His Virgin Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Kara Hart

  My phone rings the next day, but I don’t answer it. I don’t want to see Marshall. I don’t need that kind of shit right now. It was stupid of me, anyways. No, instead, I head over to a small coffee shop down the block. It’s a total dump, but they always have the TV on, there’s never anyone there, and I figure I can get some news that way. I don’t have a TV at my place, so it works out.

  I open the door and Jin, the old Japanese owner, nods in my direction. I nod back and he smiles. My heart is beating quick again. I still haven’t gotten used to the thought that nobody knows what I did. Part of me is waiting for the day where everyone points in my direction, when I’ll feel that heavy lump fall to the pit of my stomach.

  No. I can’t think that way.

  “Just a drip coffee,” I tell him and I glance at the top right corner of the store. The TV is off. He’s got the radio playing some old tunes instead. A fly buzzes by an open container of alcohol and he shoos it away.

  He pours me a cup of coffee and asks, “How’s it been, sweetheart?” Sweetheart. It’s the type of compliment all men give to women in the area. For the most part it’s cute and I accept it around these parts.

  “Okay,” I take a sip of the coffee. “Anyway, I’m alive.”

  “Yeah, that’s something,” he nods. He doesn’t take it any further.

  “Think you can turn the TV on for me? Heard there was some commotion the other day,” I say. It’s a small town. He’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

  “The bank thing? They stole a hell of a lot of money,” he laughs and clicks the remote. “Good on them though. Those bankers have been stealing from us for decades. It’s about time someone gave them some payback.”

  “I guess so,” I mutter, feeling sort of thrilled by the whole thing. I never really thought about the idea that other people might actually inadvertently be rooting for us, like we’ve done the town a favor or something. I expected pitchforks and mobs, and angry policemen. So far, we’ve gotten very little of any of that.

  “It doesn’t worry you?” I ask him. “Seeing people steal like that? It kind of scares me.”

  He shrugs. “Nothing really scares me these days. Nothing except myself,” he says.

  Truth is, I really relate to that. Nothing scares me either, except my own guilt, and my history. The one thing I could relate to when talking to Marshall last night was when he mentioned his father beating up on his sister like that. My father also beat on us. The only difference was, my mother went right alongside with him. I don’t know what kind of a relationship he has with his family now, if any, but I still see my parents around this city. I still have to be in the same proximity, knowing they got away with everything. I don’t talk to them anymore, but every so often, our eyes meet.

  The knowing hurts more than anything.

  The TV volume blares and Jin struggles to hit the remote fast enough to turn it down. “The police have offered very little information, but the investigation is going at full speed,” a reporter says. They cut to a prior interview with Marshall’s partner, a man named Adam. He says, “We will find these men and we will bring them to justice.”

  It’s a standard answer, and one that has the desired effect, I suppose. They will find these men, perhaps. But will they find the woman? I laugh slightly and Jin eyes me. “See, you think it’s a little funny too. Don’t you?”

  “A little bit,” I admit.

  “I doubt they’ll find them,” he says.

  “I honestly have no clue,” I shrug. “Life goes on, I suppose.”

  I think about Marshall and I feel sick to my stomach again. That guy is a bastard. No doubt about it. He’s a cop who fucks women, and probably doesn’t even think to call them back. And yet, I’m drawn to him like a fly to a spider’s web.

  Before I get out of this city, I’m going to do everyone a favor. I’m going to respect Jin and everybody else’s wishes. I’m going to take Marshall down.

  I am the spider. And he has no idea just how far he’s caught in my web.

  Marshall

  The bitch won’t even answer her phone. All I get is the same “We’re sorry. The caller you are trying to reach is not available,” message. It’s disheartening, to say the least. Here I am, working on the hardest case of my damn career. I thought she’d be there when I needed her. Well, shit, I thought wrong. I have to hand it to her. She led me on real well.

  I have no real case to work on. That’s the worst of it. All I have are a few lousy descriptions of the three perpetrators. Let’s see… they’re about 5 foot 4 inches to 6 foot two inches. They were wearing masks. They carried bags. They were highly skilled. Possible sexual crimes on the side. The pantyhose still perplex me.

  But now I have all the higher-ups on my ass, telling me I need to solve this thing in a week or else. Whatever that means. I’ve been with the department for over twenty years now. Would they really fire me that fast? I guess if they had orders to, they would.

  It lights a fire under my ass, that’s for sure. I want to solve this case more than anything. I want to take these assholes down. To me, it’s just another chase and, boy, do I love a good chase. But this Virginia woman. She keeps popping into my mind. More so than the dumb fucking robbery.

  I walk out of the department with Adam next to me, frowning. His bad attitude makes it that much harder to concentrate on our next move. We need to find out where they’ll hit next. Rest assured, they’ll hit another bank. They always do.

  “We got jack shit,” he sighs. “I swear, they’re going to hang our asses when we show up empty handed.”

  “Try and stay positive,” I tell him, knowing how impossible that is right now. He’s younger than me, though. I need to lead by example. At least, I need to try to. “We’ll figure it out. You got that map I asked you to make?”

  “The one of all the banks within a 200-mile radius?” he asks. I nod. “Yeah, I got it. I’ve been studying it a lot, actually.”

  “Good. We need to keep studying it. My guess is that they split up. Maybe they’re waiting to meet up again. If they do, they’re going to hit another bank. The ones without CTV cameras are first on our list,” I say. I stretch my back, feeling every muscle extend.

  And then my phone rings. “One second,” I fumble for my pocket.

  “Warren Marshall,” I answer. I already know who it is. It’s Virginia. Only, this isn’t a good time. I have work to do.

  “What’re you up to?” I hear her voice. That sweet, southern voice.

  “Solving a case, honey,” I say, smooth. “And you?”

  “Trying not to think about you,” she says. God, she’s killing me every single second. I glance at Adam who’s tapping his heel. Is he still envious of me, I wonder? “…and that steak dinner.”

  “Of course you are. You going to take me up on that still?” I ask.

  “Why not,” she says. “I mean, I don’t really have any plans.”

  “Tonight then,” I say, feeling pretty damn confident of myself at this point. I smile big and think about all the positions I’m going to put her in tonight. I think of her smell, the way her smile angles ever-so-slightly, and how her nose shrinks up when I make her laugh. I need her.

  “Tonight. I’ll meet you at the bar again. 6:30,” she says.

  “7,” I tell her.

  “Sounds good.” She hangs up the phone and I’m left with Adam’s dumb, tapping heel.

  “What?” I ask him. “What’re you staring at?”

  “Another woman?” he smiles.

  “No, a man,” I laugh. “What do you think?”

  “I think I hate you,” he says.

  “They all do, son,” I smile. “They all do.”

  Virginia

  So I did it. I really did it. I made a date with the devil himself: Warren Marshall. The worst part about it is that I’m actually excited about it. It’s not that he gets me going. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s hot. His body is practically perfect. It’s clear that he works on himself, on the
daily, in that natural kind of tough way. Still, it’s more that I like the risk. I know that I’m about one second way from losing everything, and somehow that gets me going.

  I take a deep breath and get ready. It’s already six and I haven’t even done my makeup. Marshall is cocky. He thinks he has me in the bag. But I’m going to make him work for it. I’m going to make him grovel for me, make him show me what he really thinks of me.

  Outside, I walk toward the bar. I haven’t ever owned a car and I doubt I ever will. Still, I look classy as ever. “He’s going to die,” I think to myself, with a smile. The black dress I have on was my mothers and though I despise that woman, she did have some taste every now and then. This is the one thing she gave me, before I severed all contact with her.

  I’m not going to let those thoughts get me down tonight. No, tonight is all about making Marshall feel at home. I’m not going to fuck the guy or anything. That’s a bit too much persuasion for my taste. What I’m going to do is lead him to the wrong place.

  As I walk, I get a text. It’s from an unknown number, but I already know who it is. Craig and Elroy. They’re breaking up the plan already. It figures they would do something stupid like that. Luckily, we all have new numbers, new burner phones. There’s no way they’re tracing the lines.

  The text reads: “We’re hitting another spot.” I feel my stomach drop and I nearly turn back around.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” I text back. Then another, “You can’t just do that. It’s not part of the plan. I won’t go through with it.”

  “The people overseas want more of a cut. They know just how much we made out with,” he says. I can’t picture which one it is, but I can imagine both of their faces right now. No doubt they quickly met up afterward. I’m the only one with enough grace to follow through with everything correctly. It’s fucking bullshit.

  “Then we’ll pay our fair share. We don’t need to get greedy. I’m not going away. One was enough,” I say.

  “We’ll take your cut then,” he says. “They want 300. You willing to spend that much for a year somewhere overseas?”

  “I’ll manage,” I say. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.” But I know what he’s saying. He’s saying we’re all fucked out of a shit ton of money. 300k? That’s ludicrous. But we don’t have any options.

  “He’ll go to the authorities,” he says. “The feds. He’s one dial away, he claims. Do you really want to risk it?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I feel like slamming my head against the wall. No, I feel like giving up. The initial adrenaline makes me angry, but that quickly subsides. Now, I’m just sad and terrified. I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want to sacrifice absolute freedom. The worst part is, now I really need Marshall. Now I need protection from the enemy himself.

  “No,” I say, truthfully. “I just think this is very sketchy. Like, it’s too sketchy. We’re fucked either way.”

  “What’re you going to do over in Italy after one year? Get a job? Work at a bar?” he asks. “Seriously, what do you think you’ll do?”

  “I’ll open up a business. I’ll figure it out. Like I said,” I tell him. “Look, just tell me the plan.”

  “We need to meet up,” he says. “Virginia. I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck you,” I type. “Don’t call or text me on this phone. Seriously. It’s not safe. If you need me, you know where I’m at.”

  “Cool,” he says. “Ciao.”

  “Bastard,” I mumble.

  “Who’s a bastard?” I hear that rough voice from in front of me. I jump back and make out a nice pair of cowboy boots. One is leaning against a large boulder. I look up and see Marshall. His back is against the sign of the bar.

  “Nobody,” I say, shocked that I didn’t see him. I need to be more careful. He’s definitely the type of guy who pries for more information. “Just some crap I have to deal with.”

  “Boyfriend?” he smiles and squints his eyes. “Don’t think I can’t tell. That was an intimate conversation.”

  “You think you know everything. Don’t you?” I laugh. He’s wearing all denim, and yes, he’s looking extremely good tonight. He’s put together, much more put together than last night.

  “I’m a cop. I’m supposed to know everything,” he says. He presses his boot heel against the rock, pushing himself up onto his feet. He’s wearing this ridiculous cowboy hat that somehow doesn’t repulse me. He takes it off and bows for me. “You look wonderful,” he tells me. He takes my hand and kisses it and I actually feel a rush run through my body.

  I can’t. I can’t be into this. I’m a criminal. I can’t have feelings.

  This is so wrong. “Thank you,” I smile. “You look handsome.”

  “I know. I always do.” He smiles back. “Shall we?”

  “Sure,” I say. “We skipping out on the drinks?”

  “I thought we could drink some nicer cocktails at the Steakhouse, or get a bottle of red wine. Whatever you prefer,” he says. “After all, it is your night.”

  I get into his car and he turns the key. He’s got an old Ford Mustang. Of course he does. Initially, when he smiles at me, there’s that feeling of helplessness a woman gets when in a man’s car for the first time. There’s something about the enclosed space, the lack of control. It rides the line of good and bad, and I wonder whether or not he’s a trustworthy man. To me, cops are the least trustworthy. They wear the badge, but that doesn’t mean they uphold justice. All that piece of metal stands for is power.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “I’m not going to bite. I swear.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I tell him. “It’s just that I feel bad about something.”

  “Yeah?” he drives and carefully watches the road. “What do you feel bad about?” Every so often, he glances over at my breasts. I know they look good in this dress. They’re practically spilling out. I feel self-conscious when he looks, but it’s not necessarily a bad type of self-conscious. It’s just a total awareness that this guy is bad and at any moment, he could put the cuffs on me, and send me away. To be honest, the thought sort of arouses me.

  “I should let you know that I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say, feeling slightly ashamed, and a tad bit alarmed that I’m even admitting that to him right now.

  “I thought as much,” he nods. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re hot. Nah, you’re like an angel trapped in this shithole desert abyss. But there’s a fierce look in your eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might be out to get me.”

  I feel my heart speed up to an unimaginable degree. I try my hardest to control the red in my cheeks, but I know it’s starting to show through my makeup. Why the fuck would I put myself in this position? Why couldn’t I just take the next flight to Italy? Right. No passport. No ID. No nothing. That’s why. Still, there were other options, right? Did I have to play with fate?

  “I don’t hurt people intentionally,” I find myself saying. It’s sort of robotic. I feel the click in my throat when I gulp down and he parks the car in the parking lot of the place. It looks nice. Fancy. He’s trying to spend money on me. And I can sense that he wants me. But does he want to destroy me?

  “I didn’t think you did.” He smiles and leans over. I smell his wonderful cologne. It’s dark and rich, and sensual. I find myself closing my eyes when his fingers touch my chin lightly, beckoning me forward. I obey his commands. I let him do what he wants. Then, his lips kiss my cheek. I know he can feel how warm I am, but he can’t feel how wet I’m getting. This is bad. No, this is absolutely horrific.

  He pulls back and smiles, breathing in heavy and slow, like he’s taking all of me in. For a second, I wonder if he’s hard right now and if he is, how hard? Is he thick? Is his shaft hot to the touch? Fuck…

  “You’re the kind of girl who kills silently. You don’t play games. Not like these other women, anyway,” he says. He unlocks the doors with one click of a button and I feel a huge weight lifted from my chest.

  “I’m a nic
e girl,” I lie. I want to be. I wish I could be a nice girl. I’ve always tried to be, but I just wasn’t allowed the chance. My parents made sure I’d never be nice, or normal, or anything like the other girls. I’d always be a weed, growing out of the cracks of this scorched earth.

  “But you’re right about something,” I continue, stepping out of the car. “I don’t play games.”

  “Good girl,” he says.

  We’re both outside, walking toward the entrance. I have no idea how this is going to end, but I’m actually quite proud of myself. I’ve played this one very nicely. There’s no way he has any idea, nor will he ever. There’s nothing that could go wrong now.

  Yes, I have no idea how this will go. But I’ve got a million images in my mind. Like my body arching across his carpet, mouth wide open, as he pounds me ‘til I scream in absolute ecstasy.

  Marshall

  “Bring us another drink, darling. And make ‘em extra strong.” I smile at the waitress.

  “Sure thing, Marshall,” she says, eyeing my beautiful lady, Virginia. She’s jealous, no doubt. But, that’s just life sometimes. You win some and you lose some. Right now, I’m fucking winning.

  “So you said you grew up around here?” I ask her. She nods carefully. I take it we’ve had similar upbringings by the way she looks at me. There’s sadness in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t pry. Just wondering is all. Can’t trust a girl from outside of the city, right?”

  “That’s what they say around here, anyway,” she smiles out of courtesy. This woman is hot and cold. It’s going to take a lot for me to get inside that dress tonight, but I’m going to try my damn hardest. I need it more than she knows.