up the marriage contract and pretend it never happened.”
“You made a sacred vow, my son.”
He looks at me quite seriously from his bed of leaves, human shit, and vomit.
“I know, but—”
“You swore to love this woman for all eternity under God.”
Now I’m starting to get annoyed. “While I was smashed. Put my hand on a bible, I would have sworn to anything last night.”
Father Andrew’s expression remains stony-faced for a few seconds, and then it cracks into a wide grin. His booming laughter fills the forest.
Bastard.
“I was just kidding! Kidding! You should see the looks on your faces.” His laughter fades at Olivia’s humorless smile. “I’ll get the paperwork for you.”
Olivia clasps her hands together. “Oh my God. Thank you so much.”
He smiles vaguely at her, his pants halfway up his ass, and then pauses. “Oh.”
I don’t like that look. “What?”
He wrings his hands. “I already mailed it last night!”
“That’s not a problem!” Olivia says in a high-pitched tone. “Just tell us which mailbox it’s in—and we’ll get it.”
“They pick up at seven a.m. on Saturdays. It’s gone.”
Leaves fly from her shoulder as she brushes them off. “Gone?” she echoes, her voice hoarse. “What do you mean—gone?”
“The marriage certificate is already on its way. There’s nothing we can do to stop it.”
“Shit!”
Her curse rings out through the trees, into the road where people are slowly making their way up the hill for Sunday mass.
I should feel worse about this—it was partly my fault—but it’s a bit hilarious to see her pace up and down, kicking piles of leaves.
“Come on. It’s not that bad.”
“Yes, it really is!”
“Celebrities get away with this shit all the time. Look at Britney Spears.”
Olivia snorts. “Yeah. Her personal life isn’t in tatters or anything.”
Father Andrew glances back and forth as though watching a ping-pong match. “Um—I have to go conduct Mass. You’re both welcome to come, of course. I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Carter—”
“—It’s Miss Stewart.”
Cowed, Father Andrew nods. “Apologies. You did sign the certificate. Old habits die hard, I’m afraid. Anyway. Have a good day.”
He bundles his slacks and tiptoes around Olivia as though she’s a glass sculpture.
Goddamn, she’s got ice-blood running in those veins. She glares at him long after he’s left the forest. “Mrs. Carter,” she mutters under her breath.
“It’s got a nice ring to it.”
“What part of ‘this is not funny’ do you not understand?”
“Some people make jokes to lighten the mood. Others throw a fucking fit.”
She uncrosses her arms, looking furious. “Oh, so that’s what you think I’m doing? You think I’m freaking out over nothing?”
Heads turns our way, into the copse. I take a step forward, not sure whether I want to shake her or bury my fingers in her hair and yank her head back to claim those pouting lips.
“You take yourself too seriously, San Francisco.”
She yanks herself out of my grip, eyes blazing. “You don't know anything about me, or the Cranburys. He won't let this go. I’ll be lucky to still have a job. Nothing you say will make me feel better about that.”
Then without another word, she stalks out of the copse and heads down the hill. I watch her black ponytail until it disappears from view.
Everything’s fucked.
One of the parts from Olivia’s shipment arrived broken, which will extend her stay to a month.
Hank’s in the office dealing with customers for a change. I’m in the garage doing oil changes because fuck dealing with people today. I’ve exhausted my Nice Guy quota for the week with Olivia.
I thought I was cheering her up, but I just made everything worse. The look of disgust when she swept out of the forest made my stomach clench—though it might’ve been from Father Andrew soiling himself.
And why do you care? She’s not your type, remember?
Like it or not, I can’t just forget the way her tits fit into my hands. There’s no denying it—I want her again.
It pisses me off that Cranbury shithead is still here, taking residence at the only inn in town. Every time I walk by his Benz, I’m tempted to hot wire the thing and drive it off a cliff. But he’ll be gone soon. I can’t imagine his old money pride can handle another man fucking and marrying his fiancée. All it takes is one reminder of that jackass to make me not regret anything I did.
A man’s cheerful whistle echoes in the garage, a pair of steel-toed boots appearing in front of the car.