Page 7 of First Comes Marriage
“Won’t be one of those for long,” she sing songs as she turns me and starts applying my makeup.
Again, since I’m not much of a girly girl, my skin routine involves washing my face, toning it, then making sure I have moisturized it with an appropriate SPF level. Occasionally, I swipe on some colored lip balm or mascara, but the rest of it? Yeah, no. That’s just not me, I guess.
“Marriage of convenience, remember?” I taunt. “That means, no sexy times, Mindy.”
She raises her brow at me and smirks. “Girl, if that man was inmybed, I’d take advantage for sure. Don’t make me go online and order you a special, vibrating friend.”
My face turns beet red at her words and I lightly smack her. “Don’t you dare!” I hiss out. “There will be kids in that house, as well as his grandmothers. There’s no way I want anything like that around for them to accidentally find.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to give up the cookie, girlfriend,” she replies, winking at me. “There, what do you think?” she asks, turning me back to face the mirror.
I gawk at my image. It’s me but not me, if that makes sense. She did a natural look on my eyelids using earth tones, a light brushing of mascara on my lashes, and a soft, plush colored blush along my cheekbones, highlighting them. “Holy smokes, Mindy, is this really me?” I whisper leaning closer to the mirror. “Because it looks like me, just better.”
“That’s what makeup is all about, chica. Enhancing what you already have,” she says, closing everything up so I can put it in the drawers of my vanity. “Now, let’s head to the courthouse so you can marry your man.” Internally, I grit out the fact that he’s not my man, but I keep it to myself because arguing with her is harder than hitting your head against a brick wall. Neither are winnable.
“Congratulations,” Abuela Maria says, pulling me into a tender hug. “Me and Josephine have food ready at the house to celebrate.”
I wrap my arms around her and hug her back while groaning deep inside. Every one of them showed up in their Sunday best, as did Brock and Mindy who were our witnesses. While Dex has been solicitous toward me, I’m so far out of my element it isn’t funny. Other than Mindy, I typically spend my days by myself. Even when I’m helping on a construction site, I’m left to my own devices. Now, I’ll be shrouded in a house full of people, including two elderly women and three grieving kids.
“Let’s head to the house,” Dex says, holding his hand out for me to take. I watch as mine is swallowed in his grasp but when he laces our fingers together, something strange happens inside. I feel as if I’ve come home. Shaking my head at my wayward thoughts, I nod to show him I’m ready then the rest of the crew follows behind us.
I know the paperwork will get filed and we’ll have the pretty marriage certificate within the next week or so, but Dex has already called and told the social worker he got married today. I anticipate that she’s going to want to do a home inspection and hope their house will bear up to it. He helps me into his truck while the three kids pile into a small SUV with their grandmothers.
“You okay?” he asks once he’s inside and we’re both buckled. He puts the truck in drive and pulls off out of the public parking lot and toward their house.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my thoughts wildly racing and getting jumbled up in my head. What happens now? I mean, he did place a chaste kiss on my lips when the Justice of the Peace pronounced us man and wife and told him to kiss his bride, but outside of that, I don’t know how to act.
I’m not a submissive person, haven’t had that luxury, but he’s got a dominating presence and it has me feeling perplexed. Does he expect me to be laid back and take commands? I look over at him and that thought exits my mind because he exudes thankfulness and is not producing any sort of alpha vibe. Maybe I can just be myself? If only I knew who I am. Without my jobs, I’m a lost mess. I spend my evenings working on the house, and when I’m not doing that, I walk around feeling abandoned and lonely.
We drive in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, thank goodness, but I’m still no closer to figuring out how I feel when it comes to him as we pull into the driveway than I was at the courthouse. I guess I just need to roll with the punches and take my cues from him.
I’m a disaster… that’s me in a nutshell. An emotional wreck who can’t ever make up her mind about how she feels when it comes to certain situations. Or in this case, a certain man who is a walking, talking dream.
He helps me out of the truck once we park, and we’re again hand in hand like a true couple would be as we walk up the steps and onto the porch. The house itself is huge, but that probably has more to do with the additions that were put on for the two older women than anything. Already my trained eye can see quite a few projects that I’ll be able to tackle for him in order to ensure that their home is safe and secure for three growing children.
“Miss Jolie!” Arya exclaims as she runs up behind us. I stop and turn, only to have her practically take me off my feet when she hugs me. “I’m so happy!”
“I’m glad, sweetheart,” I reply, lightly tousling her curls. All three of the kids have Dex’s coloring, and Thad looks just like I imagine Dex did when he was that age.
“We helped Abuela and Nonna make food,” Anniston adds. As we start to walk through the door, Anniston says, “You’re supposed to carry her through the door, Dex. Don’t you know anything?”
Before I can protest, I hear his low chuckle then I’m swept up in his arms and carried across the threshold. “Welcome home, Jolie,” he whispers. “We’re going to make the best of the hand we’ve been dealt, okay?”
What can I say to that? He’s kind of in the same boat as I am; his freedom has been curtailed for many years and while I may not know everything there is to know about him, I know he’d do anything to keep his brother and sisters under the same roof.
Even marrying a stranger.
Chapter Five
Dex
Abuela and Nonna have gone all out, cooking a veritable feast for our wedding day. While I’m pretty sure they know it’s not a love match union, the two of them are from a generation where a lot of marriages are arranged. Since both of them were madly in love with my grandfathers, I suspect they’re crossing their fingers that the same thing will happen between me and Jolie.
“Dex, you have to cut the cake with Jolie,” Anniston instructs, bringing me out of my reverie. She grabs my hand and tugs me over to the table that has a three-tiered cake set on top of it like a centerpiece, complete with a topper showing a man and a woman hugging in their wedding finery.
“Okay, okay, peanut,” I tease as she practically drags me to where my now wife is standing, a shy smile gracing her face.
It’s not a look I really recognize seeing on her before since she’s very independent, which I’m sure has been born out of survival necessity. Still, as my family, Brock, and Mindy look on, withmy best friend taking a plethora of pictures, we cut the cake, do the traditional feeding of one another, then Abuela shoves us out of the way so she and Nonna can cut the rest of the cake into individual slices and hand it out.
