8. Playing my part

Dominic

"What... what happened in there?" I blurted out immediately, seeing those tears running down her face.

She smiled as if to mask her emotions. "Nothing, let—"

"You're crying and you say nothing?"

"Wha... what?" She shuddered at the realization. What was she thinking about, to not even notice the tears on her face? No, what the hell happened in there? Her hair was a mess, her dress... the very one I had fought myself not to stare at since we left the house, was creased like she had been pulled around. A part of it had risen higher than the other, as if she had been struggling with someone.

My eyes caught her face again. Her plump lips were quivering, and the tears sliding down onto them made them shine too wetly for me to look away. My God, who looks this fucking pretty with no makeup and a face full of tears?

I wanted to ask her if she had broken off her relationship with her boyfriend for this sham marriage, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t dare. That would mean admitting that my decision to accept this arrangement was ruining too many lives at once.

I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out the handkerchief I had shoved in there when I was leaving the hotel. I dabbed at her face, though the tears kept coming and she couldn’t hold back the sobs.

"Hey," I said softly, my chest tightening at how broken she looked. "If you tell me you don’t want this anymore, right now... I’ll make sure to make it happen. So, tell me."

She managed to look up at me, her eyes suddenly drying, like she didn’t want me to see her weak. "No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I want this. And you don’t have to worry... this has nothing to do with the arrangement." She wiped the last drop of tears with the back of her hand, almost like she was erasing the whole moment.

Whatever engineered what I did next, I didn’t know. My face just moved on its own, closer to hers, until my lips pressed against those pink, swollen lips. She didn’t respond at first—maybe shocked, maybe scared. But then she kissed me back, slowly. And fuck…She tasted divine.

Her body shuddered when the sound of a door slammed inside the house. She pulled back quickly, panic in her eyes, and grabbed my hand. "Come on," she whispered sharply, tugging me toward the car.

I didn’t argue. I followed, still reeling from that kiss, still feeling it burn on my mouth. She rushed to the passenger side, slid in, and I circled around to the driver’s seat. I noticed the box she had carried, snatched it from her hands, and tossed it in the backseat without a second thought.

"Maddie... Maddie... Madelyn, who the fuck—" A man’s voice roared behind us. I turned, startled, and saw him running toward us, his face red, his mouth twisted with anger.

I looked at her, expecting her to react, to maybe explain. But she didn’t even flinch. She just stared straight ahead like she hadn’t heard him at all.

"Step on it, please," she said quickly, almost under her breath.

I didn’t need more convincing. I pressed down on the gas, leaving him behind in the fumes of my car.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet. The only sound was her soft breathing beside me, the occasional sniff when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. My grip on the steering wheel tightened more than once, but I forced myself not to push. She didn’t want to talk, and for some reason, I respected that. Maybe because I was afraid of what she’d say if she did.

When we pulled into the hotel, I was already feeling the headache of the evening pressing into my skull. The lights from the lobby hit me first, warm and sharp against my eyes. As soon as we walked in, my mother was there—seated like she owned the entire lobby, which, knowing her, she believed she did. Clarissa, her new favorite partner-in-crime and my mother-in-law, sat beside her with that same rehearsed, smug smile she’d been carrying since this whole marriage thing began.

"Dominic," my mother said like she’d been waiting hours for me, her voice carrying authority, disapproval, and a little too much control.

"Mother," I muttered, not even looking at her properly, because I already knew where this conversation would go.

Clarissa’s eyes slid over to Maddie, studying her face like she was reading her like a book, probably trying to catch any weakness. Maddie straightened her posture, wiped whatever was left of her tears with her palm, and forced a faint smile. She was good at this. Better than me.

The tension around that table could choke a man. I didn’t want to sit there and let them pick her apart. I also didn’t want to sit there pretending like this marriage didn’t already feel like some game where I was a pawn.

That night, instead of letting the air choke us in silence, I made a decision. If she was going to go to bed haunted by whatever happened earlier, if she was going to spend the night replaying her tears and the mess of her dress, I wasn’t going to allow it.

"You got something for a club?" She stared back at me as I helped her put her box down. She looked at me without responding for a while before she nodded.

"Right, then get ready, we'll be out in 10mins" I said as I reached the door of her hotel room.

So I took her out.

We slipped out of the hotel through the side, past the watchful eyes of my mother and Clarissa, and ended up in the kind of club I hadn’t stepped foot in for a long time. It was loud, reckless, alive with people spilling drinks, lights dancing across faces, bass thundering through the floor.

At first, Maddie just sat with me at the booth. Her hands clutched the glass I bought her, and she seemed unsure of what to do. But slowly, the music pulled her in. A song she clearly recognized blasted through the speakers, and she started tapping her fingers against the table, smiling without realizing she was smiling.

"Go dance," I told her, leaning close so she could hear me over the music.

She shook her head, but a few minutes later, she was out there on the floor.

And God... she was stunning.

Her body swayed with the rhythm, that tight gold gown hugging her curves like it was designed just for her. The heels she wore made her legs look like they went on forever. Her hair, wild from earlier, bounced with her movements, and she laughed like all that pain from before had been buried under the beat of the music.

I sat there watching, drink in hand, pretending I wasn’t staring too hard. Pretending I wasn’t memorizing every sway of her hips, every turn of her head, every time she closed her eyes and let herself go.

Then some guy…tall, built, probably drunk—slid in behind her. At first, I ignored it. People danced like that all the time in clubs. No big deal.

But then his hands moved to her waist.

I froze, my jaw clenching. Her body stiffened just a little, enough for me to notice, but not enough for him to back off. He leaned closer, his hands gripping her tighter, pulling her against him.

Something snapped in me.

I slammed my glass on the table, got up, and pushed through the crowd until I was standing right behind them. The guy turned his head just as I reached them, his smirk pissing me off more than anything.

"She’s my wife," I said, my voice sharp and loud enough for him to hear clearly over the music.

He blinked at me, confused, like he didn’t believe it. Maddie’s eyes widened, and she looked at me like she didn’t know whether to thank me or question me.

But I didn’t back down.

I put my hand on her arm, pulled her gently away from him, and made sure he understood. "Back off," I said.

And he did, muttering something under his breath as he stumbled away.

My eyes turned back to Maddie who was still looking at me surprised. I convinced myself right then that I was just playing my part. Playing the husband I had been forced to be. Nothing more.

But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.