7|Out Of Duty

There weren't many things Marybeth feared. But being left behind and forgotten like she didn't matter was one of them. Another, she realised as she followed a Home Affairs official down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, was being early for a wedding she wasn't keen on. She wanted to kick herself when the clerk left her in a sparsely furnished room, explaining someone would be in shortly to speed things along. Now Austin Hawthorne would have one more reason to be smug when he found her waiting for him, like some desperate bride who couldn't wait to get hitched. 

Marybeth gingerly sat in one of several dusty chairs arranged around the ancient square table. She spent the next few minutes shifting her gaze between the dreary metal filing cabinet on the opposite wall and the equally sorry-looking credenza next to it, as she mentally went over her lesson plans for the following week.

She checked the time, sinking lower in her chair when her wristwatch nicely informed her only three minutes had passed since the clerk left her alone. It was true what they said. Time always seemed to grind to an excruciatingly slow pace when one was anxious. 

Marybeth twirled a lock of hair around her index finger while she sent Danica a text, checking where they were. 

'In the front office.' Her stepmom texted back.

'Why? Shouldn't you be here with me?'

'Clerk said it's not our time yet.'

Marybeth reread the message, wondering what she meant. Why they'd separated them as soon as they arrived was still unclear to her. But she assumed it was for a last-minute marriage counselling session with her future husband. 

Did they even offer last-minute marriage counselling sessions?

Measured footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor in the hallway. Marybeth looked up from her phone just in time to see the door fling open and a dark-haired guy strut in, smelling like the man of her dreams she'd long given up on. 

For a startling moment, she was mesmerised by his liquid brown eyes holding her in place, keeping her prisoner under his spell as he gawked back at her. They held such emotion…such sadness, she wanted to reach for him, hold him and ask him to tell her all the things he'd seen. He must have seen plenty. No one who hadn't lived through the horrors he had could hold so much sadness in their eyes.

Aware she was staring, Marybeth averted her gaze. She glanced at Danica's shoes on her feet, and did a terrible job of ignoring the man's fluid movements as he sat down several spots from her. The metal legs scraping on the tiled floor as he adjusted his weight on the saggy chair demanded her attention again. She looked up, wishing she hadn't, when their gazes collided again, sending her tummy to her feet.

He was handsome, in that cold, aloof kind of way—no, the right word was rugged and maybe dangerous, too…She could almost see the string of broken hearts left in his wake, of all the women who thought they'd heal him but couldn't. He had that love-them-leave-them vibe, and she wondered why a man like him would want to tie the knot in such a drab place.

"Getting hitched as well?" Marybeth asked, cringing at her own question. This part of the building was reserved for people like her, who didn't want bells and whistles on their wedding day. If he was here, he was most definitely getting hitched. She'd never win the prize for the best conversation starter, for sure. But, he rewarded her inane question with a nod anyway, a small smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his chair and spread out his long legs like he owned the place. The sadness Marybeth had seen earlier was gone. She must have imagined it, because only an amused glint flashed in his eyes now.

"Are you excited?" she asked as she watched the beams of light trickling through the grimy clerestory windows dance over the different shades of brown in his tousled hair.

He cocked his head to the side, the small smile stretching into a full-on smirk as he arched his brow. "Unbelievably so."

"That's nice," Marybeth said. "Lucky you."

"What about you?" 

She shook her head. "I'm not."

"Why not?" 

His voice was familiar, like she'd heard it before, and it sent goosebumps up her sleeveless arms.

Marybeth mentally shook herself, deciding it had to be the air-con in the room. There was no way this handsome devil's voice could spark such a reaction in her.

"Why aren't you excited?" he pressed. This time, it felt like he'd run a finger along her spine when he looked at her. She gulped at the sight of his Adam's apple and the way the white fabric of his shirt stretched over his broad chest when he crossed his arms. 

Focus, Marybeth scolded herself. The devil came in many forms. She couldn't get distracted by this temptation wrapped in a suit that looked like it was made just for him. It could very well be, judging by the gleaming cufflinks peeking through the sleeves of his jacket and the matching pin keeping the black tie in place.

No, this was one temptation she didn't need. Not when Austin Hawthorne, with his receding hairline and pot belly, would walk in any moment now.

The mere thought of her future husband was enough to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Sighing heavily, Marybeth ran a hand over her hair, making sure her ears were still covered. She had a thing about her ears. They were too big, and she never showed them off. Ever. 

"So why are you miserable on your wedding day?"

"Because this isn't how I imagined it would be," she blurted out. "It's crazy, considering this was dropped on my lap this morning. My folks left it off until the last minute. Who does that? I don't even know the man! Anyway, I phoned him this morning, hoping we could reach an agreement and call this thing off. You know what he said?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "But I'm sure you'll tell me?"

"He barked at me like I'm one of his casino employees and told me to be here at nine. Here I am, but he's nowhere to be found. He's probably trying to hide his damn receding hairline just to make himself look ten years younger. I don't know what he'll do with that pot belly, though."

"What do you mean? What receding hairline? What pot belly?" Her new friend looked downright perplexed, the sadness back in his cognac eyes. He looked darn cute, like a lost puppy, and if he wasn't a grown-ass hulk of a man, she would have adopted him. 

She smiled reassuringly, feeling bad for spewing all her pent-up frustration at him. "I'm sorry for dumping on you. But I'm so angry right now! I mean, what kind of decent-looking man would want to marry a woman he's never met? He's got to be desperate, and honestly, with the company my father keeps, I really think he's a dirty old bastard. I won't be surprised if he's also a swindler like him. He's got to be if he owns a casino, right?"

"Dirty old bastard? Swindler?"

"I've put my foot in it again, didn't I? I'm sorry. Rant over, I promise," she said as she held out her hand. They should exchange names, since he knew so much about her now. "I'm Marybeth, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Marybeth," he took her hand and grasped it firmly in his manly calloused palm, instant awareness shooting all the way from her fingertips up her arm and to her face when their fingers touched.

"The pleasure is all mine," she whispered, baffled by her intense reaction to a man she didn't even know existed until fifteen minutes ago when he pranced in, looking sinfully tempting.

She blinked away her unholy thoughts and shrugged off her reaction, chalking it down to her mad anxiety and the vodka shots she had earlier.

"What about you? Where's your future spouse? Is she running late? And what is this place? Is it like a pre-marriage counselling waiting room? I'm babbling, aren't I? Sorry—" she said, wondering if her breath reeked of alcohol. Maybe that dash of liquid courage before such a momentous occasion wasn't a good idea, considering she was about to sign her life away. 

The man's rich laugh at her absurd rambling, bouncing off the drab slate walls, made the room a whole lot brighter and less cold, and she didn't feel like such an alcoholic now. "I don't mind. You can babble away, and as for your future spouse, I'm sure he'll be here. There's still time."

"That's not the point." Marybeth twirled a strand of hair on her finger, winding it tightly the more she thought about Austin Hawthorne. "The point is he's a creep who preys on young women. And since he wanted this sham of a marriage, the least he could have done was to be early. Now I'm sitting here, looking like a desperate bride!"

"A creep who preys on young women? Whoa! Isn't that a little harsh? He's going to be your husband, after all."

"If you were marrying someone you've never met, you'd probably feel the same way," Marybeth retorted, refusing to let go of her impressions of the man she'd despised from the moment she knew of his existence. "You're probably marrying the love of your life. That's why you're sitting there all excited."

"Hardly," he said. 

"What?"

"She's hardly the love of my life." 

"I see," Marybeth shrugged dismissively as she stood up and paced the room, glaring at her phone every two seconds. "So why are you marrying her if she's not the love of your life?"

"Out of duty," he said, cracking his knuckles.

As vague as his response was, Marybeth got it. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her misplaced sense of duty. So she nodded, her eyes soft with sympathy. "Where is she? Is she also running late?"

He brushed his fuck-me-hair away from his face, showing off a smooth forehead. "No, she's around. She was actually very early."

"That's nice. At least you'll be out of here soon," Marybeth nodded, looping another strand on her finger. "So, is she dolling herself up then?"

"If you pull any harder, you'll rip off your scalp."

"Right!" she smiled guiltily. "I tend to do that when I'm nervous. Childhood habit I can't seem to shake off."

His phone buzzed on the table, a dark shadow falling across his face as he glanced at the screen flashing up at him. 

"Everything okay?" she asked when he pushed the phone away.

"Just a small irritant, but I'll live."

She nodded and walked back to her starting point. "Seriously, if he's not here at nine on the dot, I'm out of this joint. I have lesson plans to work on and guitar classes to prepare for."

"Why are you marrying this guy again, since you hate him so much?"

She stopped mid-stride and looked at him, heat scalding her cheeks at his intent stare gliding over her body. For a man who was 'unbelievably excited' to be getting married, he sure had a roving eye. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide from his gaze as she mumbled under her breath. "Like you, it's out of duty...and guilt." 

"Ah…"

Before Marybeth could ask if it was sarcasm she detected in his voice, the door burst to life. She turned, expecting to see her future husband, with his receding hairline and potbelly. But a clergyman stepped in, draining all colour from her face when he opened his arms in a warm greeting. "This was a hell of a surprise, Austin!"