by Max Monroe
“I did, on and off the whole damn night,” he answers and presses a trail of kisses down my cheek and against my neck. “But it just kept going to voice mail.”
“Shit.” I cringe. “I sort of, kind of, maybe turned it off for a bit, and then the battery died.” But I also moan. Because Flynn’s mouth is on me. I can’t not moan when his mouth is on me.
“Next time you get upset about something, upset with me, promise me you won’t do that. Promise me you won’t run away from me without giving me any idea of where you’re going. I was really fucking worried about you.”
“I swear.” I gently bite down on his bottom lip and tug. “Cross my heart.”
“Fuck,” he mutters and slides his fingers into my hair to deepen our kiss again. “I know we need to go into that interview soon, but I need you, babe. I can’t think straight. I have to be inside you.”
“What?” I question with wide eyes, but also, a desperate, throbbing ache makes itself known between my thighs.
“I have to be inside you, Daisy. Right now.”
Oh, holy moly. This man. He’s my guy.
Master of my universe.
Father of my child.
And crazily enough, my fake husband who, without a doubt, is my real husband.
He’s also the only man who spurs the kind of sexual desire and intensity that have me sliding my panties to the side and going right along with his quick-fuck-in-the-alley plan.
“That’s my girl.” He smirks, and my nipples tighten beneath my dress—the same rehearsal dinner dress I’ve been wearing since last night thanks to my emotional-breakdown-freakout-and-bolt moment.
Flynn doesn’t waste any time, though. In a matter of seconds, his pants are unzipped, and his cock is filling me up in the way that only he can.
“Daisy. My Daisy,” he mutters and greedily presses his mouth to mine. “I needed this. I needed you.”
I’ve spent most of my life, even as a kid, thinking I didn’t need anyone. But I was wrong.
I needed him too.
Flynn
“Daisy, how long have you and Flynn been living together?” Fran, the all-business USCIS agent, asks, her eyes filled with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Though, after forty minutes of sitting across from this woman, I’m not entirely sure a suspicious demeanor isn’t just a staple for her. Fran is the kind of woman who takes her job seriously. She lives and breathes her position within the immigration department, and she even takes pride in her own American citizenship.
I know this because every photo on her desk includes her in various patriotic gear. American flag T-shirts and hats, shooting off Fourth of July fireworks, Fran’s pictures show she’s an all-American kind of gal, and I can appreciate the display. Any old girl—even a country—has her problems, but I can’t deny she’s been pretty great to me. Hell, without “her,” and her roots in tradition, I’d have never gotten here with Daisy.
“Uh… Well…I moved to New York April 22nd,” Daisy answers, and her knee bounces in erratic movements beneath the table. “Basically, as soon as my boss would let me shift my work duties from the West Coast to the East Coast, I made the big move.”
Fran nods, jots something down on her notepad, and Daisy glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
She is completely freaked out by this interview, but truthfully, I’m enjoying it. This is Daisy at her most beautiful, her mouth moving a mile a minute and her curls bouncing with every move. Watching her work through her emotions in the middle of the room for the world to see makes me fall in love with her all over again. As such, I couldn’t feel any more at ease. There’s nothing in this world realer than Flynn and Daisy Winslow.
She’s my wife, the mother of my child, and the only person on the planet from whom I’d answer an uninvited FaceTime call. She might’ve burst into my world like a spiraling tornado of long-winded words and crazy eyes, but fuck, I’ll forever be grateful she did.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to let Fran do anything but approve her green card. My wife is going to stay right here, with me, and that’s the only future I’ll accept from here on out.
I reach out to place a reassuring hand on Daisy’s still-bouncing knee, and her movements slow to a stop. Her body even tilts toward mine ever so slightly, and my whole chest swells with my smile. I fucking love it.
I love her. Everything about her.
I love the way she gets insanely excited over things like funnel cakes in Central Park and rambles when she’s nervous. I love that she lets me do crazy shit like fuck her in an alleyway because I can’t stand to not be inside her, even if that means she’s sitting in this interview with still-flushed cheeks, wet panties, and snags from the alleyway brick on the back of her dress.
I love that when I wake up in the morning, I know there’s going to a head full of unruly curls on the pillow beside mine and that all the blankets will be wrapped around Daisy like she’s a Chipotle burrito.
I even love the way her messy ass leaves dirty dishes in the sink for me to clean, and I love that when I’m not in the mood to talk, she won’t mind—she’s got enough to say for the both of us. At the end of the day, there’s no one I’d rather have on my team.
“Do you plan to stay in New York?” Fran asks, and Daisy is quick to respond.
“Yes.” Her answer is straight and to the point, and while we haven’t broached the whole “Where are we going to live?” question, I know my wife well enough to understand that she means it.
Looks like we’re staying in NYC.
Though, if LA were where Daisy wanted to be, I’d pack up my shit, sell my apartment, and move without hesitation. I don’t give a shit where we live, as long as we do it together.
“Flynn’s family—our family—they’re here. I’ve never had the kind of support network I have here, and…” Daisy’s voice catches a little with the admission, and I squeeze her thigh to bring her comfort. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”
Even robotic Fran cracks a little at that, licking her lips and looking down at her notepad in a way that makes me think she might be fighting tears. When she looks back up after a nod, however, her professional armor is back in place.
“Great. Okay. Well, it looks like we just have one more question to finish up. Is there anything that you didn’t note on your application that you feel compelled to tell USCIS today?” Fran’s attention is fully focused on my wife—I suppose since she’s the technical immigrant here—and Daisy’s reaction isn’t one of calm and cool.
Her eyes grow big, and she looks over at me like she’s a woman with something to hide.
Shit, babe, relax. It’s fine. I squeeze her thigh again, but her eyes only get more expansive.
I try to hold her manic gaze, but her eyes move from me to Fran and then back to me, and she repeats that circuit another ten times. All the while, the silence is growing to the kind of intensity that Fran just might be wondering if Daisy is some kind of undercover Canadian terrorist who actually did commit a murder.
Which, truthfully, would be quite the turn of events, considering Canadians are about the nicest fucking people in the world, but anyone who is staring into the depths of my wife’s currently crazy-fucking-eyes probably wouldn’t feel at ease.
Do something, man!
“I think what Daisy is trying to—” I start, but I’m quickly cut off by the beautiful maniac sitting beside me.
“I have a child!” Daisy yells out so loudly, it startles Fran’s pen out of her hands.
“You have a child you didn’t mention on your application?”
“Yes!” Daisy exclaims but then shakes her head. “Wait… No. I mean, I haven’t had a child yet. I have one in my stomach. Growing inside me,” she rambles, even pointing to her belly as evidence. “I’m pregnant. Knocked up. Bun in the oven…” She pauses and then points two finger guns in my direction. “By this guy, obviously! My husband. Flynn Winslow. He’s the guy who did it. Got me pregnant, I mean.”
/>
Well, fuck, Dais. You could’ve, maybe, kept the finger guns holstered.
I shut my eyes for a brief moment, but then, I smile like a fucking fool. Though, I guess that’s what happens when you’re in love; you become a goddamn buffoon for the woman who owns your heart.
Fran looks at me and then at Daisy and then back at me.
“We just found out today,” I explain with a knowing smile and wrap my arm around Daisy’s shoulders, pulling her closer to me. “And, well, I’m sure you can understand why my wife is a little on the excited…” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Antsy…side. We’re both over the moon with the news.”
“Yeah… Flynn’s right… I’m…uh…kind of an easily excitable person if you haven’t noticed,” Daisy chimes in. “So, I apologize for all the shouting.”
“I see.” Fran just nods and jots more shit down on her notepad.
No congratulations or soft smile. Just…a fucking nod. Obviously, that reaction does nothing for Daisy’s current worked-up state.
I squeeze her thigh again for reassurance, but before I can get her to relax back against my arm, Fran is back with the same unnerving question.
“Is there anything else you feel compelled to tell USCIS today that you didn’t note on your application?”
Daisy’s knee is off to the races again, bouncing up and down in quick succession. “Anything else besides that I’m pregnant?”
“Yes,” Fran responds, and her lips stay in the same firm line they’ve been in since we sat down across from her.
Oh fuck. Here we go.
“Uh…” Daisy pauses, and her eyes are so big I can actually see my reflection in her pupils. “I don’t think so… I mean…”
“We haven’t had a change of address,” I calmly respond. “Daisy is still working with EllisGrey. They have offices in Manhattan.”
“Yep. Yep. Yep.” Daisy nods so many times I fear her head might roll off her neck. “Same address. Same job. Same Daisy and same Flynn. Same awesome marriage. Just a baby in the belly!” she exclaims again, and the finger guns are back out and blazing.
Goddamn, she’s cute. A fucking mess, but cute.
Discreetly, I reach out with one hand and ease the guns back into Daisy’s lap. “I will say that with a baby on the way now, we’ll definitely be looking at other apartments in the city because our current place is only one bedroom. I’m assuming we’ll need to update USCIS with any change in address?”
“Yes,” Fran answers firmly. “Within thirty days of your move, you need to update us by mail or through the online form.”
I nod, look over at Daisy, and realize her mouth has morphed into the biggest smile I’ve ever fucking seen. I’m talking, the Joker’s smile pales in comparison to this all-teeth, megawatt force.
While Fran makes more notes on her notepad, I subtly tilt my head to Daisy, but it only makes her smile grow bigger. Shit. Pretty sure all the emotions of the last several hours and her pregnancy hormones and this fucking woman with the face made out of stone are about to make my wife break.
Dude, you’re going to have to get her out of here.
Yeah, I have to get this interview show on the road. The sooner I can get Daisy out of this room, the sooner I can take her home and fuck the anxiety away until she can relax.
“Well, Fran, this has been a real pleasure,” I say and reach out to pat Daisy’s knee. “And I really appreciate the professional manner in which you conduct these interviews.”
Fran looks at me through narrowed eyes.
You’re going to have to do better than that, my guy. Really hit her with the charm.
Fuck me. I inhale a discreet breath and prepare myself to be the kind of man I most certainly am not—a small-talk schmoozer like my baby brother Jude.
“Fran, I’m sure you don’t get to hear this as much as you should, but the United States of America is lucky to have you at the helm of the immigration process.”
Her eyes become less narrowed.
“So, thank you for your service,” I say with a proud nod. “I know this isn’t an easy job.”
She purses her lips. “No, it’s not.”
Daisy adjusts in her seat a little, almost as if she’s going to chime in with something, but I know that is the opposite of what we need right now. No offense to my gorgeous, beautiful, amazing, intelligent wife, but in the name of her and my sanity, I need her to sit tight while I extract us from this situation.
“Just out of curiosity, how long does it take for applicants to find out if they’ve received a green card?”
“It depends,” Fran responds. “Some applicants find out during the interview. Some have to go through a longer process.”
I feel Daisy tense up beside me, but I keep my cool.
“Sounds like very stringent protocols you follow.”
“Oh, they are,” Fran comments, and I almost sense a smile on her firm lips. “Very stringent.”
“That’s great to hear.” I smile at her. “A relief, to be honest. I appreciate your dedication to the monumental responsibility you’re tasked with.”
“Wow. Well, thank you, Mr. Winslow.”
“Are you going to need us to come back for another interview?” I question nonchalantly and use all my strength to keep up the loathsome small talk while ignoring the tension that’s vibrating off Daisy’s body.
Fran looks down at her notepad. Then at Daisy. Then at me. Her eyes waver a few times, but eventually, she says, “No, sir. You will not need to come back for another interview. I feel I have obtained all the information I needed for your wife’s case, and I am happy to report that I will be recommending her for a green card.”
Thank fuck.
“Really?” Daisy questions and hops up from her chair. “I get to stay in the country? I get to live here? With my husband?”
Fran nods. “Yes, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Oh my God, Fran!” Daisy shouts and jumps around on her feet. “I could kiss you right now!”
“Please don’t do that, ma’am.”
“So, we’re all set?” I quickly ask, and Fran nods.
“Yes. Good luck and congratulations.”
“Thank you!” Daisy squeals and jumps into my arms. “Thank you, Fran! I love you, Fran!” she continues to shout, and I don’t hesitate to carry her right out of ol’ Fran’s office.
Once I get us safely on the elevator and behind closed doors, I set Daisy to her feet and kiss the hell out of her.
“Babe, I love you,” I whisper between kisses. “But, fuck, I was scared shitless you were going to break in the middle of that interview.”
“Oh my God,” she says through a giggle, her lips still permanently attached to mine. “Is that why you started talking so much? I had a moment where I thought you’d been abducted by pod people.”
“Says the woman who kept shooting fucking finger guns at the immigration agent.”
“I didn’t know what to do with my hands!” She giggles some more, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Fuck, baby, once you started smiling like you were trying to get your mouth to reach your damn hairline, I knew I had to do whatever I could to get you out of there.”
“And boy oh boy, am I glad you did.” Daisy snorts and hops up to wrap her legs around my waist. She places erratic kisses all over my face, and I don’t hesitate to squeeze her luscious ass with my big hands.
“Now that you saved me from being deported by Fantastic Fran, what’s next, husband?” she whispers against my mouth.
“First, home, so I can fuck you senseless. Then, we get ready for Jude and Sophie’s wedding.”
Daisy giggles, but then, she leans back and stares deep into my eyes. “And then what do we do?’
“We spend the rest of our lives together.”
Her responding smile lights up my whole fucking world.
“There will be a night, though. One wild, unexpected night in a seemingly predictable life where you, my sweet boy,
will make a pact with a stranger from which there will be great consequence.”
There’s only one thing Cleo failed to mention that night in her dark, velvet-draped room—that Daisy would be the kind of consequence I would pray will never change.
Ten hours later…
Daisy
I take a bite of delicious wedding cake and look across the room, where I spot Flynn standing in a corner off to the side of the dance floor, chatting with his brother Remy.
I don’t yet know all the details of what happened between them last night after the rehearsal dinner, but from what I understand from Flynn’s limited explanation, Remy broke open our huge Pandora’s box of lies and dragged Flynn through a tense questioning.
My shoulders sag. And to think, while he was going through all that, I was finding out about the little bambino in my belly. To say the past twenty-four hours have been a bit of a roller-coaster ride would be quite the understatement. But I can’t deny I’d ride that crazy roller coaster a million times over if it meant I’d end up in the same place—married to Flynn, with a precious baby on the way.
As I place another bite of cake into my mouth, an approving moan falls from my lips, but that’s quickly overcome by what sounds like a text message notification.
Quickly, I locate my purse beneath my chair at the head table and realize both Damien and Gwen have been trying to reach me since my dead battery abruptly ended our FaceTime chat.
The whole screen looks a little like a psycho-killer movie massacre, but the last two texts in the group chat are…downright dire.
Damien: Okay, that’s it. I’m getting on the phone right now and calling everyone I know until it leads me to Liam Neeson’s number, and when I get him on the phone, I’m going to pay him as much money as it takes to fly to New York, feel if the wind is blowing from the east, and find your cute little stranger-marrying ass.
Gwen: Michael, my boyfriend from ten years ago, has “connections.” I’m waiting for a text back, but we did enough freaky stuff that I KNOW I can blackmail him into using them if I have to. Maybe he, and this Liam, can team up.
