Million Dollar Marriage

by Evans, Katy

“Oh, honey,” she says, leaning over and touching my cheek. “Your grandfather said that to me until the day he died. With that attitude, you’re going to make a wonderful husband.”

  SECRET MEETING

  Nell

  Of course. Yes. I had no communication with anyone from the show in the interim period between filming and the finale. Those were the rules.

  —Nell’s Finale Interview, December 17

  Three weeks.

  Three agonizing weeks.

  That’s how long it took before I received another text from Luke.

  I was going mad. I interviewed for the position as adjunct faculty in the Department of English at Georgia State but didn’t get it, so I was still looking for jobs. But the stress of my rising debt barely bothered me, since I knew that come December 17, we’d get our big million dollar payoff. My mind was completely muddled by all the chaos surrounding the television show—and of course, thoughts of Luke. I kept my phone with me every moment, waiting for that elusive text.

  By the time I got it, it was November.

  It wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t even nice. All it said was: 8 p.m. this Sunday. Follow Carver Mill Road from Atlanta to the S curve, then take a right into the first wooded drive and drive about 100 yards.

  I stared at it. How did I know it was even from him? It could’ve been from a serial killer, luring me out into the middle of nowhere.

  But I took one look at the time—eight p.m. on Sunday, the regular airtime of Million Dollar Marriage—and decided I’d rather chance it than be forced to watch. I’ve actually done a great job of avoiding every episode, even though Courtney keeps trying to get me to sit next to her and endure it. She is even more of a fan now than before, and she can’t believe I’m still in the game. One Sunday, she scrunched her nose and said, “You don’t really win, do you?” and I just shrugged.

  So I borrow Nee’s car on Sunday and drive out of Atlanta into the country. I have no idea where I’m going, and the road is creepy and dark. It’s autumn and the leaves are falling as I drive into the S curve. Sure enough, there’s a small road to the right, gravel and full of ruts. I drive along, squinting in the light from my headlights, until I see the back of an old Ford pickup truck.

  I apply the brakes and cut the engine, hoping to god that’s him. I don’t get out, just in case.

  And then the door opens, and a big form steps out, comes around the back of the truck, and leans there, arms crossed.

  Can’t mistake those biceps. It’s him.

  I forget to take off my seat belt in my excitement, and it nearly strangles me. I finally snap it loose, bound out of the car, and run to him, throwing myself into his arms. I straddle him, and he lifts my ass, so I wrap my legs around him. He kisses my hairline, kisses my face, my mouth, and I bask in him, his smell, his body, everything.

  “I missed you so much,” I say, burying my face in his neck.

  “Missed you too.”

  He holds me for the longest time, against his warm body, and we don’t talk, even though I’ve been saving up a million things to tell him since I left. Funny, when we parted, I kept seeing things I thought he’d like or thinking of things I wanted to tell him, and now . . . I don’t want to talk. I just want to be near him.

  When after an eternity he finally lets me down, I look around. “Where are we?”

  He points behind him. “My parents’ farm. Their house is just over that ridge. No one ever comes out here, though. I used to come here to get high.”

  “Oh.” Okay. Enough talking. More kissing.

  I reach for him, but he says, “You have to go back soon?”

  I shake my head adamantly. “I don’t ever want to go back.”

  “Good. I might just keep you.” He opens the tailgate on his truck, climbs in, and spreads out a sleeping bag. Then he gives me his hand, hoisting me up. We kick off our shoes and slip into the bag together, on our sides, facing each other. “Bring back memories?”

  “As I recall, the last time we did this, it was ten degrees. But we were wearing a lot more clothes and were a lot closer.”

  “Hmm. Let’s address that,” he says, unbuttoning the buttons on my blouse. I shrug it off. We slowly help undress each other, and when he wraps an arm around me and pulls me into the warmth of his body, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. “You feel good, Dr. Carpenter.”

  “Call me Dr. Cross,” I say, nuzzling against his chest. “It’s more of an honor to me to be your wife. It feels more real, more right to be yours than anything else.”

  He drags his hands down my back, cupping my ass. “Sweetheart . . . my wife . . . you’re so many things,” he breathes. “I’ve fallen so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself. Sans toi, je ne suis rien.”

  I gaze up at him, my every pore thrumming with love for him. “Where did you learn that?”

  His eyes scan my face, and he reaches up to swipe a lock of hair behind my ear. “Tell me I said it right. I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

  I smile. “You did. Without you, I am nothing too.”

  “Good. Did you tell anyone about us?”

  I nod. “My best friend. She didn’t believe a thing I said.”

  He chuckles. “I had a hard time believing this myself. That’s why I had to see you. I need to know you’re not just a dream in my head.” He kisses my forehead. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

  He drags his hand between us. “Touch me there,” I murmur. “Just touch me everywhere.”

  He nudges my thighs open with his knees, spreading me wide. I’m dripping. His hand slides between my legs, fingering my clit, and then he slowly delves a finger into my wet core. I gasp as a fever shoots through every one of my nerves. Luke laps up my gasp, groaning as our mouths fuse and his finger slides slowly and rhythmically in and out of me, making me moan and wriggle under his touch. His touch on my clit is gentle and soft and lingering, circling surely so that now the wetness is coursing out of me. I feel an ache in my belly, a craving inside me that can’t seem to be appeased, yearning to get as close to him as I possibly can.

  I touch his cock. His beautiful, perfect cock. “I want you. I need you. Please, Luke.”

  I expect resistance, but there is nothing but a male growl rumbling against my chest. He kisses me harder and then pecks my lips as he eases back and positions himself between my legs. He reaches for his pants, and I know what he’s looking for, so I grab his hand. “I’m protected. And I want to feel you completely. Just fuck me.”

  “Goddamn, Penny. You know how many times I’ve dreamed about this?”

  “I know.” I kiss his forehead. “I have too. I’ve thought about you every single second since I left Maui.”

  I rest my weight on my elbows, watching him take his shaft in his hand and guide it between my legs. He pauses at my entrance and looks into my eyes. “Sure you want this?”

  I nod. More than anything.

  He covers me with his body, and suddenly I feel him sliding slowly into me, inch by inch, filling me. It’s so good, so delicious, him inside me, in the right place, fitting into me like the final missing puzzle piece. It makes my whole body quake.

  “Fuck, Penny,” he murmurs, voice ragged. His hands are gripping my hips, fingers digging in. “You fit me so well.”

  And then he is flush against me, hips against hips. He’s huge, stretching me, and I feel him inside me, throbbing with his heartbeat. I let out a shuddery breath and savor the feeling of his hot skin totally against mine, blanketing me. I kiss the side of his face, salty with his sweat, and wonder what he’s going to do to me next to drive me absolutely wild.

  “This okay?” he asks unsurely, timidly, like he doesn’t know how amazing he is and how every last thing he does makes me fall more and more in love with him.

  “I love it. I love your cock. You feel so good.”

  Pressure is building, an explosion just waiting to happen. Before it can, he releases his grip on my hips and pulls himself out. I feel the tip of his shaf
t at my entrance for a mere breath, and then he plunges inside, slowly and steadily.

  I can’t help it. It rips a shriek from my mouth.

  “Okay?” he asks me, searching out my eyes.

  How can it be wrong? It’s my husband and me. Together. Making love. Nothing could be more right. “Yes. More. Faster.”

  Another slow slide out, and this time no pause. He thrusts into me, hard this time. The pressure is building, blooming deep in my core like a volcano, ready to erupt. His muscles are tense as he pulls out and thrusts again, harder, faster, deeper, fueling the desire to get more of him as far into me as possible.

  I have never been fucked like this before. Thoroughly, completely, fully fucked so that every pore in my body is a firework ready to explode.

  “Yes. Yes,” I cry out. “God, Luke. Oh god. Don’t stop, don’t ever, ever stop, please don’t ever stop, Luke.” I’m blabbering.

  “You like it hard?” he says, voice strained as I’m now lifting my hips off the truck bed, meeting his every thrust in a steadily hastening rhythm. We’re both covered in sweet sweat, and the friction is threatening to make us burst into flames.

  “Yes. However you want it—just please give me you,” I gasp, a frisson of pleasure radiating out from low in my belly, threatening to take over every inch of me. Now I feel shameless. I want his mouth on me, everywhere. I want him to fuck me forever. The pressure in my belly is now thundering through me, and I know something monumental is about to happen.

  He slows his thrusts, sliding in and out, testing the rhythm, getting even deeper. His chest slides against my hard nipples, and suddenly I let out a cry. He’s found the right place, because the pleasure is almost too much to take. I’m getting even hotter and closer to that edge than I dreamed possible. I hook my legs around his hips, and he buries himself impossibly deep inside me. I’m frantic as I go off like a rocket, clutching his big body as my only lifeline tethering me to this earth.

  My entire body ripples with such intensity I let out a primal scream, my nails scraping down his back. I come. So hard. So hard that I keep screaming and sobbing his name, over and over again, even as I start to come down. He rips me apart.

  He must’ve been holding out on me, because the second I find myself coming down, he plunges deep into me, holding me there, and I feel him pulsating inside me. He lets out a long, muffled groan into my hair, then whispers my name over and over again.

  “Penny,” he murmurs as the shuddering subsides, gazing dreamily into my eyes. He falls then, completely limp, into my arms, and I hold him close as the stars and the moon and the whole world seem to be shining on us, smiling at this perfect moment.

  There’s no doubt in my mind. This so-wrong-for-me man?

  Is so, so, so right.

  Luke

  Right. It was tough waiting until December 17. But here we are. So let’s get this done.

  —Luke’s Finale Interview, December 17

  Later, she’s lying against my chest, completely spent.

  My fucking beautiful wife.

  The sun is breaking over the horizon. What felt like an hour has been ten.

  Her breath on me is a feeling I wish I could bottle and save. The smell of her shampoo and her arousal is heavy in the damp morning air, and I inhale it into my lungs, wanting to drown in it. I stare at her light eyelashes fluttering, the bridge of freckles over her nose, her red raw lips, and I want it all so bad, in my pocket, all the time.

  I run my hands down her bare back and tangle my legs with hers. Her eyes open, and she lifts her chin to look at me. “Good morning.”

  There are so many things I still want to do to her. Again and again. I want to suck and lick and touch and taste her, all of her, every last piece, over and over. I will never get enough.

  But our time is up.

  “Morning, sweetheart. I think we have to go.”

  She pouts, but she slips soundlessly out of the sleeping bag. We find our clothes in piles all over the back of the truck and dress slowly, as if that will help us extend our time together.

  I watch her slipping on her shoes on the tailgate, and for a minute I imagine her all in white, walking down the aisle toward me.

  I take a breath and let it out, and it clouds in front of me in the chilly morning air.

  “The day the show started you said that you wanted a real wedding, with the dress and the cake and the rings?”

  She smiles. “Yes. But it’s okay. I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

  I reach into the pocket of my jeans. I sink to my knee in front of her. I open the velvet case. “But I would have.”

  She gasps. “Luke . . . how did you . . . ?”

  “You need a real engagement ring. A wedding. A dress. A honeymoon. You need all of it. And I’m going to give it to you, baby, the second this is all over and we get that money. I promise. From now on, all I’m going to do is live to make you happy. That’s all.”

  “I am already so happy,” she breathes out. “The answer is already yes. Of course. Forever.”

  She slips off the tailgate and pulls me up, easing into my arms, kissing me.

  “Don’t you want to try on the ring?” I ask.

  She looks at it again. “It never was about the ring. It’s pretty. You picked it out?”

  “I had a little help,” I confess, taking it out of the box and sliding it onto her finger.

  She wiggles it about a little, admiring it, then slips her hands around my neck and kisses me. “Thank you. It’s perfect. This makes it feel real. I can’t wait until I can wear it all the time.”

  I kiss her goodbye. She gets into her car and waves at me through the windshield, the diamond glistening on her finger as she backs out of the driveway and disappears.

  She’ll have to take that diamond off. For now, at least.

  Six more weeks. Six more weeks. Six more weeks.

  I feel better equipped to handle it now. To survive.

  But I’ll still be on edge. I can’t wait until she can wear that diamond and never have to think about taking it off.

  I can’t wait until the whole world knows she’s mine.

  FINALE

  Nell

  Yes. I finally get to say it out loud. Luke and I won the first season of Million Dollar Marriage. I never would’ve believed it when we started. But we wound up making a good team.

  —Nell’s Finale Interview, December 17

  December 17

  It’s finally time.

  I’ve been sitting in a greenroom in the back of the studio with the other contestants for two hours, waiting for our chance to go on stage. Right now, the studio audience is being treated to the first hour of the two-hour finale, which is the final episode in Maui.

  Luke is here, making his rounds and talking to just about everyone.

  Only . . . not me.

  Because though most of the contestants know it was Luke and I who won, no one—not the producers or even the contestants—knows what our answer will be. I was told when I arrived not to make our answer obvious.

  He keeps looking at me, though. Giving me those intense eyes that shoot my temperature to the ceiling, his gaze possessive and heavy on me. And I’ve been my usual wallflower self, making friends with the crudités, full of nervous energy, but mostly, unable to take my eyes off him. He’s wearing a suit.

  He. Is. Wearing. A. Suit.

  And he looks like a million dollars.

  My husband is damn hot. I’m drooling a little.

  As I sit on the couch in the corner, someone tugs on my sleeve. I look up and see Shveta. “Congratulations,” she says, giving me a hug. “The buzz is that you won. Who would’ve thought?”

  I smile. “Yes, thank you. Oh, gosh. I’m so nervous.”

  “Me too. Though you have more of a reason to be. All the cameras are going to be on you and Luke.”

  Yes, I suppose so. My stomach twists at the thought. But then I catch a look at Luke and—instant calm. His lips lift in a smile, and I swear I w
ish I could bottle the way he makes me feel. Sparks of excitement flicker down to my toes. In less than an hour, I can put on that ring that’s currently in my purse and never take it off again. I can kiss and hug and hold my husband and never have to hide it again.

  I can be Mrs. Luke Cross. His wife. Forever.

  At five to nine, they start to line us up to go out onto the stage. The butterflies in my stomach become bats as everyone gets paired up with their “spouse” in the order they were eliminated, and they finally pair Luke and me together at the very end. I look up and he takes my clammy, trembling hand in his own.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Penny.” His voice is smooth as melted chocolate, completely relaxed.

  I laugh. There are so many things I want to say to him.

  But then the audience starts to cheer, and the producers signal for us to go out onto the stage.

  So we do.

  The arena is packed to the gills with reporters, cameras pointed at us. Flashbulbs go off, and my future seems to flash through my eyes with them.

  Everything depends on what will happen in the next hour. We could give our answer in a split second, but not now. I know the announcer will drag things out to the point of sheer madness. Recaps of poignant moments from the season, interviews with contestants, performances by “special celebrity guests” who are also fans of the show.

  It’s all meant to build up to the moment of truth.

  Every one of the people in this arena, every one of the thirteen million people watching at home—they’re all waiting on the edge of their seats with the same question.

  Will they . . . or won’t they?

  I wish to god we could just give our answer and be done.

  He’s so close, but he might as well be a million miles away. Our fingers entwined, he waves at the crowd cheering our names. His hand isn’t the least bit clammy. I manage a peek at him, his chiseled features, his relaxed smile, and my throat catches.

  No wonder the world is in love with him. No wonder he’s been the fan favorite since week one.

  This is it. The end. Or . . .

  I look over at him and say, “Luke . . . I’m not . . .”