Feisty Princess
Margo
I STARE AT THE WEDDING photo in absolute horror. “Oh, my God. Yamada was a witness? And is he wearing—” I lean in and take a closer look “—an Elvis costume?”
Alexander leans over my shoulder while I sit at the island in the kitchen of our suite, his spicy scent wafting around me as he gets a better view. “Shit.” He pushes himself back upright and straightens the dark blue tie he’s wearing. Even in a dress shirt, the man makes my mouth water.
I gaze up to see a pair of gray eyes trained on me. “Please tell me this is all a sick joke. Please tell me that we aren’t really married.”
“No joke, Dime Piece,” Yamada says as he walks into the common area of the suite with a set of brunette twins wearing matching schoolgirl outfits—one under each arm. “Yamada was there, and it was the dopest wedding ever! Wasn’t it, ladies?”
The two women giggle and nod in agreement. One even runs her finger suggestively over Yamada’s scrawny bare chest beneath the silk robe he’s still wearing. “Whatever you say, baby,” the woman purrs.
Yamada grabs the woman’s hand. “No touching in front of Dime Piece. Might make her jealous. Poor girl will never get a taste of a night with Yamada since she’s married to King now.”
The woman jerks her gaze to me, and I swear to God she hisses at me. I raise my eyebrows, and Alexander shakes his head.
“Okay,” Yamada says and then gives each of his companions a kiss on the cheek. “Time to go, lovelies.”
“But we want to play with Yamada some more,” one of the girls whines in a voice that mimics a toddler as Yamada turns them both toward the door.
He opens the door and ushers the girls out, patting each one on the butt as they pass him. “Sorry, but Yamada’s a man in demand. Bye girls.”
“Yamada . . .” the girls’ voice cuts off as he shuts the door in their faces.
He turns and gives us a mischievous grin. “Bitches love Yamada.”
Alexander rolls his eyes. “I have no idea why.”
“Don’t be a hater.” Yamada struts into the kitchen and opens the door on the stocked refrigerator, reaching in for a bottle of juice. He twists the cap off his apple juice and then halts when he turns to take in the expression on Alexander’s face. “Why are you not the happiest madafaka on the planet right now? You’re married to the hottest chick Yamada has ever seen. What’s there not to be happy about?”
Yamada swallows and then shrugs. “We were all having fun. The two of you were fucked-up and when we passed a wedding chapel . . .”
“And let me guess. You convinced us in our drunken state that it would be so much fun,” Alexander finishes for him.
Yamada’s face pulls into a lopsided grin. “You didn’t take much convincing.”
Before Alexander has a chance to respond, the front door pops open and the same bodyguard with the braids who walked me up to Yamada’s party last night sticks his head through the door. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Yamada, but we have a situation. The women you escorted out are sitting in front of the elevator demanding to speak with you about when they can see you again. Would you like us to physically remove them from the property, sir?”
“Let me talk to them.” Yamada shakes his head, muttering as he heads toward the door. “This happens every time.”
“Yamada . . .”Alexander calls after his friend but gets no response as the door closes us alone in the suite.
Alexander turns around and rests his back against the counter in the kitchen area of our suite. The material of his pressed shirt strains against his bicep as he lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose while he squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t believe I allowed you to con me into this. How could I be so careless?”
His eyes snap open. He holds up his left hand that’s still bearing a wedding ring and points to it. “Obviously, you do. You don’t honestly expect me to believe that Yamada came up with that shit by himself. He had to get the idea from somewhere.”
“Excuse me.” I lift my hand to interrupt. This man is completely out of his ever-lovin’ mind if he believes that. “Being married to you is the last thing on my wish list. Why would I ever subject myself to something like that?”
Alexander releases a bitter laugh. “Right. I know you’re smarter than that, Margo, so cut the act.”
My mouth falls open. “What act? Mythorough disgust at the thought of being your wife isn’t for show—that I can assure you. My disdain for you is quite real.”
He stares at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m sure you’d like me to believe that, but Princess, I’m on to your game. Once Jack figures out if we’re legally married, I’ll have him slap you with an annulment so fast it’ll make your head spin. When I told you to marry some schmuck for money, I didn’t mean me!”
The moment those words leave his mouth, things begin clicking into place. My hungover brain obviously isn’t quick enough this morning to figure out that if, in fact, we are married, it means there was no time for any pesky contracts like a prenuptial agreement. Alexander King is screwed, and he knows it. He’s now at my mercy.