Sunrise Malice: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance
Sunrise Malice: Chapter 10

I stand outside Bloody Strike at ten in the morning on a Wednesday and feel totally out of place. The place is empty—thank God—but I’d be totally mortified if someone showed up right about now.

Still, it’s better than Julien coming to my house. That would just be unacceptable. I don’t need him to see how I live.

I fidget slightly, playing with the fabric of my white dress. It’s a simple knee-length cocktail piece with a conservative neckline and no sleeves, and I swear I tried on like fifty different outfits and changed my mind a dozen times before settling for this one. And now I’m not happy with it anymore.

Not that it matters. This wedding isn’t real. I mean, it’s real, but it isn’t like I’m going to stand up in front of everyone I know and say the vows to a man I actually care about. This is a courthouse quickie in front of a judge. It’s basically a business transaction.

A black BMW pulls up to the curb. I stare down at the tinted windows, stomach twisting into knots. The back door opens and Julien steps out, and I stare at him, my mouth opening slightly in surprise.

He’s impeccably groomed. His usual suit is sleek and black, but this time he’s got a thin, dark blue tie on, and his hair is perfectly manicured. He obviously put some time into his appearance, and it sends a ripple of anxiety and excitement down my spine, knowing he cares as much as I do.

“You look good,” he says, staring at me hard, and it starts to make me a little uncomfortable. His scrutiny is a little bit too intense.

“Uh, thanks. You do too.” I hesitate as he doesn’t move. “Should we get going?”

He offers me a hand. I accept it and he helps me into the car. A young man is driving, and he twists around to give me a friendly smile. “Lovely to see you again,” he says, nodding at Julien. “I’m shocked you’re still putting up with this asshole.”

“I’m on the fence how much longer I can suffer being around him.”

“Don’t start this,” Julien mutters.

Jean laughs and starts driving. “Trust me, I know what you mean. I’ve been putting up with him for most of my life. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Since before Grandpère took me in,” Julien says, looking out the window. I can tell he doesn’t like this conversation by the tension in his shoulders.

“Back before he got all fancy. But it worked out for everyone, right? Now Julien’s got nice suits, an expensive car, and a beautiful young wife to call his own. That’s every man’s dream.”

“Speak for yourself,” Julien says.

“Don’t worry, he only seems grumpy because he’s nervous.” Jean smiles at me in the rearview mirror.

“I didn’t know he cared,” I say, leaning back to look at Julien. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’m going to leave you at the altar?”

“You’d better not,” he says and a slight gleam enters his eyes. “Or then again, go ahead and run. Maybe it would be fun chasing you down.”

My mouth opens slightly and I lick my lips, picturing him grabbing me from behind, pinning me down on the ground, ripping off my dress⁠—

“Save this sexual tension for the wedding night, will you?” Jean says with a friendly laugh. “Here I was thinking this was going to be awkward, and yet you two are already acting like an old married couple.”

“He wishes,” I say, sinking back into my seat.

We park in the courthouse’s garage and ride the elevators up to the top floor. Jean leads us through security and down a long hallway, away from the trial rooms and toward the judge’s private chambers. Julien takes my hand before we head inside and pulls me up against him.

“Now’s your last chance to change your mind,” he says quietly. Jean politely pretends like he can’t hear any of this.

“I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

Julien’s stare is intense and unrelenting. “I mean it, mon minou. If you aren’t sure, this is your last opportunity. Turn around, walk away, and I won’t hold it against you.”

I look over my shoulder at the empty hallway. It’s quiet, only the hum of the air exchanges cutting through the silence, and I picture myself running away.

But running to what? Back to my father’s house? Back to the scorn of the cousins? I’ve had enough of that life.

“Let’s go inside,” I say, and Julien nods.

The judge is a nice older man in his sixties, heavyset, with a low baritone voice and a big smile. Jean’s acting as a witness, and the judge runs us through the paperwork with practiced ease. “Julien here requested an abbreviated ceremony for efficiency’s sake,” the judge says with a laugh. “But even so, I like to at least do the vows. Would you mind?”

I shake my head and shrug out of my jacket. “Not at all.”

The judge’s eyes sparkle with joy as he instructs us to face each other. I place my hands in Julien’s, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the entire world, which is actually kind of intimidating. I keep forgetting how big he is, how athletic and strong, how attractive his mouth is and how much I like the curve of his jaw. I could see myself kissing that line, over and over, and listening to his husky breath in my ear.

His gaze moves down my bare arms and lingers on my chest before settling on my lips. I lick them, just for him, and he seems to like it.

“Repeat after me,” the judge says and walks Julien through the vows.

“I, Julien, take thee, Brianne, to be my wedding wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

My heart races. My feet are numb. My hands tingle in his grip. My mouth is dry, and each word he says, each phrase of the vows we’re taking rip themselves into my chest and straight into my core. It only occurs to me how serious this is, what an enormous leap I’m making, and my voice shakes as I repeat them to Julien. He stands still, listening the whole time.

When I finish, the judge gestures with both hands. “By the power vested in me and all that, you’re now husband and wife. This is the part where you kiss.”

I open my mouth to protest. We weren’t supposed to do that—this is just a courthouse marriage, basically just a formality, we’re only saying the vows to humor the judge—but I can’t make a sound.

Julien’s mouth closes on mine. He puts a hand on my lower back to steady me, and he kisses me deep and slow. His taste floods my tongue, minty and warm, a hint of musk and whiskey, and I replace myself kissing him back with a head spinning in big circles, breathless and mindless, falling into the sort of kiss that makes no promises, nothing good and nothing bad, but hints at a whole world of pleasure if only I don’t let it escape.

But the moment I decide I’m not going to stop, he breaks away. I blink rapidly as Jean whistles and claps, and Julien’s hand is still on the small of my back, he’s still standing close to me, and my heart’s straight up into my throat.

More paperwork. A marriage license, stuff about taking his name, all that. I sign, numb, lips still tingling.

“How are we celebrating?” Jean asks on the way back to the car.

“We’re not,” I say quickly, probably too quickly. Julien gives me a curious look. “I should get back home,” I explain and glance down at the floor.

Julien nods slowly and looks at Jean. “Would you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be at the car.” Jean has a knowing smile as he walks off through security, leaving me alone with Julien in the main atrium.

He steers me to a bench. We have some privacy, off in a corner away from the movements of employees and family members and folks showing up for their court dates. I feel heavy and tired, but also strangely lucid. He sits very close and puts a hand on my thigh.

“You’re okay,” he says, not a question.

“I know. Just a little overwhelmed.”

“I understand. That kiss nearly broke you.”

I let out a choking cough and glare at him. “Like hell it did.”

“Come on, mon minou, I could taste the excitement on your tongue.”

“You need to get your taste buds tested then.”

“I’ve been thinking. I promised I’d be faithful to you, and you promised the same.” He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“I remember,” I tell him, leaning back slightly. “Where are you going with this?”

“The list.” His voice is very soft. But there’s a hunger in his tone. “Since you’re my only option for a sexual partner⁠—”

“Wow, way to make a girl feel so wanted,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“—I think we should make the best of our situation. Let’s call this a bonus? We’ll work through your little list, one fantasy at a time.”

Sweat rolls down my back. I’m nervous and I don’t know this. He’s coming on strong and I should push him back, but he’s honestly got a good point. We both just signed up for at least two years of monogamy to each other, and why not test our compatibility a little bit?

Maybe we’ll sleep together and replace out it’s terrible⁠—

But that kiss is still rolling through my head like a stock ticker and I have a feeling if I let myself crawl into his bed, I won’t want to get back out again.

“Maybe it’s better if we keep this professional,” I say, and my voice shakes more than I like.

“Was that kiss back in front of the judge professional?” He’s moving closer. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, mon minou, but I’m making myself clear. I want you. I replace you attractive. Frustrating and a pain in my ass, but very attractive.”

I sit very still, tempted to tell him that I replace him attractive too—also a pain in my ass—but instead I push him gently away. “I don’t think so.”

He watches me carefully for a few seconds before standing with a shrug. “If that’s what you want.” He holds out a hand and helps me up. “But you really do look beautiful, mon minou. Or I suppose I should start calling you ma femme.”

“Which means what?”

“My wife.” He kisses my cheek and takes my hand. “Come now. I’ll take you home.”

I feel dizzy and overwhelmed. I follow him back through security and toward the parking garage, trying to make sense of what just happened. I said the vows—I kissed him in front of the judge—I signed all the paperwork and gave myself away to a total stranger.

And he propositioned me. He’s not even subtle about it, which is kind of refreshing. He wants to fuck me, and yeah, he says it’s because I’m basically his only option and that’s not super appealing, but the way he looks at me suggests he’d want me no matter what. And I like that.

Despite myself, I like it.

The moment the elevator doors open on the garage, Jean comes hurrying forward. He’s clutching his phone in one hand and his face is pale as he goes straight to Julien and starts speaking in rapid French. Julien goes from surprised to very angry, and I have no clue what they’re saying as I’m dragged back to the car.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Jean throws the car into reverse and peels out in his haste to leave.

“My Grandpère did something very stupid,” Julien says and lets out a string of curses.

“Should I be worried?”

His expression is grim. “Grandpère just started a war with Dusan Petrovic. So, yes, I think you should be worried. The whole fucking city should be worried.”