Read Online A Wedding to Remember: Switched at Marriage Part 1 by Gina Robinson - Free Book Online

us?"
    Data sank down in my lap and kneaded my thighs with her tiny paws as I petted and cooed to her.
    "How the hell do I know any of this?" he said, his tone indifferent. As if the details didn't matter and were of no interest to anyone. "I was blacked out, apparently."
    "And yet this marriage is somehow legal."
    Data rested her head on her paws and yawned.
    "I put a PI on it after you left me in the middle of our wedding night."
    " I didn't leave you. Just remember that." It seemed important he understood that. I still got the feeling he didn't believe that I hadn't married him. "What did the PI find out? Are there any pictures?"
    Justin shook his head and looked ruefully at the dog. "They say we came in slightly bombed."
    I arched an eyebrow. "Slightly? Seriously?"
    "Totally shitfaced."
    I laughed. "That's better. It doesn't sound like me, but that's better. And?"
    "We bought the cheapest wedding package. Refused to have our picture taken, even when the paid witness offered to snap one on our phones. And strolled, or maybe staggered, out of the chapel, laughing all the way."
    "Nice."
    "And they think you wore a pink dress."
    "Thank God for that," I said. "At least I look good in pink." I had another moment of panic. "What about the ring? What did you use for a ring? Should I have it?"
    He looked a little sheepish. "According to the highly reliable witness, I used my Order of the Engineer ring."
    I gave him a puzzled look and my heart stopped. I had no idea what an order of the engineer ring was. Part of me didn't want to know. If it was customized like a class ring, we were sunk. "Is it distinctive? That could be a problem—"
    He shook his head. "No. It's a plain stainless steel ring. There's no way to identify it as mine." He held up his right hand and wiggled his baby finger where a totally plain, thin stainless steel band glinted unimpressively in the light. "Like this one. We wear them on our baby fingers."
    "You got another one already?"
    "I ordered an extra before the initiation ceremony," he said. "I have a habit of losing rings."
    I held my ring-empty hand out to him like a princess giving her hand to a knight for a kiss. "Hand it over and slip it on me."
    He took my hand and reluctantly slid the ring off his finger. Then, it may have been my imagination, but his hand trembled as he slipped his ring on my left ring finger.
    "It fits perfectly." I was surprised and let it show. As I tried to pull my hand from his, he bent and kissed my ring finger. His mouth was warm and his touch surprisingly tender—surprising period. My heart raced as his mouth met my fingers and his beard tickled my skin.
    "My hand feels empty without that ring." How did he make that simple statement sound so romantic? As if he'd given his prize possession to me.
    The dog shifted in my lap. "We'll order you another one."
    I held my hand up to admire my new piece of jewelry, if you could call it that, and suppressed a frown. For an improvised ring, it wasn't bad. Better than a cigar band. Or a rubber band. For a wedding ring from a billionaire, it pretty much sucked big time. "The bigger problem is that we'll have to hope no one noticed you wearing this one for the last few days."
    "People are surprisingly unobservant. I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, I can claim I was wearing a spare and then I lost that one." He must have seen my look of disappointment, even though I'd tried to hide it. "We'll get you another one, a real wedding ring."
    "This one's fine." I put my hand down and tucked it under my legs.
    "No, it isn't." His voice was tender and firm at the same time. "You're obviously my trophy wife. You need a trophy ring."
    "Jus, you do realize you married an older woman? Aren't trophy wives usually younger?" I had to be three or four years older than he was. "How old are you, anyway?" I hadn't thought about his age until now.
    "Twenty-one."
    Crap, I was a cradle robber. A cougar at nearly twenty-five. "A baby." I leaned in to whisper to