Don't Kiss the Bride: An Age Gap, Marriage of Convenience Romance

by Carian Cole

Me: I was just curious.

  Megan: Lies. I know you, Sky. Did you and hubby have a fight?

  Me: It’s a long story, but we didn’t have a fight. He was super pissed about something else.

  I’m not going to tell Megan the details about Jude’s personal life. At least not over text message.

  Megan: And?

  Me: And we had some wild sex.

  Megan: I’m here for these details.

  Me: Is it bad if I enjoyed it? Like, I know I probably shouldn’t because he was so pissed off and I offered myself up as sort of an outlet, but it was pretty hot.

  Megan: I am very jealous and not at all ashamed to admit it.

  Me: LOL

  Megan: Erik is way too nice to have angry sex. He’s all gentle and polite.

  Me: That’s nice, too. I wouldn’t want my cervix rammed every day.

  Megan: You lucky bitch. And no, it’s not bad if you enjoyed it. Passion is passion. Some couples live for make-up sex.

  I laugh and shake my head at the screen.

  Me: I have to leave for work but I’ll tell you more when I see you. How are things at school? Am I going to be stepping into a battleground when I come back?

  Megan: I miss having you here. Everyone is gossiping, of course. Some are saying you punched Paige, someone said you were fucking her dad, some are saying you’re a queen for giving that bitch what she deserves.

  My stomach churns with anxiety. I don’t want any more drama in my life, I just want it all to stop.

  Me: Great :-(

  Megan: Don’t worry, I’m setting the record straight. I got your back.

  Me: Thank you. I’ll try to call you later.

  Megan: Okay. Love ya.

  Me: xo

  “Good morning, naughty girl,” Rebecca says when I arrive at the boutique. My heart jumps into my throat, and my brain scrambles to figure out how she knows I got rammed doggy style last night and then submitted to a cum massage by my angry, drunk, fake husband. “Even though it’ll be nice having you here a few extra hours this week, let’s try not to get suspended again, okay?”

  I gulp in relief. “Agreed.”

  Smiling, she tosses a package at me. “This came for you this morning.”

  I hold the light-gray, padded envelope and look at it with curiosity. “For me?”

  “Yup.”

  I take it to the break room and cut it open. There’s a pretty card laying on top of something wrapped in purple tissue paper.

  Dear Skylar,

  We are very impressed with your photographs and captions for Belonging’s Boutique. We have followed your personal account, @thatvettegirl, and we love your outlook and style. We would be honored if you’d accept this blouse, and if you love it, you can share photos of it with your followers and give them the special discount code below. You will receive 10% from each sale. If this is something you are interested in, we would love to work with you more in the future and increase your percentage.

  There is no obligation if you are not interested in being an influencer, or if our products are not of interest to you, but please keep the blouse as a gift from us. We are a small, woman-owned company, and we appreciate young, fresh, and innovative women like yourself.

  Keep up the amazing work - we see great things in your future!

  Best wishes,

  MaryAnn Rockport

  CEO of BlueHueToo Fashions

  Oh. My. God.

  An influencer opportunity! I don’t even have the coveted ten thousand followers yet! I run to Rebecca to show her the gorgeous white peasant blouse and the note.

  “Wow!” she says. “This is amazing. I’m so proud of you!”

  “Is it okay if I do it? On my personal profile?”

  “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be? I love seeing you succeed.”

  “I just don’t want to create a conflict of interest.”

  She smiles warmly at me. “I’m totally fine with it. Who knows where this could lead for you? I think it’s wonderful.”

  My mouth hurts from smiling so much. “Thank you.”

  “The blouse is to die for,” she says, touching the soft material. “I’m going to be the first to buy one using your code.”

  I start to mentally plan my day—deciding which products I want to take photos of. The holiday items are starting to roll in, and Rebecca wants to run some sales since people will be buying gifts. I ordered rolls of fake snow, and I hope they make the pictures look cool and wintery and not like a tacky mess.

  Out of habit, I reach into my back pocket for my phone, but it’s not there.

  Frowning, I grab my purse to see if I threw it in there. I want to send a quick text to Jude before I start taking photos, just to let him know he’s on my mind.

  I can’t help wondering if he’s been thinking about me today like I’ve been thinking about him.

  After dumping the entire contents of my purse onto the floor, I realize I must have left it at home when I was texting with Megan.

  “Crap,” I mutter. I’m going to have to drive all the way back home to get it, then come back here.

  Frustrated with myself, I tell Rebecca I’ll be back and make the drive home. As I drive across town, my mood takes a dive. Not only do I not have my favorite playlist because it’s on my phone, but I really miss my car. It might sound strange, but driving my Corvette always put me in a good mood and made me feel free. The car was a reminder of all the talks my grandfather and I had—like when he told me life will get better as long as I never give up hope. The car was symbolic of my life—a bit of a mess now, but with the potential to be beautiful with some patience, love, and care.

  Someday, I will get my ’vette back from Jude.

  When I get to the house, I realize I must’ve been more distracted than I thought I was this morning. Not only did I forget my phone, but the front door isn’t shut all the way.

  Worried, I run through the first floor like a lunatic, terrified that Cassie or Gus wandered outside and got lost, but I find them sitting in the sunroom together. I don’t remember closing the door to this room when I left earlier, but I seem to be suffering some major scatterbrain moments today—probably because I keep thinking about Jude and how incredibly hot the sex was last night. If only it wasn’t shrouded by his devastation over his sister and his attempt to drown himself in whiskey.

  Relieved the pets are safe and sound, I give them each a kiss, then head upstairs. As soon as I walk into my room, I stop short and blink several times. My brain has been thrown into that confusing, surreal state of not quite processing what my eyes are seeing.

  My room is completely trashed.

  The closet is open—one of the doors hanging off the hinges—and my clothes and hangers are strewn all over the floor.

  The dresser drawers are open, the contents dumped out in a big heap.

  My nightstand is toppled on its side with the little drawer pulled out.

  My heart leaps up into my throat as I whirl around, trying to take a mental inventory of my belongings and recalling what was where.

  The little teddy bears are gone.

  My laptop is gone.

  My little cup of cash is gone.

  Even my stack of losing lottery tickets that I’ve been saving just because Jude gave them to me is missing.

  My small collection of jewelry—including my wedding band—is gone.

  With my heart thundering and tears springing up in my eyes, I run down the hall to Jude’s room to find the same exact mess.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

  Someone broke in and robbed us!

  As I stand in the middle of his room, overwhelmed with a wave of panic, the sound of breaking glass coming from the garage tears me out of the panic-induced haze.

  I bolt downstairs, grabbing my cell phone from where I must’ve left it on the kitchen island, and then blast out the back door. I run toward the garage and push open the side door that’s ajar—without even thinking about who I might encounter inside.


  I gasp as a hooded figure comes around the side of the Corvette wielding a hammer and smashes it down on my beloved car’s windshield.

  “No!” I scream in horror.

  The person turns to me, still holding the hammer above their head, ready to strike again.

  My blood goes totally cold when our eyes connect.

  “Erin?” I say in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What the fuck does it look like, bitch? You think you can just move into my house? Into my room? And turn my brother against me? Fuck both of you!”

  She brings the hammer down on the windshield again, and the glass cracks into a spider web.

  I rush at her and grab her arm. “Stop it!” I scream. “Are you crazy?”

  She stares at me with wild eyes, and that’s all the answer I need. She is crazy. We wrestle for the hammer, both of our hands grasping the handle, screaming horrible obscenities at each other. Finally, I wrench the hammer from her grasp, and she falls back into one of Jude’s metal tool chests. As she grapples to get up, my gaze lands on two pillowcases near the door. One from my bed, the other from Jude’s—both stuffed with what I’m sure are our belongings. I run for the pillowcases with Erin on my heels, screaming at me like a rabid animal. I grasp the thin material of Jude’s pillowcase, and it’s heavier than I thought it would be. Erin catches me by my hair and whips me backward. Yelping in pain, I clutch Jude’s things like my life depends on it and wrench my hair from her grip. Rolling onto my back, I kick my feet into her legs and gut just as she’s about to spring on top of me.

  “You fucking little bitch,” she shrieks, clutching her stomach. “I’ll kill you!”

  Scrambling to my feet, I push my hair out of my face and try to catch my breath.

  “Just get out of here!” I yell, not realizing she’s picked up the hammer I dropped, and before I can duck, she smacks me in the head with it. Stunned, I fall into the fender of my car, and everything goes dark.

  Chapter 36

  Skylar

  Thank God for nosey neighbors.

  One of them heard the ruckus of me and Erin fighting and called the police. They found me lying on the garage floor bleeding from a blunt-force head wound, still clutching the pillowcase full of Jude’s stuff.

  I have no regrets. There was no way I was letting Erin take anything from Jude.

  I had my first ambulance ride, my first stitches, my first concussion, and now I’m lying on a hospital gurney—with a headache bigger than Texas—waiting to be discharged.

  What the hell is happening to my life?

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but the next thing I know, Jude is barreling into the exam room.

  He looks huge and primal in the tiny, sterile room, with his thick blue-and-black flannel shirt, dusty jeans, and heavy work boots. His hair is tied back, and he’s got at least four days’ worth of stubble. Despite my trauma, butterflies stir in my stomach as I recall how that stubble felt chafing against my thighs.

  My heart literally aches when he stands next to the bed staring down at me with tears in his eyes, and his hands clasped under his chin.

  “I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he says, slowly shaking his head.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Choking up, he rubs his eyes with his palm, then pulls the guest chair close to the bed and sits. He takes my hand, holds it so tight in his it hurts, and presses it against his lips.

  “It’s fucking killing me to see you like this.”

  “I’m fine,” I assure him with a weak smile. “It’s just a mild concussion and a few stitches. They’re discharging me soon.”

  “Twenty stitches.” He reaches out and runs his finger lightly along my temple, right above the gash. “Every time I look at you, I’m going to be reminded that I did this to you.” He pulls his hand away, and his jaw muscles twitch with anguish and anger that I can actually feel raging inside him.

  A bolt of fear zaps through me, making my head throb even more. What if he can’t stand to see me again, now that the two-inch scar on my face is going to be a constant reminder of his messed-up sister who completely screwed his head up?

  Closing my eyes against the pain, I say, “Lucky, it’s not your fault. Your sister did this because she’s pissed off. I don’t think her intention was to attack me. She wasn’t expecting me to come home. I think she just wanted stuff to sell and she messed up the car to make some kind of a statement.”

  “I never thought she’d do something this fucking crazy. I already called a security company. New locks and surveillance cameras are going in fucking tomorrow.”

  I nod because that will actually make me feel a lot better. “I saved your stuff.” I force myself to sound optimistic. “I think she took off with my things, though. My laptop, my wedding ring… she smashed my car.” Thinking about the special things she stole from me and the image of my car windows bashed in makes me nauseated with despair. I furiously try to fight back the tears burning in my eyes, but they slip through and track down my cheek. I quickly wipe them away.

  “Did the police get her?” I ask.

  “No,” he says gruffly. “I’m going to take care of it.”

  Fear prickles up my spine. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m going to take care of it. I’m not going to let them get away with this. This has Jimmy written all over it. I don’t even care if it was my sister doing the dirty work—she crossed a fucking line. You’ll have your stuff back, and I’m gonna fix your car.”

  “Jude—”

  He cuts me off. “Can Megan give you a ride home and stay with you tonight?”

  I narrow my eyes at him as goosebumps sprinkle over my arms. “I’m sure she will. Why?”

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  “What?” The throbbing in my head ramps up.

  He lays his cell phone on the bed next to me. “You take mine so you’ll have one, and give me yours for the night.”

  Nervously, I hand him my phone, which miraculously stayed in my pocket throughout the entire attack. “But why?”

  “I’m gonna use it to track your laptop. Then I’m gonna find those motherfuckers and get your things back.”

  Oh, no.

  No. No. No.

  “Jude, please, just let it go. They’re hopped up on drugs and dangerous. I don’t care what they took. None of it is worth you getting hurt.” If something happened to him, I’d be devastated. I can’t even think about it.

  “Yeah?” He stands. “You think they’re dangerous? Well, so am I, and I’m not letting this fucking go. That scumbag took off with my sister when she was only sixteen years old. He took her from her family and turned her into a goddamn junkie, and I know he put her up to this shit today. It ends tonight. That fucker is gonna get everything he deserves.”

  The venom dripping from his voice and the intense rage blazing in his eyes is terrifying. It’s hard for me to believe this is the same man who holds my hand, cuddles our pets, and brings me lottery tickets every night just to see me smile.

  Though his face is hard, he leans down and presses his warm lips gently to my cheek. “I’m gonna make things right,” he whispers. Straightening, he gives my hand a squeeze before he lets go. “You rest, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

  I hold his gaze, wracked with fear that he’s going to get hurt. Or worse. “Promise me you’ll come home?”

  He puts his hand over his heart. “Cross my heart.”

  “Look, Skylar, we need to burn some sage or something when we get you home. You got some bad mojo going on lately,” Megan says when she arrives at the hospital to drive me home.

  “You might be right.” I sit on the edge of the gurney, feeling dizzy as we wait for an attendant to come with a wheelchair to take me downstairs for discharge. I can’t wait to get home and put clean clothes on. The sticky blood on my shirt is making me feel sick to my stomach.

  She grimaces as she studies my head. “She hit you with a hammer? What the ever-lo
ving-hell?”

  “She’s obviously fucked up and probably high on something. Who knows?”

  “I may as well tell you now, Jude texted me earlier. I met him outside the school, and he gave me his house key so I could go to the house and clean up your room for you.”

  “Oh my God, he did?”

  She nods. “He didn’t want you to feel traumatized when you got home, and he didn’t want you to have to clean up the mess. I did my best to put everything away for you. I straightened his room a little too, but I didn’t go through his stuff.”

  I reach my arms out to her, and we hug. “Thank you for doing that,” I say softly with my face buried in her silky hair. “You’re the bestest.”

  “All this drama’s gotta stop,” she says, pulling away. “But, I will say this. I was feeling suspect about Jude at first, but he’s a good guy. That dude loves you.”

  My head snaps up and a flash of pain stabs through my forehead like an ice pick. “What? Why would you say that?”

  She arches her brows. “Hello? Are you blind? The guy is fierce over you… his eyes and voice totally change when he talks about you. It’s crazy intense.”

  “You’ve got it wrong. Jude’s not the love type. We’re basically friends with bennies. It’s all we both want. It works.” Even as I say the words, I’m not so sure they’re true anymore.

  “You’re both stupid and in denial.”

  We don’t talk much on the way home, and I appreciate Megan’s rare moment of quiet and calm driving. My head hurts. I’m stunned by everything that’s happened. I’m heartbroken about my car and losing my personal possessions. I’m worried about what Jude’s doing right now.