.

“How does he feel?” I ask.

“Like an old stuffed animal. Am I supposed to be getting some magic vibes from him?”

“Fine. I’m going to make you watch the movie. Maybe you’ll get it.”

“Now? No. I want to talk about you telling your sister. I’m angry.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Yes, I told her. Why? Because she was crying in my office and asking me questions, like how you take your coffee and what your middle name was. I was clueless. She has been sworn to silence. She knows the stakes here. And I couldn’t keep lying to her. I can’t hide things from a sister who’s so much like me already. There. Are you still mad?”

He lets out a big exhale. “A little. If you trust her, then I will.”

I smile. “See. The pig worked.”

“Here’s an idea. We never go to Borelli’s again,” he says as he tosses the pig at me, and I catch him, then set him on my nightstand.

I run a brush through my hair. “Agreed. It wasn’t even that good.”

I put my back to him and place my hands behind my back. My fingers catch the midshoulder zipper of my dress, but from the angle, I can’t get it to go down.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice husky.

I toss him a look over my shoulder. “Jane and Andrew aren’t here, and I don’t want to sleep in this all night.”

I point to where the zipper is on the outfit. “Please?”

His fingers brush over my skin as he tugs down the zipper, and my dress falls to the floor. His breath catches, and I look in the mirror and see us, me in my white lingerie and him with his head bent, his eyes drinking in my skin.

I don’t cover myself but stand with my spine straight. Gray eyes meet mine in the mirror, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “We said we’d keep this professional.”

“That’s cool. I’m just breaking the tension between us.”

“‘Tension’?”

“Hmm, sexual. Very taut. Needs a release. That’s it.”

He rubs his jaw. “Sounds plausible.”

“And you asked about my piercing. It’s hard to describe, and I took you for a visual learner, so I thought it best to just show you.” I ease down the straps of my bra and undo the clasp in the front. My breasts swing free. I look at the piercing in the mirror. “It’s a curved titanium barbell design, with a half-moon shape on the ends. There’s tiny diamonds inside the moon.”

“Why did you get it? When?” I watch a pulse beating rapidly in his neck.

“First, hand me a T-shirt to sleep in, will you? They should be in the top drawer, on the right.”

He swallows. Seems to think. Starts to the dresser, then comes back. “No. Let me see it. Your mirror sucks. Turn around.”

“That wouldn’t be professional.”

“God damn it, Emmy, nothing about you being nearly naked is professional.” He scrubs his jawline.

“Hmm, I guess a little more wouldn’t cross too many lines, then?”

“Turn. The. Fuck. Around.” His hands clench in frustration.

Delicious shivers dance over my skin like tiny bolts of lightning. Yes. That’s the real Graham. Big. Tough. Demanding. A man telling me what to do sends shivers over me—as long as I know he won’t hurt me.

I turn slowly, our eyes holding. “Look.”

He does, his gaze tracing a path of fire from my lips to my breasts. He lingers there for several seconds, then skates down to the curve of my hips and the wisp of white lace covering my pelvis. Awe and longing flicker over his face, and he rubs his lips with his hand, as if imagining it’s my skin.

“Is anything else pierced?”

“Sorry, not brave enough for a genital one. This one hurt.”

“Was it worth it? Does it make you . . .” He blinks, his words trailing off.

“Oh yes. One lick or tug and everything is sensitized. It goes straight to my clit.”

He groans, the tent in his pants bulging out.

“I was twenty-five when I got it. Gran was sick, and I was taking care of Jane and Andrew. I needed something that was mine, like reclaiming myself. It’s a symbol of sorts. I wasn’t seeing anyone romantically because of everything I had to do, but I had this, and it made me feel feminine and sexy. It felt empowering, like I was saying, ‘Hey, I don’t need anyone to make me feel bold or beautiful—I just need myself.’”

I glance out the window and up to the sky, where the moon sends light shimmering into the room. “I got the half moons because they mean the changing of life, the coming and going like the tides. And I feel like the moon is a she. For me anyway. She might mean something altogether different to someone else. She changes every night, evolving and becoming something new. How fucking awesome to be her.” I laugh softly as he comes closer, so close that I can feel the heat of him. “I’m not sure you’re listening.”

“Trust me, I’m soaking it all in, Emmy. Answer me this: Have you had too much champagne?”

“No, and I love that your voice sounds like it’s been dragged over concrete.”

“May I touch you?” he asks with his hand raised halfway.

I nod, but instead of his hand touching me, he bends over, and his tongue darts out and strokes my pierced nipple. He flicks the metal, exploring the hard titanium, his mouth searching my peak to taste every ridge and contour.

Tremors take my legs, and I gasp as he sucks it into his mouth, the metal clinking against his teeth. He tugs. Gently but precisely. Skilled yet careful.

He is hot. And he’s built so broad and big, and I can’t resist, and maybe getting undressed in front of him wasn’t my smartest idea, but Jesus, his lips and tongue are maddening. My hands go to his scalp and bring him closer.