Chapter 9
The car ride to the courthouse was a blur.
Caroline sat in the back of the SUV, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was wearing her rumpled dress from the day before, her hair still damp from the shower. She looked like a mess. She felt like a mess.
Jarrod Romero sat beside her, staring straight ahead. He hadn't said a word since they left the apartment. He was on his phone, typing out messages with his thumb, his expression focused.
K.C. Bell was driving. He also hadn't said a word. The silence in the car was suffocating.
Caroline's mind was racing. What was she doing? She was about to marry a man she had known for two days. A man who had threatened her boss, fought off an assassin, and ordered her to move in with him. This was the plot of a bad movie, not her life.
But every time she thought about backing out, she remembered the feel of the scalpel at her throat. She remembered Preston's sneering face. She remembered her mother's voice, sharp and demanding.
She had no other options.
The SUV pulled into an underground parking garage. It was private, guarded by men in suits who nodded at Romero as they passed.
They got out of the car and walked toward a private elevator. Romero placed his hand on the small of her back again, guiding her forward. His touch was warm and steady, a grounding presence in the chaos.
The elevator doors opened onto a quiet hallway. The floors were marble, the walls lined with portraits of serious-looking men in black robes. It smelled like old paper and furniture polish.
"This way," Romero said, steering her toward a set of heavy oak doors.
He pushed the doors open without knocking.
The office beyond was huge, more like a library than a workspace. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick legal volumes. A massive desk sat in the center, behind which sat an older man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
He looked up as they entered, a surprised expression on his face. Then he saw Romero, and his face broke into a wry smile.
"Jarrod," he said, standing up. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."
"Justice Roberts," Romero said, walking into the room. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."
"Short notice?" Roberts chuckled, coming around the desk. "You called me at six in the morning and told me it was a matter of national security. I haven't had a call like that since the Cold War." He turned his gaze to Caroline, his eyes kind but assessing. "And who is this young lady?"
"This is Caroline Thompson," Romero said. "She is the reason I need you to perform a marriage ceremony. Today. Now."
Roberts's eyebrows shot up. He looked from Romero to Caroline, then back to Romero. "A marriage ceremony? Jarrod, are you serious?"
"I never joke about security," Romero said, his voice flat.
Roberts studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Very well. I suppose if the Colonel says it's a matter of national security, I can't very well say no." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a leather folder. "Do you have the paperwork?"
Romero reached into his jacket with his good hand and pulled out a thick envelope. He handed it to Roberts, who opened it and began to scan the documents.
Caroline watched, her heart pounding. The paperwork was already filled out. Her name, her date of birth, her social security number-it was all there. He had used the information from her license, just as he said he would. It was disturbingly efficient.
She looked at Romero, but he was watching Roberts, his expression unreadable.
"Everything seems to be in order," Roberts said, setting the papers down on the desk. He looked at Caroline. "Miss Thompson, are you here of your own free will? Are you being coerced in any way?"
Caroline swallowed. Was she being coerced? No, not really. She had agreed to this. She had said yes.
"No," she said, her voice steady. "I'm not being coerced."
Roberts nodded. "And do you, Jarrod Romero, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do," Romero said, without hesitation.
Roberts turned to Caroline. "And do you, Caroline Thompson, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Caroline looked at Romero. He was staring at her, his gray eyes intense. There was something in his gaze, something she couldn't quite read. It wasn't love, but it wasn't just duty either. It was a promise.
She took a deep breath. "I do."
"Then by the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Roberts smiled warmly. "Congratulations. You may kiss the bride."
Caroline's heart stopped. Kiss? She hadn't thought about the kiss.
Romero stepped closer to her. He reached up with his good hand and gently cupped her cheek. His touch was warm, his fingers rough against her skin.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was a brief, chaste kiss, over in a second. But it sent a jolt of electricity through her body, making her toes curl in her shoes.
He pulled back, his eyes still locked on hers. "It's done," he said softly.
Caroline nodded, unable to speak. It was done. She was a married woman. She was Mrs. Jarrod Romero.
Roberts handed them the marriage certificate, his signature already drying on the paper. Romero took it with one hand, his other hand still resting on Caroline's cheek.
"Thank you, Justice," he said. "I owe you one."
"You owe me more than one," Roberts said, shaking his head. "But I'll consider this a down payment. Now get out of here before someone sees you."
Romero nodded. He took Caroline's hand and led her out of the office, back down the hallway, and into the elevator.
The doors closed, and they were alone.
Caroline looked down at their joined hands. His fingers were warm and strong, wrapped around hers. She felt a strange sense of calm wash over her, a feeling of rightness that she couldn't explain.
It was crazy. It was impulsive. It was probably the biggest mistake of her life.
But as the elevator descended, and Jarrod Romero's thumb stroked the back of her hand, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
You may also like
