Hitched(10)

“Just finishing?” My heart rockets back into my chest again. “Oh, well, good! We’ve been married for over an hour!”

“What? To this asshole?” Kyle demands, jabbing a thumb at Blake.

He looks just like his father—so lanky he can eat whatever he wants and still be on the slim side, a jawbone that could use more definition, and wide-set eyes that skew bulgy even when he’s not angry.

I tap my finger to my lip, asking in a syrupy sweet voice, “When a dick calls a real man an asshole, is that a compliment?”

“You hate him,” Kyle growls.

“Fine line between love and hate, man.” Blake shrugs. “Turns out we like it on this side better.”

Casting him a grateful glance, I push the temporary marriage certificate across Mr. Ashford’s desk. “We got married first.”

Mr. Ashford picks it up and studies it while Kyle glares at me.

“It’s not a legit marriage if you don’t love him,” he says.

“First of all, my marriage is none of your business beyond what it gives me rights to in Gram’s will,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “And secondly, the will said married. That’s it. Not humping like bunnies since you met five days ago.”

“Actually, I make love more like a giraffe,” Cara says.

We all turn and look at her.

She shrugs. “If that’s part of the disclosure process or whatever, then I thought it might be relevant.”

“You’re a beautiful giraffe,” Kyle tells her absently while he leans over Mr. Ashford’s shoulder. “All neck. I’ll suck on it later. Be quiet for now, okay, honey?”

“Kyle’s hung like an elephant.” She beams. “A honeymoon safari is the perfect choice to celebrate our love.”

I gape at her.

Kyle ignores her.

She slides me a wink, and I don’t know if it’s a we got married for the will too, and I’m having fun fucking with you wink, or if it’s a don’t you wish your husband was hung like mine wink, but either way, I suspect I shouldn’t underestimate her.

“What do you do when you’re not being a giraffe?” Blake asks.

“Quit talking to my wife,” Kyle snaps. “Colton, this is bullshit. Their marriage isn’t valid for legal purposes because it’s not real.”

“It’s absolutely real.”

Whoa.

That wasn’t me talking.

That was Blake. And he sounded pretty darn convincing.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and tugs me tight against his side, making me wonder if vaginas can get goosebumps too? Because there’s definite tingling going on in my lady parts.

“It’s real,” Blake says, “and I don’t give a damn who got married first. Hope and me? We’re destined to be together. So the word you’re looking for is congratulations. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

I squeak out a small breath, because I can’t breathe with him gripping me this tight, and also, that may be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said about me.

Except for the part where I can read between the lines, just like I could during his vows.

Destined to be together?

More like destined to make each other miserable, despite the foolishly optimistic thoughts my vagina is currently having.

“I’m going to need time to do some research and consult a few colleagues,” Mr. Ashford says with a frown. “This is…highly unusual, to say the least.”

“You can either declare me the rightful owner of my grandmother’s estate, or you can see us in court,” Kyle growls.

In court.

Fighting a legal battle that could take months.

Or years.

Because if we’re going to court, Kyle won’t stop until he’s appealed as high as he can appeal. And so long as Chewpaca’s well-being hangs in the balance, I damn well won’t stop either, even though I don’t have the resources my evil cousin has. I cut ties with the family money years ago.

If only cutting ties with the baggage was as easy.

“There’s no reason to go to court,” I say, with as much bravado as I can muster. “I was married first. Seems pretty clear cut to me.”

“It’s my turn to have the llama,” he declares. “I want it at my house in two hours.”

“He’s an alpaca,” I snap back, “and he’s in a good home right now, which is where he’ll stay until a court of law orders me to give him up.”

“Colton—” Kyle starts, but Mr. Ashford holds a hand up.

“Until the will is fully executed, the estate is handled as the trust dictated. Ms. St. Claire—”

“Mrs. O’Dell,” Blake corrects.

I twitch, but force a smile. “Mrs. O’Dell,” I agree, even though something deep inside me howls in protest at the name, feeling more stressed out by this arrangement with every passing second.

“Mrs. O’Dell, then,” Mr. Ashford replies, “I trust you’ll continue to care for all of the estate’s animals as though they were your own?”

The idea that I’d do anything less is insulting. “All animals are well-cared for at my sanctuary regardless of where they came from or where they’re going.”

“Very well, then. Give me some time to look into the precedent in cases like these, and I’ll be in touch.” He settles back at his desk, then glances up. “Oh. And congratulations and many happy returns to one and all.”