Mr. & Mrs.: An Arranged Marriage Romance

Megan

“Megan Renee Dolan, you will do this! You will not disgrace this family by having that baby out of wedlock.” Tears pool in my eyes as my mother screams at me, again.

I made a mistake; I fell for the wrong boy. And he screwed me. Literally and figuratively. Now, I’m paying the price while he backpacks across Europe before starting his fancy new job.

“Put the dress on, Megan, or I won’t hesitate to have it put on you.” The door slams behind the older woman as I slide down the wall, head on my knees.

The worst part about all of this is I’m being used. Forced to marry a man I don’t know, in name or on paper, and not because I’m pregnant. That’s all really just a front for my selfish, uptight parents. The truth is, Dad’s in debt, and he’s selling me to get out of it.

I don’t know if my groom-to-be is young, old, fat, fit, evil, shy. Nothing. I don’t know his name or his profession. What I do know is that he needs a wife because he wants a legitimate heir. I doubt the poor man even knows I’m already pregnant. Which gives me a rather devious idea as I pick myself up off the floor.

Grabbing the dress my mother has chosen, that, in my opinion, shows off far too much skin, I wiggle my tiny baby bump into it and smile for the first time.

If he doesn’t already know I’m pregnant, he’s about to. Before the preacher gets a word in edgewise. This sham of a marriage will be over before my parents can protest otherwise.

Hearing the organ begin my new theme song, I take a fortifying breath before I sashay down the short aisle of the small church. The man I see is not what I was prepared for. He’s tall, looks muscular. Dark brown hair and matching chocolate eyes. When he reaches for me, and we make contact for the first time, my body lights up in a way I’ve never felt.

For a split second, I feel regret as I’m about to burst his bubble.

Jordan

I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Basically, marrying a woman sold to me, so I can have a damn heir, and her parents can pay off their debts. My only excuse is desperation. At thirty years old, I am supposed to be taking over my father’s company as CEO.

For as long as I can remember, it’s always been passed down from father to son. For generations, my family has manufactured and sold defense equipment to the U.S. Military. I was never a partier, not some spoiled playboy. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, and three weeks ago, my father tells me to find a wife and work on giving him an heir, or he is going to sell the company. I don’t understand what the fuck the hurry is, but he’s dead set on me settling down into married life.

So here I stand at the altar in a tiny, little church prepared to vow my life to a woman whose name I don’t even know.

In my head, I’ve been calling her anonymous bride. If she’s anything like the other women I’ve known, she’ll likely skin my balls for that.

My parents are sitting front and center, and I see hers on the opposite side of mine. All of them look smug as fuck.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wondered what the girl looks like. If I’ll regret my rash decision to do this.

When I hear the organ start playing the wedding march, my attention is drawn to the back of the room. Unknowingly, I hold my breath as a woman barely the size of my thigh slowly walks down the aisle. Her white dress, short in length and low-cut in the front, doesn’t leave much to my imagination. A veil covers her face, but I see her light curly hair peeking out the sides in soft waves down her back.

As she stops in front of me, I’m dumbstruck after she lifts the veil over her head. Large green eyes meet mine, full of trepidation, mischief, and sorrow? I wonder about that last one. It’s her lips that draw me in, though. A shy smile plays across the plump pink stain. Holding my hand out for her to take, her delicate fingers touch mine and a zap of electricity shoots straight to my already hardening dick.

When her soft voice says, “I’m pregnant,” I’m stunned by the husky quality until the words register in my brain.

Found that regret…

Megan

Every time I open my mouth, I swear I’m channelling my grandma. I have no filter. I didn’t mean to just blurt my secret out. Not for everyone to hear.

Regret burns a hole in my gut the size of Russia when I see the disgust on his handsome face. He smiled when I grabbed his hand, but after that little declaration, it disappeared faster than the Roadrunner after watching that stupid coyote blow himself up. In its place is a hardness I’ve only ever seen on my father. Cold dread fills me as he drops my hand like I somehow burned his skin.

That’d be my cue to leave.

“Right, then,” I whisper. A suspicious knot catches in my throat at being rejected by this beau

tiful specimen of a man. “Mom, Dad, I’ll be off. You won’t hear from me again. I’ll no longer be your disappointment.”

Walking out of the church, I hear my father cursing, my mother pretending to cry, and an old man giving someone shit. I don’t care, though. I can’t care.

For the first time in my twenty-two years, I’m free of obligation and appearances.

“Megan!” I cringe at my mother’s voice while walking down the sidewalk in this ridiculous, idiotic dress. “Megan!” she screams again. I wonder if I dart into traffic, will she follow me? A bruising grip on my arm halts me from my forward moment as I’m turned around.

“What?” I snap, gritting my teeth and holding on to my temper by a damn thread.

“Get your sorry, no-good, slutty ass back into that church and marry that man. Now!” With so much spit flying from her mouth, she yells the last word so loud, as if that will compel me to listen.

Licking my lips, I pretend to think about it. The steam coming from her empty airhead almost makes me chuckle. “No.” She’s taken aback by my refusal.

“What did you say to me?” The most feral growl I’ve ever heard rattles her skinny chest as she takes a step closer to me.

“Sunshine.” Have mercy. I look up to the voice that has shivers racing down my spine and see my groom advancing on me with wicked intent in his chocolaty gaze.

My mother is mouthing off still, and I’m at a point with this man that I don’t even hear her. He’s stolen 100% of my attention.

His long stride with those thick thighs covered in all that sinful fabric has captured every brain cell I have left. His walk is with purpose and strength. Poised and intent. I’m intimidated and fascinated all at the same time.

When the scrumptious delight is standing right in front of me, he takes another step closer, invading my personal bubble. One hand grazes down my cheek while the other plays with my fingers. “Still there,” he murmurs, right before our lips meet with sparks flying everywhere.

My entire body tenses and lights up by his tentative touch. I hear my mother huff a breath of annoyance at the same time my groom-to-be deepens the kiss. Pushing his tongue into my mouth, his hands wrap around my back. I can feel his fingers dig into my shoulders as he melds our bodies together.

“Like sweet sunshine.” I can feel his breath on my lips as he whispers to me. “Tell me your name,” he commands. No questions with this man.

“Megan.” I breathe, barely above a whisper. I don’t even know if he heard me.

His intense gaze closes, and he inhales deeply before saying, “Megan,” like a prayer.

Not another word is spoken as he grips my hand again and pulls me along behind him, back to the dreaded church.