Lucky Girl (Lucky In Love)

"Item 317 is from Howth, County Dublin, Ireland. She is eighteen years old, with dual citizenship. She is determined to be the wife you need. I am also told she's been certified a virgin. Damn. The second one in years, gents. Very rare in this day and age. Shall we start the bidding at ten thousand dollars?" I raise my paddle, as do several other men.

Fuck that. She's mine. I could kill all these motherfuckers and take her for myself, but then I’d be in prison and unable to enjoy the spoils of victory. Better to just bid on her until I possess her unique beauty.

Back and forth we go until it's six million and the same number of people are still bidding. Fuck this. I stand, paddle still raised.

"Yes, sir?" The ringmaster asks.

"Ten million dollars." My girl gasps loudly. Our eyes meet again and what I thought I wanted is out the fucking window. She'll be mine, heart and fucking soul.

"Ten point five," another man says, also standing. The other bidders drop their paddles. I grin.

"Eleven," I counter.

"Eleven point five,"

"Fifteen million dollars," I say to a now silent room.

"Sir?" The ringmaster asks the other man, who shakes his head and sits down.

"Going once, going twice, sold to paddle number 69 for fifteen million dollars. Our highest bride price to date." He bangs his gavel on the podium, sealing my fate. A drop in the bucket, I would have given my very last dime if it meant she was mine.

An older woman wearing an austere black dress comes up to me, different than the butler-type who brought me my drink when I first arrived.

"Congratulations on your prize. Come this way, sir," she says, leading me from the stage area to a private room. "You will have some time to go over the contract, and as soon as you initiate the money transfer, you will be brought to your bride."

"Very well. Thank you," I say as she hands me a folder. She leaves, and I take a seat in the leather chair in the room. Opening the folder, I find two identical pieces of paper. As a man who reads numerous contracts a day, this seems pretty standard, except for the addendum written in swirling cursive and hot pink ink. Fiadh Mulligan, as I learned her name from the contract, would like her immediately available percentage sent to a specific bank account that does not belong to her, taking nothing for herself. I can’t help but wonder how her name is pronounced; despite my Irish heritage, I’ve never heard it before, but I set that aside for now. I am sure that I will learn it shortly. Continuing down the contract, the rest of the money is available to her once we've been married for five years, minus the auction house's fee. All pretty standard for something that I think might be illegal. I am not even sure this contract would hold up in a court of law, but I digress. I’m here now, committed to this. I sign both copies, right next to Fiadh’s name. I will make sure she wants for nothing. I transfer the money into the two accounts listed on the folder and wait impatiently. A short while later, there is a soft knock on the door, and the woman sticks her head into the room.

"Ready? She's waiting." Standing, I nod, handing her the folder. "We'll have it all notarized before you leave."

"As it should be," I am getting anxious, and I can't contain my asshole tone of voice.

“Are you ready to meet your betrothed?” she asks, smiling, which lights up her face, changing her face from austere to youthful in an instant.

“Yes,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically shaky.

As soon as the door opens, I see her sitting in a similar chair to the one I just left. She is dressed now, thank God. I hated those other men could see what I already think of as mine, but that was before me. I can’t be too upset about it, at least not to her. She has a knee-length black dress on that appears to be tied closed at the waist. That will be easy to open. My cock is hard and heavy, seeking her like a fucking missile.

"Hello. I'm Fiadh Finola Mulligan. It's nice to meet you …" She pronounces her name as FEE-ah, and I love the lilting accent she has. It’s sexy as fuck. She looks at me impatiently, waiting for me to supply my name. Right, it’s my turn to speak now.

"Eamon Willard Keegan," I say, shaking her outstretched hand. The second our skin touches, electricity shoots through my veins. My voice is harsh and full of need. I barely recognize it.

"You’re Irish too?” she asks, and I nod.

“Third-generation in America,” I tell her proudly. She smiles and nods.