The Worst Man (Wedding Season Series)

by Rebecca Norinne

  And then my mind rushed forward to how we’d walked together up and down the strip, Hank’s arm wrapped around my shoulder as we’d bickered playfully about where we were going next.

  Meeting Beatrice and Gloria at a bar in the Tropicana and Hank arranging the limo to the chapel for their wedding, where he and I had borne witness to their own affirmations of love and unity.

  And then Hank’s lips on mine and the whispered confessions under the stars. How he told me he’d wanted me for a long time, and how I’d never realized it. How I’d admitted—if not to him, then at least to myself—that what I’d always assumed was hate was something altogether different.

  And then my legs hitched up around his waist as he carried me inside to become his wife. His whispered “I do” as he placed the ring on my finger, both of our hands shaking but our voices firm. Him carrying me over the threshold, his eyes locked on mine as he lowered me down onto the bed and stripped the clothes from my body. His magnificent back bared to me as he walked across the room to hang them up in the closet. His full, kissable lips smiling down at me as he shook his head with what looked like wonder. Him whispering how he’d never imagined it could be like this between us as he kissed me senseless.

  My fingers tangled in his hair as he licked and laved his way down my center to make love to my pussy with what felt a lot like adoration. The look on his face in those few seconds before he entered me, our fingers linked above my head. His voice when he said, “Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I want this. I want you.”

  My panic receded, leaving a strange, eerie calmness in its wake.

  Whatever happens tomorrow, know that I want this. I want you.

  My eyes lifted from the ring on my finger and latched onto his uncertain ones. “So what happens next?”

  Hank reached for my hand, and his thumb brushed over my knuckles, lingering for a few seconds on the gold band. “That’s entirely up to you. I realize we were drunk last night, but I knew what I was doing. If you want a divorce or an annulment or whatever, I’ll give you one. No questions asked.”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked, needing to hear the words he’d whispered as he claimed my body. Needing to see if they made my heart dive and flip the way they did in my memory.

  “No, that’s not what I want,” he finally said.

  I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I honestly hadn’t known how he was going to answer the question. More than that, I hadn’t known how I wanted him to answer until I heard him speak the words aloud.

  “Last night … before this—” I raised my hand and waggled my fingers, the gold band glinting in the sunbeam that streamed into the room “—you mentioned that you had feelings for me for awhile. I’d like to understand what changed.”

  “Do you remember Gwen?”

  “Your six foot tall girlfriend who was also a swimsuit model? Yes, I remember her. I also remember that she hated me probably more than you did.”

  “Yes, well. Whenever she didn’t get her way or I did something she didn’t approve of, she’d accuse me of being secretly in love with you to deflect attention away from her. It used to drive me up the fucking wall because it felt like she blamed me for her bad behavior. As if how I felt about you had anything at all to do with her taking my credit card and running up a two thousand dollar bill at La Perla.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “La Perla?”

  “Lingerie. Lots of bows and lace.”

  My face heated at the mention of Gwen’s unmentionables. I could only imagine how the statuesque beauty must have looked in her fancy french doodads. Meanwhile, I was more a Hanes plain white cotton kind of gal myself.

  “Oh shit,” I said, bringing my hand to my mouth. “You saw my underwear.”

  Hank’s lips quirked to the side. “I did.”

  “And it’s ugly.”

  “It’s …” He fought the chuckle that threatened to bloom into a full fledged guffaw.

  “It’s not at all sexy,” I answered for him.

  “I wasn’t looking at your underwear, Miranda. I was too busy trying to get to what was hidden underneath.”

  My gaze darted away, suddenly shy. Hank had quite obviously seen me naked last night—I still had the lingering soreness to prove it—and then again this morning, but the idea that he’d seen my underwear was what truly embarrassed me.

  I’d never be the woman who trussed herself up in silk and lace. The type who men oohed and aahed over. The type who billion dollar marketing campaigns had dubbed “an angel.”

  In theory, I could understand the desire to wear the stuff, but in actuality, I hated putting on even the most comfortable bra. As soon as I walked through the door in the evening, it was the first thing I removed. Which was probably why my boobs now hung quite a bit lower than they once had.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching for my chin and bringing my face back around. “I mean it, I don’t care two shits about what kind of lingerie you wear. Hell, you could wear none, and … no, never mind. I rather like the idea of that.” He smiled at me, and I felt my cheeks lifting in return. It was weird, but nice, to smile at Hank for once instead of scowl. It would probably take some getting used to though … now that he was my husband and all.

  “You never answered my question,” he said, bringing the conversation back around to where it had started. “Do you want a divorce?”

  My eyes skated over his dark, patrician features, and I let my heart take the lead. There was no denying that Hank was intelligent, much as it might have pained me in the past to admit it. And as evidenced by the way he’d stood up for Beatrice and Gloria, he was compassionate and generous. And when I revealed my greatest shame, he’d been both gentle and understanding. And I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t a damn fine kisser too. From the way my body felt well loved this morning, I had more than an inkling that he was also a terrific lover.

  By all accounts, he was exactly the type of man I would have wanted if I’d ever let myself want. He encapsulated all the characteristics I would have advised any friend to seek in a partner.

  But maybe most importantly, despite how prickly I could be, he wanted me. Against all reason and logic, he’d decided that I was the person he wanted by his side. He’d willingly pledged his heart to mine, and now he was asking me to do the same.

  I pulled a deep breath into my lungs and then released it on a long, slow gust. My eyes found his, and I linked our hands together. “No, I don’t want a divorce.”

  Six

  “That’s good, since it means you’re about to become a very rich woman.”

  “You know I don’t care about your money.” I waved my hand in front of my face as if to brush aside the realization that I’d just married into one of New England’s richest families—if not all of America. “If anything, I wish you had less of it. That kind of wealth scares me a little.”

  “You might think differently after you read this.” He reached behind him and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. For a few seconds, he thumbed the screen and then passed it to me.

  “What are you showing me?” I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Hank’s mood had soured in the last couple of minutes. Now he seemed almost angry, and I didn’t understand what I had said or done. Did he honestly think I’d married him for his money? Up until a couple of minutes ago, I hadn’t even remembered that we were married. I made a pretty terrible gold digger.

  “Just read it.”

  My eyebrows dipped into a vee at his clipped tone, but instead of telling him to quit behaving like a dick, I glanced down at the device and started reading as requested. Clearly, he was troubled by whatever was on it. After a few seconds, my head popped back up. “What the fuck?”

  His jaw ticked and his nostrils flared. “Yeah. That was pretty much my reaction, too.”

  “They can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I assure you, they are. In fact, I’ve been waiting for them to pull a stunt like this for a couple of years. I’m act
ually surprised it took them this long.” He shrugged noncommittally, but I could see in the tight, rigid line of his shoulders that the idea of his parents attempting to bribe me to stay married to him wasn’t something he took lightly.

  “How do they even know you’re married?” I asked, handing his phone back to him. I didn’t want to look at the note from his father for one more second than I had to.

  His finger skated over the screen again a few more times, and then he held the device up for me to view.

  “When did you post that?” My voice fell to a near whisper as I digested what I was seeing.

  The image showed the exact moment that Hank had slid the ring on my finger. I’d never had a man look at me so unabashedly pleased.

  And the look on my face? It could only be described as giddy. I couldn’t remember ever seeing myself so utterly happy and content. As if we’d been a real, honest-to-goodness couple who’d just spontaneously decided to tie the knot at two o’clock in the morning in front of an Elvis impersonator.

  “Right after you fell asleep,” he answered as my mind drifted back to the picture. Until now, everything about the ceremony had been hazy and indistinct in my memory, but the second my eyes clapped onto the photo, it had come rushing back to me on a tide of emotion.

  Do you, Henry Horatio Talbot, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for all the days of your life?

  I do.

  Reluctantly, I pulled my eyes away from the screen and Hank dropped his phone down onto the bed next to him. “I didn’t know your name was Henry.”

  He gave me a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s my dad’s name, and his dad’s name, and so on and so forth. My full, ridiculous name is Henry Horatio Fuller Talbot the Eighth, if you can believe it. I absolutely hate it, of course, so when I was in sixth grade I asked everyone to call me Hank instead. My parents were livid at the time, but they eventually gave in. Now I know I’m in trouble when they call me Henry or Horatio.”

  He was definitely in trouble then. His father’s email read:

  Henry,

  Imagine our surprise at waking up this morning to learn that our son had run off to Las Vegas to marry a woman we’d never met, much less heard of. Your mother is inconsolable with grief, although she did admit to being somewhat pleased to see your new bride isn’t one of your regular trollops.

  Thank you for tagging Ms. Whitcomb in the photo as it made it much easier for Frederick to look into her background. While we would have preferred for you to marry someone like either Juliana or Penelope, a fellow professor of literature is an acceptable addition to the family.

  To that end, we are pleased to offer Miranda a lump sum payment of three million dollars now, followed by an additional five hundred thousand for every year she stays married to you. Kindly have her attorney contact Frederick directly to arrange payment. Also, your mother wishes you to know that she expects you both for dinner next Sunday.

  — HHFTVII

  If I found it odd that he’d signed off using his initials instead of something paternal like “dad” or “your father,” I didn’t mention it to Hank. He was already seething from the message, and poking at him wouldn’t do either of us any favors.

  But I did have a few questions that needed answering.

  “Who are Juliana and Penelope?”

  “Out of everything he said in that note, that’s what stood out to you?” He raised one eyebrow imperiously high, and I was immediately reminded of all the times he’d done that in the past.

  Before, I’d wanted to wipe that smug look off his face using a two-by-four, but now I found that haughty expression somewhat endearing.

  It was amazing how a person’s whole impression could shift so dramatically in less than a day. It was difficult to fathom that this time yesterday I’d been packing my suitcase, dread pooling in my stomach at the thought of having to spend time with Hank outside of the faculty lounge. Life truly worked in mysterious ways.

  “We’ll get to the money in a second,” I said, tabling that discussion for a moment, “but if your parents have some ridiculously archaic arranged marriage situation going on with either of those women, I need to know.”

  Hank tugged me closer. I fell against him, the blanket burrito making it difficult to remain sitting upright. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

  “Not jealous so much as trying to prepare myself for battle.”

  His eyes twinkled with laughter. “Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”

  I shoved at his shoulder. “You can make fun of me all you like, but I know those women. They’ll smile to your face and then stick a knife in your back, and they’ll look perfect while doing it.”

  “You sound awfully convinced about the type of woman my parents wanted me to marry.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged.

  He dropped a kiss to my nose and then quickly rolled me onto my back, his hard body pressing me down into the mattress. Propped up on his elbow above me, he brushed the hair off my forehead and kissed me again, his tongue slipping between my lips. Seemingly of their own volition, my arms lifted and found their way around his neck. My fingers stroked the hair at his nape as he took our kiss deeper. I arched my back, desperate for more.

  Eventually, he dragged his lips from mine, a light chuckle escaping. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his eyes laced with fondness as they caressed a path over my face.

  “Should I be worried?”

  He shook his head. “No, Penelope hates me—”

  “Like I hated you?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No. Not like you hated me. Penny and I have known each other all our lives, and she’s legitimately tried to kill me at least twice that I know about.”

  “What?”

  Hank chuckled. “The first time was when we were four and she pushed me into the pool at her family’s estate. I’d had a few swimming lessons by then so I was able to flail my way to the side of the pool where I hung on for dear life until my nanny jumped in to save me. Meanwhile, she just stood there laughing, like me gulping up great big heaving lungfuls of water was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. The second time she tried to kill me was back in high school. Apparently, while I was out on the football field getting bloodied and bruised, she was sitting under the bleachers drinking vodka out of a water bottle. She totaled her car on the drive home.”

  “She drove you home from the game?” I attempted to make my voice sound as neutral as possible, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wary of what Hank’s relationship with this woman was like.

  While my family didn’t mingle in the same rarified air that his did, his world wasn’t a complete mystery to me either. There was a reason the uber wealthy made me nervous—I’d grown up surrounded by them. My father was the headmaster at an elite private boarding school, which my brothers and I had attended for free.

  I knew girls like Penelope, and if past experience had taught me anything, it was that they were quick to anger and long to forget. If she thought she had a claim on Hank in any capacity, I needed to prepare myself for some backlash. You didn’t just up and marry the heir to a vast fortune and not expect some people to try and make things difficult for you … especially if you came from a different socioeconomic background. I’d been called an interloper and a usurper more times than I cared to count.

  “To answer the question you haven’t actually asked, yes, she was my girlfriend … for lack of a better word.”

  “You mean you don’t know if you were dating?”

  Hank’s cheeks reddened and his gaze darted to the other side of the room. He scratched the side of his cheek, a look of unease etching his features. “So, um ...”

  “Let me guess,” I said, jumping in to answer my own question. He was clearly uncomfortable with telling me what I already knew. “You spent your entire high school career passing partners around your circ
le of friends”

  “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. How’d you know?”

  “I went to Bradenton Prep, and we had a few couples just like that. It was hard to keep track of who they might have been with on any given week. I think one of them actually ended up getting married, but otherwise, it was a merry-go-round of dicks and vaginas.”

  Hank barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “What about Juliana?” I asked, curious to hear how she fit into his life.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about Juliana. She’s a lesbian.”

  “Then why did your parents want you to marry her?”

  “Because they don’t know. Or rather, they don’t want to know. Everyone likes to pretend that her roommate Cecilia is just a really good friend. Meanwhile, they live in a one bedroom loft together in Manhattan. It’s not that hard to piece it together.”

  “Are you close with her?” I twined my arms around his neck, happy to be learning so much about his life, even if the topic was about potential roadblocks in our relationship.

  Because that’s what this was. We might not have taken a conventional path to marriage, but if a woman could go on TV and find a fiancé among thirty-one bachelors, there was absolutely no reason why I couldn’t suddenly wake up one morning and realize that I’d been engaged in a years-long bout of extended foreplay with a man whose company I actually quite enjoyed now that I’d allowed myself to do so.

  “Yeah, we’re close,” he answered, laying back on the mattress and bringing me with him.

  “Great,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “I can’t wait to meet her then.”

  “I’m glad. But enough talk about everyone else.” Reaching between us, he tugged the blanket loose from around my chest and slid his hands under it and over my bare skin. I gasped when he filled his palms with my ass and squeezed. “I want you, Miranda.”