Wrong Ch. 08

A year later...

Snow fell down in graceful sighs, coating everything else around in silence. The day was freezing but beautiful. Red-faced people rushed through the busy city streets, some carrying boxes and bags that could only be intended as Christmas presents.

I shivered in my dress, wrapping my stylish but thin coat tighter around myself. Patrick grinned down at me and pressed his hand to my back.

"Had to suffer for fashion, didn't you?"

"I'm not that cold." I tried not to let my teeth chatter, but I'm sure Patrick noticed anyway. He never missed anything.

Patrick stopped, ignoring the groans of irritated people behind us. He backed me up to a building and covered me with his large, warm body.

"Your lips are practically blue, Nina."

"I love this coat."

"I hope hypothermia is worth it, then." He kissed me. His heat flowed into my own body and I shuddered. It wasn't totally from the cold this time.

He pulled away with a sigh and took my hand, tugging me after him. My bare legs shook in my frighteningly high heels.

"This is a terrible day to get married," I heard him say.

I looked up at the falling snow that caught in his eyelashes. "Don't you think it's kind of romantic?"

Patrick snorted. "Freezing your ass off is not romantic." He peered over at me and caught my smile. My cheeks must have been bright red with the temperature and exertion. "But maybe you have a point. It makes you want to wrap yourself up with someone."

"Now you're getting it," I laughed.

We finally made it to the front of the old church. We were very late, per usual. My knees still clicked together, but now for an entirely different reason. Patrick caught my expression- I'm sure I looked like I was being lead to my execution- and kissed my wrist.

"We don't really have to go," he said.

I shook my head, feeling the melting snow trickling down my messy hair. "Of course we do." I took in his confident stare, the steadiness of his green eyes that seemed suited for the winter, and scowled. "I'm just wondering how you can be so calm right now."

He stepped closer and nibbled on my nose. "Lots of practice pretending to be a stone cold asshole."

My eyebrow went up. "Pretending?"

"Let's go, bitch," he chuckled. "If we wait any longer, we might as well go home."

We walked up the steps and Patrick opened the door. Immediately I smelled the familiar odor of incense and shame.

"Churches creep me out," I whispered.

Patrick put his hot mouth to my ear. "That's because you're very, very bad."

Shit. It wasn't a good idea to get turned on in a church. I willed myself to think of anything else, and then I caught sight of Chloe down the aisle dressed all in white. My nerves returned and any trace of excitement thankfully faded.

We drifted into a back pew, trying not to disturb anyone. The church was surprisingly full. From the droll words being exchanged, I gathered the ceremony was half over.

The lucky groom's name was Bruce. He was a nice guy. A bit boring but he worshipped Chloe and gave her everything she needed. She was happy with him.

Clearly I wasn't a bridesmaid. I wasn't surprised when I wasn't asked, and if I felt hurt I didn't let myself dwell on it. I was just grateful to be invited... and with Patrick as my date. Chloe said she was happy he was coming, that it might be cathartic for her.

Chloe and I weren't close anymore, but we still spoke nearly every week. She even told me shortly after she announced her engagement that she had made peace with my relationship with Patrick. She was glad we were making it work. We went out to dinner with her and Bruce once and twice, which was incredibly awkward, but it made me hopeful. I caught her staring at Patrick sometimes, a wistful look on her face. A kiss from Bruce would bring her back, but I wondered if there were still traces of her overwhelming feelings lingering in her heart. I didn't doubt there were; you never truly got over that kind of love.

My parents were also much more accepting of our relationship, even if it was obvious they didn't care for him too much. My mother started asking me if I thought we'd get married, which was too weird to imagine. Me, marrying my sister's ex-husband? I noticed Patrick didn't scoff when my mother impertinently brought it up to him when we had dinner with them last month. He just gave her one of his little smiles and winked at me. Bastard.

Patrick snorted in my ear, bringing me back to the present.

"What?" I whispered.

"I can feel everyone staring at me. Must be wondering what the hell I'm doing here."

They weren't wondering; most people knew what the situation was. News that I was in a relationship with Chloe's ex got around fast. Many people were disapproving, but there was nothing I could do about that. It wasn't their business, anyway. Whenever I thought that, I grinned, realizing how Patrick was rubbing off on me.

I held Patrick's hand, keeping my eyes on my beautiful sister. Her dress was off-white, her smile wide and girlish. It was nice to see excited again. In love. Her new husband kissed her with a shocking amount of passion for such a reserved guy. Everyone exploded into applause and whistles.

They practically skipped down the aisle, laughing and waving at everyone as they passed. Chloe's eyes met mine and she gave me a little nod. Then she found Patrick. Her eyes glazed and her smile froze for a moment as her mind went somewhere else. She was likely flipping through her memories, remembering her other wedding day. Remembering the good times, when Patrick wasn't being an asshole, when he made her laugh, when he belonged to her.

Bruce kissed her cheek and the flash of a camera went off. Chloe blinked and then giggled, putting her arm around Bruce and giving another camera a goofy grin. Then they skated by us and out into the snow.

"Whew. It's over," Patrick said, running his hand down my arm. "Would you be really pissed if I admitted now that I was kind of nervous?"

"No, I'm relieved. Reminds me that you're human."

His lips pushed against mine. It would have been easy to lose myself in the delirious pleasure of Patrick's lips, but I stepped back.

"We're in church, Patrick."

He smacked his head. "Shit. Guess I should've thought of that before I started fantasizing about what I was going to do to you tonight."

"Patrick," I warned. "Let's go."

He took my hand and we bounded out into the late afternoon. The snow was falling heavier now. I spotted my mother lingering off to the side with my father, cursing at her camera. She saw me and beckoned me over.

"Nina, wasn't the wedding beautiful?"

"Gorgeous." I wasn't kidding; it really was lovely, even if I barely paid attention.

"When did you get in?" my father asked. "We didn't see you."

"Right after Chloe made it up to the altar," Patrick lied, moving up beside me. "Sorry, guys. I made her late."

My body heated, remembering just why we were late. Judging from Patrick's smirk, he said that on purpose. I elbowed him and hoped my parents didn't catch anything.

My mother just did her little I'm-so-not-happy-you're-dating-him-sigh. "Well, it's off to the reception. How are you two getting there?"

"Cab," Patrick said. He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at my mom. "See you there."

She took my father's arm and walked away, muttering something under her breath.

"You're a dick," I told him, unable to contain my grin.

He tongued my neck, trailing an erotic line up to my chin. "God, I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby."

"And a neanderthal."

"Oo, I'm getting hard!"

"And a pompous ass."

"Shit, I might lose it in my pants."

"And a fucking jerk."

"Oh, yeahhh."

"And incredibly immature."

He licked my earlobe and smiled against it when he felt me shiver. "You love it."

I sighed and pulled my head back, ignoring Patrick's bright eyes and pleased smile. "Let's just get this stupid reception over with."

+

We made it back to my apartment late, alcohol still buzzing warmly through our bodies. Patrick was quiet, thoughtful. He had been a big laugh at the reception, of course, dancing with all the old ladies and promising them nights of pleasure. He twirled my mother around and managed to wrangle a smile from her. I had to give it to him; he was trying.

For the most part, we sat at our table and tried not to touch each other too much. It was one thing for Chloe to let us come; it was quite another for us to blatantly fling our relationship in the faces of all her guests. I had been pleased when I saw Patrick approach Chloe and give her a cautious hug. They spoke for a while and it was a great relief when the two relaxed. Later he told me they talked about how happy they were for each other.

Patrick's silence started on the way home. I surmised it was due to the heavy day we'd had. It certainly gave me a lot to think about. He absentmindedly rubbed my palm with his thumb, glancing out of the taxi at the harsh lights around us. Once we got inside my place, he went into the kitchen and made us a drink.

I took the glass with a smile and he pecked my forehead. We collapsed on the couch and he picked up my feet, resting them on his lap. With a sound of amusement, he tore the heels off and rubbed the aches.

"I'm really happy for Chloe," I mumbled, drowsiness fogging my mind.

Patrick glanced up. His eyes were alert and piercing. "Me too."

"Bruce seems like the perfect guy for her."

Patrick drank the rest of the vodka. "She'll definitely have a happier marriage with him."

I toyed with a few strands of his copper hair, watching him stare into nothing. "What's wrong with you?"

"Hmm? Nothing." He smiled then, those eyes crinkling up at the corners. "I'm just thinking about marriage. The institution of it and all."

"You're so bizarre." I shut my eyes and rested my head back on the couch.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were our breathing and the clinking of melting ice in my glass. Then Patrick cleared his throat and I opened my eyes.

"I've been thinking... about getting married again."

Patrick rocked my world with nearly everything he said, but this was entirely different. Of all the things I imagined him saying, I never thought I'd hear Patrick express a desire to be a husband.

My heart thudded and something fizzled unfamiliarly in my stomach. I tried to play it cool. "Is she anyone I know?"

A corner of Patrick's lips quirked up. He slid a hot hand up my bare leg, following the movement with his stare. "Ha ha. Sarcasm is my thing."

It was difficult to swallow. All of the exhaustion I'd felt evaporated. I was wide awake and having a panic attack. My mind went on lockdown and I could only be snarky in response.

"You're so competitive. It's because all your friends are getting married, right?"

He assessed me and smiled. I thought I detected a little sadness in his face. Ugh, sometimes I preferred Cool Douchebag Patrick as opposed to In Touch With His Emotions Patrick.

"You don't think I'm marriage material."

I went to dispute that but found I couldn't. "Maybe," I confessed.

And maybe I wasn't, either. I certainly didn't lay awake at night and dream of a fairytale wedding. I hated dressing in white, too. Weddings bored me and the thought of marriage was... alarming. I performed better when there were no set expectations, no pressure. And then there was Patrick to worry about. I didn't doubt he loved me, but I didn't know if he would buckle under the strains of marriage. It was hard work that required an endless supply of patience and sensitivity. Neither of us had much of either.

"I think everyone is marriage material when the right person comes along." His lips curved slowly and his lashes swept up and away as he sent that emerald gaze my way.

Asshole. He was trying to seduce me. Luckily, I'd had a year of experience with his tactics and was able to think fairly clearly under his allure, even if I got hot and bothered in the process.

"Well, aren't you the picture of a reformed rake?!"

His laugh echoed in the apartment and he pulled my hair. "A reformed rake? Oh, Nina, please stop reading those shitty books."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I swallowed the rest of my drink, feeling a bit more relaxed. At least we were off the topic of marriage for now.

"You don't think I know what you have on your Kindle? I see everything, little miss." He lifted my foot and licked the arch. It was a strange place to kiss, but I let out an embarrassing broken sigh. "And I see that you're scared to think of marrying me."

"Patrick," I sighed. "It's not that-"

"Yes, it is. You're afraid I'm going to run off with one of your friends or the girl that lives down the hall. I get why, but don't you know by now that I can't handle being with anyone else? You're the only one who calls me out on my bullshit, who laughs at my disgusting jokes, who tolerates my immaturity. It's pretty wonderful and it's something I wouldn't trade for even the most perfect set of tits."

Leave it to Patrick to make a romantic speech and pepper in a few gross images. I couldn't help myself; I lifted up and kissed him, skimming my hand down his chest.

I moved away to bite his neck. "I love you, asshole."

"I know." He squeezed my breast. "By the way, you do have a perfect set of tits. I really got a sweet deal when I fell in love with you. I want to marry you, though, because I know I'll love you even when they sag and you get fat and you start screaming at me for having the TV on too loud."

Snorting, I sat back. "I'd be marrying my sister's ex-husband."

"Well," he said, walking his fingers up my stomach, "you're already dating him. And fucking him. And you love him so getting married wouldn't be such an outlandish next step."

"I don't think I'd make a good wife."

"That's excellent," he breathed, moving to cover my body. "Good wives are boring. Be a bitch. Fight with me a lot. Make things interesting."

"Children freak me out."

"Me too," he chuckled against my collarbone. I wanted to stop talking about marriage and just have sex already. "But we'll get over it. Ours won't freak us out. We'll get pissed at them but they'll be damned near perfect because we made them."

"Ugh. I don't know. Look at my mother. I'll probably turn into her."

Patrick's face hovered over mine and he gave me a mock-disgusted glare. "I would never let that happen. Trust me." He lifted my dress and stuck thick fingers into my panties. A boyish grin lit up his face. "See, even talking about getting married turns you on."

"You are so annoying."

He kissed a trail down my throat while his finger burrowed inside, slipping along the wetness that he created. He moaned and moved his mouth to mine. Tingles ran up and down my body as he swiped my tongue with his in a forceful and passionate motion.

A car horn blared outside and what he was trying to do finally dawned on me. I pushed at his chest and, when that didn't work, pulled hard on his ear. He flung back.

"Ow, what the-"

"You can't fuck me into marriage with you, Patrick!"

"That's not what I was trying to do," he said breathlessly. He shook his head at me. "If you're that freaked out by the prospect, then don't worry about it. I'm sorry I brought it up." He reached his hand over and put it on top of my speeding heart. "Seriously."

Patrick stood and took our glasses out to the kitchen. I heard the faucet turn on but everything seemed dreadfully quiet. My body was starved for his touch, but I was starved for something more. I had hurt him, that was apparent, but the whole prospect stunned me. Did I want to be his wife?

Truthfully... the thought thrilled me. It was terrifying, but thrilling. The best things are.

I got up carefully, the alcohol and fatigue and interrupted arousal making my movements clumsy, and followed him out. He had folded up his shirt and was washing the dishes. It amused me whenever I caught Patrick being domestic, but now it made me sad. It wasn't fair to constantly be surprised when Patrick was amazing. That was truly who he was; the persona he cultivated over the years made him funny and exciting but at heart he was more of a family guy than he lead on. He just never had a chance to show it.

He caught me watching him. "Does the very mere sight of me using Palmolive turn you on?" He shook excess water off a plate and smirked into the soapy water. "It's okay. I've been told my sponge abilities are even more hot."

"You're going to be such a pain in the ass for the rest of my life."

He stopped for a moment. Then he went back to his task a little more energetically. "Well, you're going to be a bitch. You'll probably max out all my credit cards."

I molded myself to his back and ran my hands down his arms, sticking them into the warm water. "You'll probably exert your husbandly authority over me as payment, too."

He turned the sink off. "Nina. It's-"

"I want to marry you. I'm just scared as fuck. I've always been scared as fuck when it comes to you but it's worth it. I want to be your wife and have your brats and fight with you over electricity bills." I gave him hot, openmouthed kisses along the back of his neck, delighting in the masculine smell rolling off of him.

Patrick's entire body relaxed. It warmed me up from head to toe. He spun around and kissed me hard, his soapy hands slipping up both sides of my face.

A while later he ended the kiss, leaving us both gasping. "Do we have to get married at church?"

"No."

"Good," he panted. "I want to say all kinds of filth to you when we get married. I don't want you worried about being irreverent."

Then he returned to my mouth, tugging my lips with his. He nibbled the bottom one and then slid his tongue across, soothing it. "I'll be right back."

He left the kitchen and headed to the living room. I followed and watched him paw his jacket.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Patrick pulled out a small box and handed it to me. "Sealing the deal."

With shaking fingers (I'm only human), I opened the velvety box. Inside was a dazzling diamond. I gazed up at him in wonder. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned a little sheepishly.

"How could I ask you to marry me and not give you a ring? You know image is everything to me."

I gave him a slow, loving kiss that just simmered with a little heat. "You're really dangerous."

He took the ring out of the box and placed it on my hand, making me laugh as he twisted my hand around to show me how it glittered in the light.

"Now, my dear, I want to fuck you while you wear it."

He dragged my dress off and tore off my underwear. I swore I heard a ripping sound but I was too eager for his body to really care. His mouth sucked in my breast, darting his wet tongue across my nipple. I cried out and pulled on his sloppy hair. He made a noise that rumbled through my body, resting somewhere in my pussy.

"Patrick, please. I can't deal with foreplay right now."

But he ignored me, pursing his lips on my nipple and tugging on it. His strong hand cupped me and then stroked through my heat. The desire to have him inside me screamed from every pore. He brought a pussy-slicked finger up to my breast and twirled around, then hungrily lapped it up.

"Please," I begged. "Let's go in the bedroom. I want to feel you."

Without a word he brought me into our bedroom and tossed me on the sheets. A careful and glacial examination took place as he categorized every inch of my body in the moonlight. He was still completely dressed, though sweaty and rumpled. He looked divine.

He got on top of me and took my hand, kissing the ring. "Thanks for saying yes. I can't wait to be your husband." His eyes shut. "I've never looked forward to anything more."

"Patrick," I whispered.