The Marriage Dare

I nod. “I know.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go get the rings?”

“Sure,” she says, looking relieved to change the subject. “I just need to use the restroom first. I’ll meet you outside?”

I nod. Outside should be just fine. Reporters knew better than to bother this place, or they’ll have the cops called on them. Closer to the car I’m sure we’ll have more of a problem.

It doesn’t take long, and when Monica steps out of the restaurant, I drink in the sight of her basking in the afternoon sun. When I reach out for her hand, she gives it gladly with a smile, and we start to walk toward the car. We swing by Cartier and pick up the rings without incident, but I don’t let her see the rings. Not yet. I have a plan for that. “We’re not taking the limo back,” I tell her. “I wanted to drive, so I had them drop off one of my cars. Security will still follow us in another car, but I wanted us to be alone.”

Monica raises an eyebrow. “We were alone in the limo.”

I lean down and whisper in her ear. “Not so alone that if I choose to make you scream, we wouldn’t be heard.”

“How are you going to do that if you’re driving?” she asks, but she’s blushing.

“I’ll figure out a way.”

Suddenly, Monica goes utterly still, stopping in her tracks. At first I think she’s tripped, but she standing solidly. Her expression is sick and pale, and if I’m guessing correctly, full of fear. I follow her gaze and I encounter somebody that I haven’t seen in more than a decade. I don’t remember his name, but it’s Monica’s old boyfriend. The one who slammed me into a wall of tools in the shop.

Why is Monica afraid? Is she afraid that he will see us together? Or for some other reason?

Just as quickly as she froze, she’s trying to move, pulling on my hand. “Let’s go, I don’t want to see him.”

I don’t hesitate. I start pulling her faster in the direction of the car, but I don’t move fast enough.

“Monica?”

She’s shivering, but stops. Looking at her face, he would never know that anything was wrong. She pastes a brilliant smile on, the one I recognize as her mask and speaks. “Martin? Wow, it’s been such a long time.”

“Not since you went and hid under whatever rock you been living under,” he says, the smile on his face cruel. “Finally decided to show your face?” I’m stunned. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Suddenly, Martin looks at me. “I know you, don’t I? You’re the guy that owns all those casinos.”

“I am,” I say. “I’m also the guy you put into a wall senior year of high school.”

His cruel smile suddenly turns into a sneer. “Couldn’t land her in high school so you’re trying again when you’re rich and famous? Congratulations, Monica, on finding yourself a new sugar daddy.”

I look to my side at Monica, and she’s looking at the ground. Never in my life have I seen her look this small. She’s no wallflower, and she certainly hasn’t had any problem telling me to fuck off when she thinks it’s necessary. Suspicion and anger work their way up to my chest. What did this man do to her?

Martin keep speaking. “Let me give you some free advice. Stay away from this poisonous bitch and her family. You give them everything in the world, and they won’t even be fucking grateful.”

Monica turns toward me, not looking, just instinctually seeking what she feels is protection. Something roars inside me. Satisfaction that she views me as safe, and fury that she feels unsafe at all. And somehow, this prick is still talking.

“I should have ruined you when I had the chance,” he says. “But it looks like you’ve done a pretty good job of that yourself, haven’t you? How’s the law career going? Anybody want to touch you? I didn’t think so. Nobody will ever want a whore like you.”

I snap, releasing Monica and springing forward. Before I can even fully comprehend what I’m doing, I’ve punched Martin in the mouth. Then he’s on the ground and I punch him two more times. I grab him by the shirt and haul him up so that he can see Monica. “Apologize.”

“Never,” he says. “I’ll never apologize to that bitch. Go figure she’s got you wrapped around her slutty little fingers.”

I hit him again, and stand over him. “Apologize, now.”

The sight of him on the ground, laughing as blood pours from his nose is disturbing. “No,” he says. “You can keep hitting me, but it’s never going to happen. Just remember that I was the one she fucked when you weren’t good enough. All you’ll ever have is my sloppy seconds.”