My jaw dropped. Literally fucking dropped, my mouth hanging open like a horse had kicked an important hinge somewhere in there.
He looked fucking incredible.
He had on his usual boots and hat, just like I did. His trousers were the same leather I was used to, too. But on top, he was wearing that clean, crisp, white button-down shirt he’d lent to me. It actually fit him, like it had been made for him, perfectly tailored to the tapered V of his torso. And on top was a similarly flawless black jacket. A suit jacket.
All that was missing was a tie. But Zohro’s shirt was open at the base of his thick, pink throat, drawing my eye and drying my mouth, and the lack of tie really didn’t seem like such a loss.
As he got closer, I realized that his hair, tied neatly behind him, was damp and fragrant with soap. He got to wash his hair, damnit!
Why did he have to be so clean and fucking hot when I… wasn’t?
Hopefully he wasn’t noticing how shoddy his bride-to-be looked, standing there with swollen ankles and oily roots in her jammies while he looked like a million fucking credits in that suit.
Oh, God. Was that why his eyes were suddenly so white when he looked at me? Did disappointment count as a strong enough feeling to trigger the Zabrian lantern eyes?
“Would you two like any time before the ceremony?” Tasha asked.
“What would they need time for? We are all gathered and ready,” Warden Tenn said.
“To talk?” Tasha said. “Or just to have a quiet moment together?”
“No quiet moments required,” Zohro said, his tail unwinding from his hook and snapping impatiently. “Let’s get this done.”
Let’s get this done. Like it was a tooth extraction.
What the hell was the guy even doing here, marrying me, when he seemed so weird about it?
“I would like some time, actually,” I said. Zohro tensed at my words. “To talk.”
“We’ll leave you to it,” Tasha replied. She took Warden Tenn’s hand and led him away, tugging extra hard when he stopped and tried to look back.
“What do you want to talk about?” Zohro asked, watching the other two until they were out of sight.
“Zohro…” I took a deep breath. Might as well just ask it plainly. “Do you want to be marrying me today?”
His gaze snapped to mine with the force of a whip. Bright white.
“I told you before,” he growled. “I do not do things I do not want to.”
“You don’t want to be here, though,” I pointed out. “You don’t want to be a rancher. Yet you do that. And do a damn fine job of it, too.”
“I believe I said that I am not in the custom of doing things I do not want to do,when I can help it,” he replied. “I cannot help that I am here, or the occupation that has been thrust upon me.”
“Yeah, I guess you can’t help that…” I swallowed. “Will you tell me? Tell me what happened? Why you were sent here?”
His nostrils flared. He looked away, jaw tight.
“I would ask you why you want to know now, as murder does not seem the usual topic of conversation on the morning of a marriage,” he gritted out between clenched fangs. “But I can understand your intention. No doubt, you wish to know the details of my crime before you make your vows to me.”
Before he gave me a chance to answer, he met my gaze with guarded white eyes and said, “My sister was like you.”
“Your sister… What? Like me, how?”
I didn’t even know he had a sister!
“Pregnant,” he said bluntly. “Unmarried.”
“OK…”
