0006 ~ Vincent ~ Kissing Elodie was completely unnecessary.
I knew that even as I was pulling her against me, even as my hand found the curve of her waist.
It wasn’t part of the plan.
It wasn’t required for the paperwork.
It was a ceremonial formality that I could have easily dismissed with a wave of my hand — the way I’d dismissed every other romantic element of this transactional mess.
But I didn’t.
The truth was simpler and more pathetic than I wanted to admit: I didn’t want her to feel bad if I refused.
After everything, the least I could do was not humiliate her in front of the officiant and my men.
And there was the ninth grade incident.
That goddamn letter.
I’d been cruel back then.
Stupid and cruel and too wrapped up in my own shit to realize what it took for a girl like Elodie Stonewall to write those words, to slip that letter into my locker, to make herself vulnerable like that.
I’d read it aloud to the entire class like it was a joke, like her feelings were something to mock.
I’d watched her face crumble, watched her run out of the room, and I’d felt nothing but smug satisfaction that I’d maintained my reputation.
I was eighteen and street-hardened and too damaged to know what I was destroying.
So maybe this kiss was an apology fifteen years too late.
Maybe it was damage control.
Maybe it was just easier to go through the motions than to refuse and see that same humiliation cross her face again.
In situations like this, I’d learned, it was better not to refuse.
That’s what I told myself as I leaned in.
That’s what I told myself right up until the moment my lips touched hers.
And then everything went sideways.
The kiss hit me like electricity — sharp, sudden, completely unexpected.
Her lips were soft and warm, and there was something about the way she gasped against my mouth, startled and uncertain, that made something in my chest twist violently.
I felt it everywhere.
In my fingertips where they pressed against her waist.
In the base of my spine.
In the rapid, irrational acceleration of my heartbeat.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Elodie Stonewall wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
She was a means to an end — Logan’s punishment disguised as a gift, a way to keep my brother occupied and contained.
She was the girl from ninth grade who’d written me a letter, nothing more.
She was a debt payment, a transaction, a checkbox on a list of problems I needed to solve.
She wasn’t supposed to taste like hope and desperation and something dangerously close to home.
Anger flooded through me, hot and immediate.
I hated this.
Hated that her lips were doing something to me, making me feel things I had no business feeling.
I’d built walls for a reason — high, thick walls that kept everyone at a safe distance where they couldn’t complicate things or make me weak or distract me from what needed to be done.
And here was Elodie Stonewall, with her wide eyes and her trembling hands and her selfless sacrifice for her train-wreck of a sister, threatening to crack those walls with a single kiss I’d initiated myself like a complete idiot.
I pulled away almost immediately, putting distance between us like she’d burned me.
“I have an important meeting,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
I didn’t look at her.
“We’re done here.” “Wait…” the photographer stepped forward, an older man with a camera slung around his neck.
One of the courthouse staff who documented civil ceremonies for the records.
“I need to get a photo for the marriage certificate.
Just one quick shot.” Of course.
Because this day couldn’t get any worse.
I wanted to tell him to forget it, that we didn’t need photographic evidence of this disaster, but one of my rules of life is following due procedures.
“Fine,” I bit out.
“Make it quick.” Elodie stood there looking shell-shocked, her fingers touching her lips like she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and confused, and I deliberately looked away from her.
The photographer gestured for us to stand together.
“Just a simple pose.
Bride and groom.
Smile if you can manage it.” I moved to stand beside Elodie, keeping a careful foot of space between us.
I wasn’t touching her again.
Once was a mistake.
Twice would be stupidity.
“Closer,” the photographer said.
“You need to look like you’re actually married.” “We are actually married,” I said flatly.
“You watched it happen five minutes ago.” “Closer,” he repeated, clearly not intimidated by my tone.
I shifted slightly toward Elodie, still maintaining distance.
We stood there like two strangers waiting for a bus—stiff, awkward, absolutely nothing like newlyweds.
Technically, I’m not married to her, I married her on behalf of Logan.
“Sir, if you could just…” “Take the damn picture,” I interrupted.
My heart was still doing something strange in my chest, something I didn’t want to examine.
My pulse hadn’t settled since the kiss, and that was pissing me off even more.
The photographer sighed and snapped a few shots.
Flash, flash, flash.
Each one capturing what had to be the most uncomfortable wedding photo in the history of marriage certificates.
Perfect.
Exactly what this arrangement deserved.
“Got it,” the photographer muttered, lowering his camera with a disapproving look that suggested he’d seen better chemistry between people filing for divorce.
“Excellent.” I was already turning toward the door, I spotted Luca near the door.
“Luca.” He straightened immediately.
“Boss.” “Take Logan and Elodie back to the estate.” I didn’t look at Elodie as I said it.
“Get Logan settled.
Make sure he takes his medication.
Show Elodie to their bedroom.
They might as well start their honeymoon” “Honeymoon?” Luca asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or if that was a trace of humor in his voice.
“Yes, they are married, they deserve some romantic time” I said sharply.
“Yes, sir.” Luca moved toward Logan, who was still slumped in the chair, his episode winding down to quiet trembling.
I should say something to Elodie, but the words stuck in my throat, tangled up with the lingering taste of her on my lips and the irrational anger that she’d made me feel anything at all.
So I did what I always did when things got complicated: I left.
Elodie was just a means to an end.
A way to keep Logan occupied, to give him what he’d asked for — a wife, a companion, something to anchor him to reality while the drugs kept him manageable.
Logan.
The devil in disguise.
The brother I was punishing in the only way that felt like justice.
He would love Elodie when he comes to his senses, this is just one of his tantrum breakdown.
I pushed through the courthouse doors and into the afternoon sun, breathing in the cool air, forcing my heart rate back to normal.
It was just a kiss.
A meaningless formality.