Unexpected Bride

by Abigail Graham

  She's happy with it, and that's what matters to me.

  I've spent the last six months working odd jobs. Since we knew we were moving to this side of the city, I took work at a pizza parlor. It's hot, grueling work, stoking and feeding a wood-fired oven and making pizzas, but it passes the days fast and I haven't started breaking out like a teenager yet. In the meantime, I'm applying for engineering work. I'll probably have something in a few weeks—there's a couple aerospace companies that have expressed interest, and I have interviews next week.

  Julia walks into the kitchen, turns around, and grins. It's small and looks cramped to me, but it has something called subway tile, so I know she's in love with it. While she chats with the agent about the place, I move to the window and watch the people on the street below walk by.

  After a few minutes, she pokes my shoulder.

  "Can we put in a rental application?"

  "Go nuts," I tell her.

  She fills it out and we both sign it. The agent looks over the moon. I'm surprised the place hasn't moved given how cheap it is, but I guess the agent has had a hard time showing it.

  The agent calls us back while we're driving back to our place and tells us it's ours if we want it. Julia is so eager she turns the Beetle around and drives back, and we sign the paperwork and hand over a check for the first month and all that right there.

  It takes a week to get the keys, and we can't move in until then anyway, so I spend my days packing when I'm not at the pizza shop working. Ninety percent of the stuff we have here is Julia's. I didn't even take my wardrobe when I came here with her, I just had the clothes on my back, and we went to thrift shops to fill out my closet.

  I had a lot of stuff, but I've never really owned anything. Makes moving day convenient. Julia, on the other hand, has a back-breaking collection of books that I have to pack into the smallest size boxes so they won't rupture when I pick one up. More trips down to the truck.

  She saunters out of the kitchen, humming to herself, to help.

  "Who is this Vanessa Waltz?" I ask her, holding up a paperback. "You have a whole box full of her stuff."

  "So I like romance novels," she says, irritably, snatching it from my hand. "Got a problem with that?"

  "Not at all," I say. "If you want to read Owned by the Bad Boy, that's your business."

  She narrows her eyes.

  "Yeah, well, you shouldn't judge. When you were sixteen my mom found a stack of Playboys under your bed and didn't rat you out."

  I gently slide the book in with the others and give the creased spine a reassuring pat.

  When moving day rolls around, we have lots of help. Karen shows up, though it's more for moral support than anything.

  "Put that down," I keep telling her.

  "Relax, I can just balance it on my stomach."

  She's six months along and showing now, happily divorced and, according to her, off the market. She says that, but she shows up to help us move with a guy named Mark she met at work. She took a job in the marketing department at a chocolate factory, of all things. Now she always smells like chocolate and keeps giving us chocolate and her totally not boyfriend who keeps putting his arm around her waist smells like chocolate, too.

  Mom shows up, too. Since Karen and I are both here, she's moved over to the other coast while things are in process dealing with Dad and the divorce.

  "So when are you two going to be done living in sin?" she asks, walking into our old apartment as we start carrying boxes down to the rental truck.

  "Mom, need I point out again, we are in fact already married."

  "Maybe in the eyes of Elvis, but not in the eyes of God."

  I roll my own eyes at her and carry one of those ridiculous crates of books down to the truck. By the time I have them all loaded, the damn thing is squatting down on its suspension from the weight, and we haven't even moved the furniture yet.

  After a sweaty two hours, we have the last of it in the truck and do a final walk-through. This apartment is huge and swanky, in a downtown glass tower. It's more Karen than Julia and too big—and expensive—for either of them, so that chapter is closed.

  After a hair-rising drive to the new place with me driving the truck and everyone else packed into the Beetle, we haul our bed upstairs and begin the process of moving all the furniture—again, almost all Julia's.

  By the time I've carried my tenth box of books up the narrow staircase, I'm exhausted, but there's another five to go. Over my objections, Mom and Karen both grab one, and Karen's “friend” Mark makes a show of heaving two into his arms, barely making it to the big pile before he drops them.

  The first thing we unpack is the kitchen utensils. Julia makes the call and we order our first Chinese delivery in the new place, and Mom and Karen bustle about putting up curtains and the like while we wait. Julia and I start unpacking the bedroom.

  After everyone is fed, Mom and Karen and Julia have to hug and tear up for half an hour before they finally make their exit. I give Mark a thankful handshake and wave to them all as they catch a Lyft.

  Julia slumps in the dining area on a chair and blows her hair out of her eyes. She takes her scrunchie out and shakes it loose.

  "I'm exhausted," I declare. "And my back hurts from hauling a ton and a half of books up a flight of steep stairs."

  "Poor baby," she says, rising behind me.

  Her fingers knead into my shoulders, and she pushes me towards the bedroom. I guess this had to happen sooner or later. We couldn't go without christening the place. Without a word, I pull my shirt over my head, shed my pants, and roll onto the bed.

  "On your stomach," Julia says, flicking her hands. "Come on, roll over."

  "What's next, you tell me to fetch?"

  "Just do it."

  I flop onto my belly and relax. Julia throws a leg over me and plops down to sit on my butt and begins kneading my back. My joking complaints evaporate. Her hands are cold at first, but quickly warm up.

  "Mmm," I say.

  The bouncing of the bed and the soft whisper of cotton against skin tells me she's shed her top without my even having to look. Smiling contentedly, I relax and close my eyes while she works over my back. She's surprisingly good at this.

  "You know I get a turn, right?"

  "Of course."

  She flops on the bed, face down, head pillowed on her folded arms. The sight of her lying there—she shed her yoga pants and underwear too, the little minx—with her breasts pressed under her weight and the curves of her hips and ass make me instantly hard, but fair's fair.

  I move over her and put my hands into her shoulders, kneading roughly.

  "Come on, don't be a wuss about it," she growls.

  I dig deeper, easing the tension out of her, amazed at how much pressure it takes. She coils up like a spring if I don't work her out from time to time. She purrs as I work my way down her back, and grunts in frustration as I skip her butt and work her calves instead, but she moans and sighs when I knead her feet.

  Only when she's lying there limp and relaxed do I lean down and kiss the back of her neck and start working down the length of her spine. She rolls over under me and the sight of her body spread beneath me hardens my cock unbearably, but I want to taste her first, and dive between her legs. I can eat Julia out for hours, and she never seems to mind when I get overzealous.

  Moving over top of her, I throw my weight to pin her down and kiss her fiercely, and we start to squirm against each other, Julia wriggling under me the way she always does when she's horny, trying to get me inside her, frustrated with my patience.

  "Did you do it?" I ask her.

  "Yeah. It's been a week. Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure," I say.

  She shudders as I plunge inside her. There will be many more lovemaking sessions in this bed, but we've both been holding back for the last five days, and the change brings about a grunting, animal urgency in both of us. I know she's going to be wild tonight when she chomps on my shoulder.


  "Ow!" I cry and thrust into her harder. She giggles and moans and nips at my neck, raking me with her nails.

  Usually I try to hold back as long as possible, to keep it going for her. Tonight, she puts her heels on my legs and pushes me in, and she arches under me faster than usual, and we explode together, Julia crying my name in a frenzy as I thrust the agonized, explosive pleasure of a climax into her.

  She relaxes beneath me and I wrap my arms around her, lie on top of her, stay inside her. Julia lets out a pleasured sound like a growl and runs her nails down my back.

  "You're not done."

  "I know."

  I pick her up and she helps as I toss her into my arms, carrying her into the kitchen.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Marking our territory."

  She gets the idea when I set her down and spins in place, leans on the counter, and thrusts her ass out at me. I enter her and begin pumping, digging my fingers into her lithe waist, and soon she's pushing back in steady rhythm with me.

  Next, I lead her into the living room and she straddles me while I lay back on the floor. Then we move to the other bedroom.

  Finally, we end up lying, exhausted, on the bed again.

  "So we marked out territory," she says, throwing an arm and leg over me.

  Exhausted, we sleep.

  "How is she doing?"

  Karen, heavily pregnant and radiant in her bridesmaid's gown, leans against the door frame and eyes me, smirking.

  "She's a nervous wreck. I keep pointing out that you guys are already married, but you'd think she's going to a funeral, Ryan. She's pacing around, kneading her hands together, the works."

  I can't help but laugh. This is ridiculous. We've been living together for two months and we've been married for eight. Karen is due soon, it's been so long. Mom wanted a ceremony, and Karen quietly pushed for it too, so we obliged. We both have steady work now and the apartment is furnished, and things have been great.

  For the ceremony we secured a chapel outside of the city. We'll be having an outdoor wedding, which everyone but Julia thinks is insane because it's cold as hell outside. At least I get to wear a jacket.

  Karen waves me on.

  "Come on, get to the altar so we can march the bride in."

  "You're so romantic," I say.

  "Fuck you," she says, cheerily.

  Once I'm in position and the pastor is ready, Mom nods to me and goes off to get Julia.

  As much as I've been ribbing her about this, I tear up a little when she walks out, straining against myself. She's wearing a simple white gown and a white shawl around her shoulders and walks confidently down the stone path from the chapel door to the pergola where the ceremony will be performed. I have both of our rings in my pocket.

  She finally managed to get hers off after almost seven months of trying, and I went out and immediately bought her one that actually fits. It feels heavy in my pocket, like it's anchoring me in place.

  Julia steps in front of me. When I lift her veil, it’s like seeing her for the first time. She grins, and I grin back, barely hearing the poor man trying to get us to recite our vows. I stumble through mine, forcing myself to stay calm.

  I slip a ring on her finger again, and she's mine. As her hands close around mine, I realize how whole she makes me, how complete and happy we are together. This moment was inevitable. Julia defined beauty for me. No one else could ever take her place.

  This is right.

  I kiss her, chastely for once, and lead her to an open pavilion blasted by big outdoor heaters. Cake cutting, dancing, all that will follow.

  As we stop in front of the heater so Julia can warm up, she turns to me.

  "I have something to tell you," she says, her voice low.

  I smirk. "Is it what I think it is?"

  She pats her stomach.

  "Yes," she says. "Start thinking of names."

  "Good thing we got married first, isn't it?"

  She laughs, and it's the best sound in the world.

  The End

  Thank you for reading!

  Thanks for reading Man of the House!

  I hope you enjoyed it.

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  Also by Abigail Graham

  Benched

  Bad Boy Next Door

  Paradise Falls

  His Princess

  Player’s Princess

  With Vanessa Waltz

  Riding Wood

  About the Author

  Abigail Graham is a former English teacher. She published her first book in 2014, a serial entitled Paradise Falls. Since then she has published ten novels, with more on the way!