Enemy Beloved

12 | never kiss

★

V A U G H N

She is not happy. She is not happy at all, which is shocking because she dug this grave for us herself. That's Claire Jackson now — my wife, impulsive like her father.

I take a step forward and see her flinch away. It is a noticeable movement but I doubt anyone other than me has noticed it.

I have been with several women in my life but never have I felt this nervous to kiss anyone. It is like walking into a death trap. With a happy curve of my lips, I slowly lift the veil off her face, pretending how much I am in love with the love of my life.

I am left star-struck. Claire looks breathtaking. I don't know who dressed her but they just enhanced her beauty even more without altering anything and that fucks me up. How am I supposed to just kiss her when she looks like that? This is torture.

Her shiny blue eyes look at me and I see the hesitation in them as I curl my fingers around the nape of her neck while leaning in close. Her skin is warm and feels buttery smooth. She has her breath sucked in and her pupils follow the direction of my lips when they brush past hers to graze her cheek lightly.

"Lovers, remember?" I remind her and hear the sound of her heartbeats quickening.

She moves her fingers to the collar of my suit and I take that as a positive sign. I bring my lips back to hers and in one swift motion, catch them between mine.

Claire tastes nothing like she did four years ago. She is different; everything about her is different. She tastes of mint, sugar, and something fruity. I press my mouth over her more firmly, loving the way her grip on my collar tightens, and lose my senses completely when she returns my kiss.

A low growl escapes my throat when she lets my tongue meet hers while her hands move to my hair, her fingers digging in. The touch of her nails dragging wild along my scalp is crazy and I instantly put my hands on the small of her back, pulling her close. I press our bodies together, my hand moving involuntarily around her waist. She moans into my mouth and I am reminded of all the reasons we are wrong but there's no stopping. What's done is done.

She is mine for six months and I am hers.

The priest clears his throat, making us break apart. "Congratulations."

I nod at him and he climbs down the altar, his walking stick thumping on the ground.

"Vaughn?" Claire says as we turn to smile at the congregation who are approaching to convey their goodwill to the newly married couple.

"Yes?" I mutter while looking at Michael Hill who is sitting with a disappointed look on his face.

"Never kiss me again," she says, bumping past me as she climbs down the altar, leaving me standing behind in awe.

***

We attend the little after-wedding party where we are forced to maintain our pretense. Claire doesn't look at me the entire time and all my attempts to speak with her go in vain. This is all her fault, then why do I feel like the conspirator here? As far as my memory goes, it was her idea to marry me in the first place. All I did was prepone the plan like an idiot and allowed her to make me the criminal here.

We change after a few hours and leave for Paris soon. I don't know why I want to take her on a honeymoon when nothing in our relationship is even a little sweet like honey. I remember her saying how much she loved Paris and would die for a chance to visit again, in a conversation I eavesdropped on. Taking her there might be a small step to at least get some friendly vibe between us.