Broken Beast

We're on a mission.

Announcing our engagement to her brother, my family, everyone who follows her on social media.

The whole point of this.

Rubbing it in that asshole's face.

Liam already broadcast our plans. That asshole knows. He'll be there. He's as predictable as I am.

Tonight, I rub our engagement in his face.

Tonight, he frowns over the sight of my ring on her finger.

Tonight, he knows she's mine.

It still makes sense, intellectually.

But it feels far away.

Irrelevant.

I have her.

That's what matters.

Adam, we talked about this.

Less thinking.

More fucking.

She wants pictures before she takes off her clothes.

Or maybe while she takes off her clothes.

Remember how this went last time, yeah?

"Of course." I return to my surroundings. The clean, modern space of the apartment. The space I lived in for years.

It's different than before.

Still missing something. Missing Bash. But not screaming of loneliness.

"I guess these will all be me." Click. She snaps a photo of the ring on her left finger. "Can I really tell Remy in a text? Maybe I'll invite him over tomorrow."

"Of course," I say.

"Your family? They follow me."

"Let them see."

"Are you sure?" She moves to me. Places her hand on my chest, on the pocket of my suit. Snaps a photo. "It will ruin the surprise."

"I'm sure."

She rises to her tiptoes to kiss me. Her fingers brush my neck, chin, cheek. "Shit. I can't get this angle. Can you?" She offers me the phone.

The ring, against my cheek.

The right side. The side that's man.

Strangers won't know.

But everyone who needs to believe this will.

It's perfect. Kismet.

How does she do it?

I take her cell. Find the angle.

"I might say I don't like the first one." She smiles. "Then the second. Third. Fourth." Her fingers brush my chin again. "So I get to keep kissing you."

"You don't need the excuse."

"I know." She cups my cheek with her palm. "But it's more fun this way."

My eyes flutter closed.

Her lips find mine.

Her kiss envelops me. Soft, sweet, tender.

Danielle.

Mine.

It echoes through my head again.

I barely find the sense to snap a photo.

Then another. Another.

She pulls back with a heady sigh. "What did I say about this dress?"

"Photos first."

Her eyes flit to the rose petals. "Maybe, during photos." She looks at her cell phone. "Can I trust you to stand there and watch?"

"No."

She smiles. "Okay. Well, I guess we'll see what happens." She checks the photos I snapped. Gives one of them a nod of approval. Then she moves toward the door, to the petals scattered over the ground.

She slips into photographer mode.

Focus consumes her. Even as she pulls off her dress, her boots, her socks.

My fiancée lies on the ground, on top of the rose petals spelling her name, and holds her cell up in the air, the camera pointed at her chest.

What the fuck happened to my life?

If Bash was here—

Adam, stop thinking about me when you're supposed to be getting laid. I'm not a cock blocker.

Don't turn me into one.

Brain off.

Dick on.

Capiche?

Danielle looks to me with a coy smile. "You must think I'm insane."

"No."

"Really?" She motions to the petals on her stomach. "I'm lying on the ground in my underwear, trying to take the perfect photo of my engagement ring."

"I've seen the results."

"You have."

"They justify themselves."

"The ends justify the means?"

"When the means include you on my floor, yes."

"Our floor."

Our floor.

"Not legally, I know. There was a prenup in those papers I signed. It's still your apartment, technically. But since we're engaged…"

Our apartment.

It steals my breath.

I've never wanted that. I've never cared about anyone enough.

But the thought of waking next to Danielle every morning? Sleeping next to her every night?

What could be better?

I push my logical thoughts aside. This is fake, yes. But we are engaged. We're going to marry.

I have a year with her.

Another eleven months.

Bash is right. No more thinking.

I watch Danielle take another dozen photos. Then she stands. Shows me the finalists.

"You don't need my approval," I say.

"You're in this one." She brandishes the photo of her hand against my cheek, the ring on display.

"I trust you."

"To post anything? Even pictures of you?"

"Yes."

"I might get carried away." Her eyes meet mine. "I do. When I'm in that trance. When I see my skin against yours."

"Even so."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"Fuck, Adam." She places her palm on my chest. "Let me post these. Then…"

"Thirty seconds."

She smiles. "Okay. Thirty seconds. Then…" She motions to the bedroom. "Count me down."

I raise a brow.

"If you don't mind."

"Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight." I watch her as I count down.

She takes ten seconds to pick a filter.

Another ten to add text.

Down to five.

There.

Woosh.

She posts right at the buzzer.

"One." I take her into my arms. Carry her to the bed. Lay her on the soft silk sheets.

She looks up at me expectantly. Waiting for me to bind or blindfold her.

But I don't.

I shrug off my suit jacket. Undo my tie. Roll my sleeves to my forearms.