He stares at the ring for a moment before meeting my eyes.
"I'm not a good man," he says, "but I'm trying. I'm trying. I can't make you any promises of perfection. I can't promise I'll be what you deserve, or what you need, or even what you always want. All I can promise is that I'll love you until the day I die, and I'll spend every moment I'm alive trying for you."
He pauses, eyes studying my face.
"So I'm asking you to…" Shaking his head, he lets out a groan, backtracking. "Will you marry me, Karissa?"
He looks at me like he thinks I might say no.
Like he expects me to say no.
I should.
I know I should.
Rationally, I should reject him, run away from him, stay as far away from the man as I possibly can. But love is anything but rational. Love is ugly, and messy. Love makes no fucking sense. And I love him, as impossible as that may be.
I love him.
It's ridiculous.
But when I think about my life now, I can't imagine him not being in it. When I think about my future, I always picture him. This man is down on one knee, stark naked and vulnerable, and I could kick him while he's down, I could hurt him just a fraction of how he hurt me, but I would only regret it, because this, I think, is right. As wrong as it actually is, it still feels right to me.
"I will," I whisper. "I'll marry you."
Relief overcomes his expression as I hold out my hand. He slips the ring on, and it's slightly too big, but it feels like it belongs on my finger. Standing up, he leans toward me, hands on both sides of the bed beside me, as he smashes his lips to mine. He kisses me hard, kissing me deeply, climbing over top of me.
"Now," I whisper against his mouth, wrapping my arms around him. "I want to do it now."
"You want it?" he asks, lips leaving mine to trail my jawline, down to my neck. He kisses the center of my throat, where he left a bite mark earlier, as he presses himself against me. He's hard. "You want that, baby?"
I shiver, running my fingers through the hair at his nape. "Uh, yeah, but I meant I want to get married."
He pulls back, raising his eyebrows. "Get married? Now?"
"Yes," I whisper. "Tonight."
"But—"
"Be quiet," I say, cutting him off, covering his mouth with my hand as I laugh. "You want me to pick a date, right? Well I pick one. Today."
He looks stunned, but he doesn't argue, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. He leans down toward me, leaving a light kiss against my lips. "Anything you want, Karissa. It's yours."
Hours later, after the sun has risen, Naz and I stand in the small chapel at the MGM Grand. There are no guests, no friends, no family, just strangers as witnesses and a man licensed to marry us. I don't wear a wedding dress. Naz doesn't even wear a suit. Just me, and him, and the simplest vow.
I promise to love you forever.
It's the only promise we've got.
After the man declares us husband and wife, Naz grabs a hold of me, yanking me toward him, and kisses me deeply, nipping at my bottom lip. I pull away, blushing, as Naz starts to tug me toward the exit of the chapel.
"Come on," he says. "We have a marriage to consummate."
"Is that right?"
"Absolutely," he says, his voice low, gritty. "I think I'm going to fuck you outside the Bellagio, in front of the fountain, somewhere where the whole world can see."
Acknowledgments
There's an old proverb that says it takes a village to raise a child. I'm of the belief that it takes the same to make a book.
So many people were instrumental to the process, both directly and indirectly. I appreciate all of you immensely, everyone who has discussed these characters or contacted me with theories or even just sent words of encouragement.
To Sarah Anderson, for spending countless hours listening to me complain when Ignazio Vitale just wouldn't cooperate. This story went through multiple drafts in various voices before we finally ended up here, where we are today, and I owe you so much for your unyielding patience when it seemed like every damn day I needed talked off a ledge.
To my family, for being the best support system a woman could ask for. I love you all. To my mother, who would've read this book and probably wondered where she went wrong with me (ha). It'll never seem real that you're gone. I still wake up every day and expect to see your face. And to my father… again, if you read this book, we're going to pretend these things didn't come from my brain. Thank you for always encouraging me.
To Nicki Bullard… you've been my best friend for most of my life. We both love broccoli and hate green onions. You're the Companion to my Doctor, the Castiel to my Dean, the crossbow to my Daryl. What would I do without you?
I want to say a special thank you the bloggers, who dedicate so much time to the books they love. It's truly humbling that out of millions of books, you choose to read mine. Thank you.
To everyone else: don't let anyone dull your shine. Love what you want to love. Do what you want to do. Read what you want to read. Life is way too short to live it for somebody else. Be you. You're beautiful.
Torture to Her Soul Page 36
