Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Mistake

She always imagined her giggling sisters around her and walking down the aisle to a man who loved her. Instead, she paused in the doorway and finally understood how her sister-in-law felt trying to conquer her panic attacks. Her stomach lurched, and perspiration broke out on her skin, making her itch.

Cheesy organ music drifted in the air, and Carina took a step back in her Ciccotti shoes, which had four-inch heels, real diamonds, and urged her to run. Hell, she’d be the runaway bride. Find a FedEx truck and hitch it out on a grand adventure. Change her name, go under deep cover and—

Her gaze slammed into his.

His whole aura screamed control. Piercing ocean blue eyes held hers and gave her the strength needed to drag in a breath. Another one. Her mother linked her arm firmly within hers, lifted her cane, and began the long walk down the aisle.

Never breaking his stare, he willed her to complete the walk until she stood before him at the altar. He was male perfection. Dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, with red accents and a rose in his lapel, he exhibited a lean grace and elegance.

He recited his vows in a voice that never shook. The seriousness of the moment conflicted with the impulse of her decision. Somehow, it didn’t seem real until she said the words. Her tongue stuck on the answer. Could she really do this? Marry a man who didn’t love her? The questions whirled and wreaked havoc with her head. A halting silence rushed over the chapel. Her mother tilted her head and waited. The blood roared in her ears, and she swayed on her feet.

Slight pressure from his fingers tapped her back. Slowly, he nodded. Encouraging her to say the words. Demanding she take the leap.

“I do.”

He slid the three-carat crown-of-light diamond onto her finger.

Claimed.

His lips were warm but his kiss was chaste. A formal ending to a ceremony that would change them forever.

Sawyer gave them a private dining room. A popular band played old Italian favorites, and they feasted on pasta, wine, and various appetizers. The cake was personally created by the Venetian’s pastry chef in honor of the wedding.

The next few hours unfolded for her as if she was outside herself. She smiled when necessary. Made calls to Max’s mother and her family to break the news. She forced squeals of happiness with her sisters, and painted a scene of their secret courtship that made her choke. All the while, Max never touched her. He barely glanced at her as they performed the mandatory dance. She guzzled champagne in an effort to forget until they finally made it to their room.

The king-size bed mocked her. Their lovemaking still clung in the air, or maybe it was just her imagination. He stood in front of her, dressed in his impeccable tuxedo, all his gorgeousness and grace so close yet galaxies away. Her body caved and melted under the sudden heat of his stare. “It is our honeymoon night.”

She imagined him stripping off her wedding dress and panties. Parting her thighs. Dipping his head to suck and lick until he finally pushed deep inside and made her forget everything except the way he made her feel.

She grabbed the bottle of champagne chilling in the holder and a glass. Kicked off her shoes. And smiled mockingly.

“Here’s to us, Maxie. Good night.”

In a fit of temper, she saluted and sauntered away with the champagne. Closed the door and locked it. Slumped against the wall in her wedding dress.

And cried.

Two weeks later, Max realized his life was different.

Max enjoyed order and simplicity. His bedroom reflected his lifestyle, full of cherrywood furniture and spartan decorations. Now, the darkness exploded with touches of light—a tangerine throw rug over hardwood floors, a frilly pink scarf hung on the hook behind the door, the spill of glass bottles with fragrance and a clutter of shoes clustered in the corner.

His private bath now smelled of cucumber, melon, and fresh soap. His razor had been moved from the cabinet and was replaced by bottles of lotion and creams. As he made his way down the spiral staircase and into the living room, he noticed a few celebrity magazines lying on the sofa next to an array of romance novels with sexy covers. Max scooped one up to move it into the bookcase, but decided to peek. After he read the scene, he wondered why his face felt suddenly hot. He quickly shelved it and walked into the culinary kitchen.

Empty, except for the spill of bread crumbs on the white granite counter like a little mouse. He followed the trail down the hall and toward the back. She had claimed the sunroom as her new workspace and seemed to spend endless hours here. Max tapped on the door and opened it.

She stood in the spill of light in the center of the room, staring at a blank canvas. He rarely used the space other than for storage, but she descended in a whirl of organization. Boxes disappeared, shaded blinds were ripped down, and the wallpaper torn off. Now, new life breathed into an artist’s haven with sun streaming through the bay windows and onto rich peachy walls, and endless storage shelves filled with supplies. He’d hooked up the music system, and Beyoncé ground out sexy lyrics at high volume.

Carina’s fingers gripped a paintbrush dipped in moss green, and her smock already held touches of color and the smear of charcoal. Basic sketches filled the walls with a variety of figures, and she’d tried her hand at a landscape that she abandoned halfway through. Her hair was pinned up on her head in a messy tangle. She pursed her lips in concentration, seeing something not there yet, an image she wanted to reveal, and Max was fascinated by this woman he’d never glimpsed before. Rocky lay in a pool of sunshine by the window, snoring away. Man’s best friend had quickly gone to the dark side. Her animal whisperer tendencies hypnotized the dog completely, and he followed her faithfully from room to room, confirming his new number one choice.

In a matter of two weeks, she’d upended his life. She was a bit messy with her clutter. She left the cap off the toothpaste, her shoes kicked off by the door, and never seemed to reach the hamper with her dunk shot.

He discovered she shared his passion for forensic crime dramas and the occasional trashy reality disaster. Sometimes they’d sit together with Rocky beside them, drink wine, and watch television in blissful silence. The four-star meals he loved to experiment with finally had another participant, and he noticed more pleasure in creating dishes for her.

Of course, he kept waiting for panic to hit with the knowledge that his old life was over and he was tied down to one woman forever. He figured he’d experience feelings of anger, resentment, or pure terror. But since that disastrous honeymoon night when she threw back his words in fury, he’d kept his distance. They reached a tentative truce and treated each other with the utmost politeness and respect. Max told himself he was relieved she wasn’t pushing him into false intimacies. He never expected her to be so resentful of the marriage, either. She didn’t need him anymore in any type of capacity, obvious in her sudden focus on finding out if she wanted to continue working at La Dolce Maggie. She hadn’t mentioned it lately, and since there’d been no major mishaps, maybe Carina decided to stick it out.

“Carina?”

She spun around and his heart caught. With her hair loose and messy around her shoulders, a streak of charcoal on her cheek, and her smock splattered with paint, she looked different from her normal work self. Her cutoff shorts exposed a length of tanned leg, and cherry red toenails flashed on her bare feet. She scowled at him. “What?”

He shifted his feet and suddenly felt like a teenage boy. “What are you working on?”

“Not sure.” She crinkled her nose in that cute manner he began to spot. “My usual stuff isn’t satisfying. I feel as if I’m reaching for something more, but I’m not sure what it is yet.”

“You’ll get there.”

“Eventually.” She paused. “Did you want something?”

Christ, why did he feel like an idiot? Chasing after his own wife for some type of interaction. Max cleared his throat. “I’m making dinner. Thought you might want to take a break.”

“Will you save me a plate, please? Can’t stop now.”

“Sure. Don’t work too hard.”

“Hmm.”

Her absent sound and dismissal pissed him off. Why did she get to be cranky about being forced into marriage? He’d sacrificed his life, too. “Are you ready for our opening in two weeks? You’ve done a good job prepping for it. Might have to work late for the next few days.”

As if realizing she forgot to tell him something unimportant, she cut a hand through the air. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m quitting.”

He rocked back on his heels. “What?”

She pushed a hand through her curls and a flash of red paint speared random strands. “Sorry, I meant to tell you earlier. It’s just not working for me any longer. I’ll speak with Michael tomorrow. I’ll stay as long as you need until you get a worthy assistant.”

Shock held him motionless. When had she decided this? Since they arrived home from Vegas, she’d continued to work at the office, but had cut back her hours. She completed her work to full capacity, but he knew her usual enthusiasm had diminished. His insides lurched at the idea of not seeing her in the office, but combined with a sense of pride. The image of their night together mocked him. Naked and in his arms, she confessed her emotions in a way that made him feel treasured. Now, she made her own decisions without a thought. A deep longing washed through him but he didn’t know what to do about it. “What are you going to do instead?”