His Kleptomaniac Bride

Camille's Pov

Fuck, no. Not now."

"This cannot be happening right now."

My fingers curled hard into the sleeves of the blue lightweight sweater I wore over a cream-coloured pleated skirt, tugging the fabric down over my trembling hands to hide them as I looked at the kid with a tennis kit a few feet away.

My brain was staging a civil war. One part of me mapped out the absurd, looping logic of how I could possibly swipe a child's tennis kit and vanish without getting caught. What do I even need a child's tennis kit for anyways? while the other part screamed at me to turn around.

There were worse things than being diagnosed with an impulse control disorder. For example, I could be the target of a hitman, or I could be on a hospital bed fighting for my life. But I'd take both anytime, any day, rather than this disorder.

I looked around the court. There were only a few people here, three to five teenagers who should be in school right now, not like that's my business. Not a lot of people visit the indoor centre tennis court on a sunny afternoon anyway. That was what I was counting on when I stepped in here, hoping to be alone.

"How the hell am I going to fit that in my bag anyway?" I shuddered inwardly.

"Hey kiddo," I said, forcing my legs to move toward the kid. "That's some really cool kit you've got right there."

"Umm, do I know you?" he replied. Ouch, rude kid.

"No, you don't, at least not yet, but I'm Tessa, and I'm giving you a compliment on your cool tennis kit."

Did I just freaking lie about my name? My jaw tightened. Way to go, brain.

"Oh, thank you." He eyed me warily. Of course he doesn't trust me; I'm smiling sheepishly like a goddamn buffalo.

I'd better get this done soon; my skin was crawling, every nerve ending screaming for me to act.

"Can I see it? I do have mine, but I don't think it's as cool as yours." I did a little pout and puppy dog eyes; that works on kids every time.

"Yes, of course, yours looks outdated. My dad just got this latest tennis kit for me as a birthday present. "He beamed. Yep, one way to get a kid warm-up to you is to do the puppy dog eyes. Really cute, by the way.

"Here, take a look at my tennis racket; it's so cool, right?" He went on.

"Yes, so cool. Wow, you must like Batman a lot? They are practically engraved in every piece of equipment of yours." I asked, impressed and heavy with a sinking dread. I really wish I could just walk away from this kid right now. I wish I was in my room and not in this tennis court trying to steal a little kid's tennis kit.

"Yes, who wouldn't like Batman? He's the only human in the superhero league, and his superpower is being rich." He answered, still showing me more of his cool stuff. That was when I spotted the name and tracking code.

The Wilsons.

Blood drained straight out of my face. The Wilsons were old-money royalty, a family whose single word could crush empires, let alone my father's freshly minted, fragile wealth. If I got caught stealing a tennis kit from Elder Wilson's beloved grandson, the fallout wouldn't just be a scandal; my family's name would be dragged straight back to where we started, and the gutters and every door would be slammed in our faces.

I can't do this; my hands are already visibly shaking. I need a save right now, something anything to distract me before I do something stupid, like grabbing the tennis kit and bolting out of the court.

"Umm, are you okay? Your hands are shaking." The wariness in his eyes returned. He started arranging his things back in his tennis backpack.

"Yes, I'm fin-"

"And who is this again, Roman?"

I was cut short by a voice, darker and much stronger. I turned to the direction of the voice and came face to face with three men: an older man in his 70s, a middle-aged man, both dressed in crisp white tennis outfits, and a much younger man who, if I were to guess his age, I'd pick thirties, dressed in a dark charcoal suit, looking like he just stepped out of a boardroom meeting. I knew two of these men: Elder Wilson, Mr Wilson, Roman's father, and the dark charcoal suit man who I can't seem to remember where I have seen him from, but I can bet everything in me that he is someone important. That posture of his and the aura that scream absolute authority say it all. All from the old money families, shit. I guess this is my save because I can feel my disorder toning down a notch or two.

"Ummm, Grandfather, she's my friend-"

"And what did I say about starting a sentence with ummm?" The same voice whom I now deduced belongs to Elder Wilson, asked.

"I'm sorry, grandfather." Roman said apologetically.

"Which family are you from?" Elder Wilson stared at me pointedly with a sharp look enough to draw blood.

"I'm from the Alonso's family, sir," I offered a tight smile. "My name is Camill-"

"I have never heard such a surname before among the prestigious families I know of." Elder Wilson cut me off even before I could complete my sentence. Dammit, old man. It seemed that this man had a knack for cutting people short, and he seems to enjoy it, considering that little cruel smirk on his wrinkled face.

"I thought you said your name is Tessa?" Roman blurted out, staring at me like I had grown a second head. Maybe I have.

Oh shit. I totally forgot that I lied to this kid about my name. Now everyone is looking at me.

"I, umm, yes, my name is Camille Tessa Alonso." I laughed nervously. "I only give cool kids the name Tessa because...well, it's cool." Fuck!

Elder Wilson narrowed his eyes at me. "Your name isn't Tessa, young lady. You clearly had ulterior motives for approaching my grandson. Now tell me, who sent you?"

"My name is indeed Tessa; I don't have any ulterior motives. I'm, uhh, just a normal pers-"

"I think we have spent enough time here, Elder Wilson. We have much more important things to discuss."

The suit-wearing man cut in, glancing down at his gold watch with chilling indifference.

"Oh yes, of course, Mr Montgomery, my grandfather was just delighted to see his grandson, that's all," Mr Wilson said quickly.

"The driver will take you home now, Roman." Mr Wilson said, ending the discussion and walking past us.

"Okay, Father," Roman grumbled.

Mr Montgomery. The name clicked, sending a fresh wave of panic through my chest. But before I could process it, the man in the charcoal suit turned his icy gaze down at me.

Pale ocean-blue eyes. A straight nose, a sharp, clean jawline dusted with faint stubble, and eyelashes ridiculously longer than any man or woman had a right to have. He was painfully attractive and would have been terrifyingly handsome if his expression hadn't looked like it had been made from granite.

"Could you move? You are in my way." His voice was a low, smooth rumble.

"Excuse me, Miss?" The urgency was evident in his voice and eyes as he looked down at me.

"Oh, yes, sure, sorry," I mumbled, tripping backward over my own feet as I scrambled out of his way. A whiff of his cologne drifted past my nose as he walked past. Dark musk with a subtle hint of vanilla. Nice.

I didn't wait to hear another word. I turned on my heel and practically sprinted out of the indoor centre, hailing the first taxi I saw. My pulse was still hammering against my ribs. I couldn't afford another spiral, much less an encounter with a family like the Wilsons or that man. I'd be better off at home. In the comfort of my room.

I was about to step into the taxi when I felt the insistent buzz in my tennis backpack. My heart did a double beat of fear when I brought out my cell phone and saw who was calling.

"Hello, Father." I quickly did a mental check of why he could be calling me. I didn't do anything. I didn't even drive any of the cars out.

"Where are you, and why are you not in your room?" His deep voice rumbled over the line.

Trust my father to make sure I'm not ruining the reputation he has built and is still building.

"I stepped out for air, Father."

"Well, get back here. There's a family meeting." He paused. "And your presence is needed at once."

"Okay," I answered, taken aback as to why my presence would suddenly be needed during a family meeting. "Any reason why I'm needed?" I asked.

"Be here in the next 40 mins; we have important news."

He hung up immediately.

Did something happen? What's going on? Did someone die or get sick? I'm feeling so uneasy; so many questions are racing through my mind right now.

I didn't have an answer, but I knew one thing.

This important news wouldn't bode well for me.

Camille's Pov:

My parents' living room looked like an architectural design from a popular interior design magazine called Living in Your Dreams. A huge chandelier light hanging from the ceiling, two carved wood tables, and two ridiculously expensive art collections placed on the wall right next to porcelain tea sets. Only that this living room isn't a dream; it's a nightmare. A very rich nightmare. The polished marble floors beneath my feet felt freezing, radiating a coldness that seeped straight through the soles of my shoes.

"So the purpose of this meeting," my father began, his voice cutting through the silence, "is for us to come together as a family and celebrate." Fifty-six years old and still fit, Morgan Alonso looked every bit of the self-made CEO. He'd expanded Alonso's smart home and security importations from a small run shop to a multinational company in over one decade and a half, and the cold, sharp flick of his gaze my way was enough to draw the air straight out of my lungs, forcing me to shrink back against the plush velvet couch cushions.

"Celebrate?" My brother, Aiden, asked, his voice flat and unamused as he traced the seam of his cufflink.

"Yes, I knew that the family would only be rising to the top provided we all behaved ourselves properly." My mother beamed, her eyes darting toward the chandelier. Yeah, right. Typical Sarah Alonso.

"Well, one of you has caught the eyes of a gentleman from one of the prestigious families." My father stared at me and my sister, Catilyn, his posture shifting with arrogant pride. "They are offering marriage and will be here tomorrow for dinner."

"Really?" My sister squealed, her hands flying straight to her cheeks. "Which family is that dad?"

She is the only person who gets to call Father that after so many years. After his business took off, we moved from our old apartment to Holland Park Estate here in London. My dad had insisted we all referred to him as 'Father', claiming it sounds proper and sophisticated, with the exception of my younger sister.

"Montgomery's Family," my father answered proudly.

"Montgomery's family?" The name hit me like a physical blow, my jaw slackening as the breath caught in my throat. All I remembered were pale ocean blue eyes and an icy gaze. I just encountered a Montgomery a few hours ago; the memory of his stifling presence still lingers on my skin like a static charge.

"The most prestigious family here in London, Dad?" My sister asked excitedly, leaning forward so fast her golden waves whipped around her shoulders. "Yes, The Montgomerys'. I was surprised myself when I received the call from Elder Montgomery himself," my father narrated. "He called to ask me if I was open to his grandson getting married to my daughter. I was so surprised, and he asked to meet up with my whole family tomorrow so we could all discuss over dinner tomorrow."

"Wow, I can't believe the Montgomerys' family finally noticed my beautiful daughter." My mother beamed even more. I could clearly see her imagine how her societal status would go to the exact top.

"Yes, Mom, oh my God, I'm getting married to the wealthiest family ever. We need to go shopping tomorrow, Mom." My sister squealed excitedly.

Wait, what's going on? Did the Montgomery family specifically say they were coming for Catilyn's hand in marriage? Or did I miss something? "Umm, Father, did the Montgomery family specify that they were coming for Catilyn?" I asked while perusing my father's facial features.

"Who else do you expect that they are coming for?" My father snapped, his glare dropping ten degrees. "You? Of course not."

"Honey, a girl like herself could only dream." My mother chimed in, wrinkling her nose. "Nobody knows you exist, darling, except for a few people, of course. If not, we wouldn't want to disappoint the Montgomery's family by not making the whole family gather for dinner tomorrow. You would have stayed in your room throughout."

"Yes, Mom, can't she just stay in her room? We wouldn't want her to embarrass us with...whatever is wrong with her." My sister laughed, brushing off a strand of golden hair from her head.

"Yes, honey, our sweet pea is right. What if she embarrasses us with that behaviour of hers? Wouldn't it be better to cook up some excuses about why she couldn't be around?" My mother agreed, looking at my father, oblivious to the fact that I was here and present listening to everything she's saying. They never really did care anyway.

"Mother, Father said they demanded that everyone be present for tomorrow's dinner." My brother replied before my father could answer, his jaw ticking slightly as he held our father's gaze. "The dinner will take two to three hours. I'm sure Camille can keep her behaviour in check for those few hours. Right, Cam?"

"Yeah, right. It's no big deal; I mean, it's just dinner. You all don't have to worry about a thing." I stammered, trying to assure my family's probing eyes, digging my fingernails into my palms to keep my hands steady.

"Okay, since that's settled. You all are dismissed. Aiden, see me in the study now." My father stood up, ending the meeting, and walked towards his study room with my brother behind him.

Malakai's POV:

"Man, c'mon, are you really getting married? An arranged marriage?" Cole asked, looking both shocked and confused. "Why would your grandfather do that to you? Is he perhaps in need of great grandkids?"

Sometimes Cole, who happens to be my best friend and maybe confidant, could be a pain in the ass. I was working in my office when he decided to barge in unannounced, dragging an ergonomic chair across the hardwood floor with a grating screech and collapsing into it. If my personal assistant possessed a spine, the intercom on my desk would have chimed five minutes ago to announce him.

"Man, answer me. This is not the time to be all mysteriously silent, you know?" He pressed, leaning forward. "Do you want to get married or not? Who is the bride, by the way? Which family? Is she pretty? Oh my God, what if she's ugly or has a scar or even a psycho?" He is throwing multiple questions at me without even waiting for a damn answer. Not that I will give it to him anyways.

"This marriage is simply one based on convenience and a promise." I responded vaguely, refusing to look up from my spreadsheet, the endless columns of figures beginning to blur together behind my aching temples. I wasn't interested in talking about my so-called marriage at this time. It's too much of a hassle. I'd rather be focused on the company and try to secure this MultiBillionaire marketing deal file on my desk that I was working on. It's been giving me a headache for the past week. And I never have headaches, not now, not ever. But of course, Cole seems to have other plans.

"Based on convenience and a promise?" He echoed, snorting. "Since when did you need a marriage of convenience? You are as convenient as anyone would ever wish to be. Or is the company going bankrupt?"

My eyebrows spiked up at that, and I dropped my pen, its metallic clatter breaking the heavy silence of the room. "The Montgomery's Marketing Corporations has been around since my great-grandfather, long even before you were born. It doesn't go bankrupt." I replied with much confidence.

"Yeah, all right enough bragging." He waved a dismissive hand. "But which family are you getting married into? Do you know anything about them?"

"No," I answered. "Grandfather said the Alonsos, but I haven't done any research on them yet, and dinner with the family is tomorrow. I might as well do my research now instead of going blindly." I picked up my cell phone, putting a call to my most trusted bodyguard. "Hello Sean, get me information on the Alonso family. Don't leave a single thing out. I need it before the end of today."

"Right away, boss." He answered, I ended the call and met with Cole's amused gaze. "There, satisfied? I should be able to get some answers to your pending questions since you are apparently more invested in my marriage than I am."

"Yeah, sure." He laughed, standing up from his seat. "I have got to go now; I have a job in Milan tomorrow. I wouldn't want to miss my flight. Don't miss me too much, and say hello to your future bride for me."

Sneaky bastard. "But you only just arrived, and here I was thinking I could count on you to represent me tomorrow at the dinner." I smirked.

"Whoa whoa, we are best friends, Malakai, but I can't get married for you. Your grandfather would murder me, then wake me up and roast me alive again." He said in between fits of laughter. "You Montgomeries are a scary bunch. Save me the details for when I return. I will be busy for a while, though. Reply to my texts, okay?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. He groaned and mumbled something which sounded pretty much like "Fuck you" heading out the double doors, sealing out his parting remarks and sounds of his flirty passes at my supposed personal assistant in the hallway. I really should replace her, preferably with a male this time.

Still, as I leaned back in my leather chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose, I knew Cole was right about one thing.

We, the Montgomerys, are a scary bunch. A family right at the top of the wealthy chain here in London and one you wouldn't want to mess with. My family might be the most prestigious family that everyone wants to associate with, but we were bloody vultures on the inside. Always waging wars amongst and within ourselves. My future bride doesn't have a clue what she's about to get into; I hope she's strong enough not to get burnt.

Camille's POV

I have never been so anxious in my entire life as this before. My nerves were all over the place, a cold sweat pricking at the back of my neck, and I couldn't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I fumbled with the clasp of my pearl necklace. I am not the one getting married, dammit. I stared at my reflection in the mirror situated at the right end of my room; ivory coloured tweed skirt and blouse, pearl earrings and a simple pearl necklace with low heeled pumps. Heck, I even packed my hair in a bun and pasted on a neutral-coloured lipstick, no gloss. I looked like a younger version of my mother, and I hated it. Well, I had no choice; this is my parent's approved standard clothing, and if I wanted to be on my best behaviour tonight, I might as well start from my appearance.

My phone screen came on with a notification that said I had unread messages. It should definitely be the group chat. I had updated my friends, Hannah and Zaya, about the marriage thing earlier, but my explanation was cut short by my mother announcing that I should start getting ready. They must be dying from unfinished 'gist', especially Zaya, she thrives in gossip a lot.

I picked up my phone about to respond when my mom walked into my room without knocking, not even bothering to pause at the threshold, her heavy, suffocating floral perfume preceding her. Hello, is privacy now extinct?

"Your makeup looks a little bit dull." She examined me with a critical eye, her fingers reaching out to tilt my chin upward roughly, her nails digging in a little too hard. "I have told you to get a new set of makeup kits. How will you attract suitable suitors if you can't even do your makeup right? Which makeup product do you use?"

"Kylie Jenner's Mother." My cheeks ached from me trying to hold a polite smile, the muscles trembling beneath the skin.

"Your sister uses that product too, and it looks impeccable on her. Why is it different with you?" She said, still examining me, her lips curling in a disappointed sneer. "And why are you wearing ivory-coloured tweed? Brown will look good on you."

My mother had the power to destroy anything I try to do right in my life. Most times, I feel like she's trying to shape me into another Sarah Alonso. It is always another 'you don't look good in this' or 'no, this is wrong' or 'take a look at your sister'. She's always criticising everything I do, and then comparing me with my sister.

It has gotten so much worse lately, by the way.

"Mother, I look good. You are just too stressed not to notice that. Don't worry, everything will go well tonight." I smoothed my blouse, the rough tweed scratching against my palms, trying not to look her in the eyes.

"Yes, I might be stressed, but I didn't complain when I went to check on your sister," my mother countered. "You are not getting younger anymore, Camille. Look at your sister; she has singlehandedly raised this family's honour by bagging the Montgomerys."

"I'm only twenty-seven, Mother; there are a lot of good men out there that I will still meet," I answered patiently.

"Well, time waits for no one, especially not a woman." My mother snapped, walking out the door and leaving it wide open behind her. "Be out in five; the Montgomerys have arrived."

The Montgomerys' arrival was even more intimidating than I had imagined. Everything about them screamed superior, the heavy weight of their presence pressing down on the foyer, and I have never felt so small.

My father rushed to welcome them in and by them, I mean the eldest in the family; Elder Montgomery, a man in his 80's with sharp, assessing eyes, Peter Montgomery and his wife whom seemed to love the way my mother was fawning over her, christ, and wait a minute, where was their son? The one who supposedly wants to get married to my sister.

"My grandson will be a little late," Elder Montgomery said, answering my thoughts on cue, his voice dry like old paper. "I hope you don't mind; he has a meeting he could not put off, unfortunately."

"Oh no, Elder Montgomery doesn't have to explain." My father smiled, his posture instantly folding into subservience. "We under-"

"Please call me Patrick, Elder sounds too old and standoffish." Elder Montgomery interjected. "By the way, we would be family soon too, your children can refer to me as grandfather."

"Oh my, thank you for this honour. You are too generous." My mother smiled brightly, tucking her freshly manicured hands together as a triumphant glow took over her features.

"Let's talk in the living room, it will be rude to start dinner if our grandson is not here yet," Elder Montgomery said.

"Ah, yes of course." My father led them towards our living room area. It was sickening to see my family lower themselves like this. A man who wants to propose a marriage is late, even if it's an arranged one, and they are all smiles and bows. Well, that's not my problem anyways.

"So it might come as a shock or surprise to you when I called you last week," Elder Montgomery began after taking his seat at the head couch, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a slow, deliberate movement. "Your father and I have been friends for a very long time before our relationship became estranged due to some misconceptions. But before the estrangement, we made a promise to each other that we would keep our bond closer by making sure at least one of our children tied the knot. That couldn't be possible for our first generation, because, well, they are both men, and we had our issues. But ever since, I heard my friend, your father, is no more. I have been thinking..."

He paused and looked at the faces of each and everyone in the living room, the absolute silence in the room stretching painfully thin. "How much more could we have resolved our issues before he died? Or even at least sit down to have a proper conversation about it." He continued, his expression turning solemn as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Anthony Alonso was always very stubborn and so hot-tempered, but he will forever remain my true friend. Which is why I have decided to take it upon myself to fulfil our promise because I owe it to him. We owe it to each other, and I'd be damned if I died without seeing it come through." He finished.

Okay, that's quite touching. But is this the part where we clapped?

My mother sniffed, making light dabs at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. My father; well, his face looked grim, tight around the jaw. I don't remember my grandfather that much, but I know he was a man of honour and character, much more than my father. He had loved taking me to the sea when I was younger, letting the salt spray hit our faces, but I don't ever remember him or anyone in the family talking about the Montgomerys. Maybe there was a grudge buried too deep.

"Thank you so much, sir, err, I mean Patrick," my father stammered when Elder Montgomery's eyebrow shot up at the "sir" word, a bead of sweat catching the light on his temple. "Thank you for deciding to honour my father. I'm more than delighted, and thank you for sharing your history with my father, because he has never mentioned you before."

"One of Anthony's toxic traits is that he knows how to hold a grudge so well. And we had our issues just right after you were born," Elder Montgomery said casually, dropping a casual bomb of family lore into the room.

"Why is Malakai not here yet?" Elder Montgomery asked his son, Peter, his tone hardening instantly.

"Umm, well, I'm sure he should be on his way, Father," Mr Peter stuttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, tell him to hurry up!" Elder Montgomery snapped.

"That won't be necessary, grandfather."

We all turned in the direction of that voice, the hairs on my arms lifting instantly.

Low, smooth rumble with a faint London accent that made my toes curl instantly straight into the soles of my shoes.

It is Him.

The man from the tennis court two days ago.

Dark hair, intimidatingly tall, broad-shouldered with striking ocean-blue pale eyes that roamed around the people in the living room with absolute, predatory confidence as he stepped out of the hallway that opened to the living room.

How did he get in? Did he just arrive?

"Mr Malakai Montgomery, so glad for you to finally join us." My father stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor, walking towards him with an eager hand outstretched. "You are just in time for dinner."

"Well, that's good to hear. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Alonso." He answered, his voice completely neutral, taking my father's hand with a firm, unyielding grip.

"I presume my grandfather has mentioned the reason as to why we are here?" His stare broke away from my father, moving directly to me.

God. Why was he staring at me like that? Does he perhaps remember our tense encounter at the tennis court?

"Ah, yes, of course..." My father said excitedly, completely missing the heavy current now growing in the air. "Let's talk more over it during dinner."

"During dinner?" His left eye twitched, a tiny crack in his cool exterior. "You would like to discuss an arranged marriage during dinner? When are we even yet to be acquainted with each other?"

"I, umm, it's-" my father stammered for the second time today, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"My last question was directed to my future bride, not you, Mr Alonso." Malakai didn't blink. He stared directly at me again, sliding his left hand casually into his trouser pocket. Okay, what the fuck? Has he perhaps mistaken me for Caitlyn?

"Well, yes, you are right, of course." My sister stood up quickly, a motion rehearsed and fluid, tucking her golden hair behind her right ear in a move I recognised as calculated shyness. A dazzling, practised smile broke across her face. "If you would like us to be excused to get acquainted-"

"I. Am. Talking. To. My. Future. Bride." He cut Caitlyn off cold, not even sparing her a single glance, his tone dropping the room temperature by ten degrees.

"I'm Caitlyn, and I'm your future wife...I mean, bride, or both." My sister's brows became slightly furrowed, her confidence flickering as she tilted her head to look at him, completely unaccustomed to being dismissed.

"Nice to meet you, Caitlyn, but no, you are not my future bride. I'm getting married to your sister, not you."

His voice was completely devoid of emotion. As if he has not just doused my sister's dream of hitching the Montgomerys or my dream of, well...

I'm getting married to your sister, not you.

Your sister, not you.

Your sister.

"What?" My sister, my mother, and I screeched at the exact same time, the sound bouncing harshly off the high ceilings. The air completely vanished from my lungs.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Elder Montgomery looked smoothly between my father and me, as if discussing the weather.

"No." My father said, a tight warning vibrating in his voice that instantly choked off whatever frantic protests both Caitlyn and I had rising in our throats. His face was pale with contained fury. "Let's eat now. The food is getting cold."

"Ah yes, the food. And we can also discuss the marriage plans between Camille and Malakai." Elder Montgomery stood up, my father leading the way to the dining area with stiff steps, while the rest of us followed.

Malakai Montgomery kept studying me with those freezing, bottomless eyes of his the entire walk over. The skin of my back burnt under his gaze. I don't know why he wants to get married to me instead of Caitlyn; there has to be a catastrophic mix-up somewhere, a cruel joke I haven't figured out yet. I am the damaged goods, the family disgrace. I do not want to get married. With my "problem", I'll probably embarrass him, snap under the pressure, or ruin everything sooner rather than later.

Malakai Montgomery has no idea of who he actually wants to get married to.

And as I sat down at that suffocating table, watching the way he watched me like a hawk, I sure as hell knew one thing: he is going to get burnt right along with me.