Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

Chapter 63: A Not Quite Wedding Night

Roman went to look for my clothes once we were backstage since I honestly had no clue as to where they had gone and since I also refused to step foot outside the building in a wedding dress with my hair in pretty wild disarray.

Dean grumbled the whole way back to their locker room,

"I mean seriously, what the fuck even was that? Because I know they've pulled some pretty wild shit before now but tryin' to force someone to – like – marry their worst enemy? That is some totally messed up bull crap right there. Did they just fuckin' get through watchin' Princes of Thieves last night or somethin'?"

I blinked at him a little and then smiled,

"Hey, I said that."

But largely because he was so busy muttering he managed to completely miss my little chime and so I then fell quiet and let him tow me along the hallway with one hand holding my plethora of white silken layers up while the one sat firmly and securely in his. Luckily because the wedding-that-wasn't had been the super big chaotic climax to the show, most of the roster had showered and headed back to their hotel rooms and so the levels of staring I attracted were happily few. Plus those people still milling around backstage seemed to know better than to tangle with Dean, who was ranting to himself like a recently released madman and so thankfully probing eyes were largely kept to themselves.

"I mean one minute I'm back here about to take a fuckin' shower an' the next thing I know fuckin' Matt comes flyin' in talkin' about weddin' dresses and ministers an' all that shit an' I take look up at the screen an' see you bein' hauled out there – ,"

Huh.

It seemed like Matty had saved things after all by raising the alarm and getting my fiancé at a run. Based on that I owed him a coffee, or a whole box of luxury chocolates or some flowers at least.

"I – I'm really sorry I scared you."

"They're fuckin' crazy – like – the whole McMahon family is totally certifiably insane. I mean they make my mom look like freakin' Mary Poppins an' I think we both know how fuckin' hard that is."

I sure did.

Dean was walking at the pace he usually adopted whenever he was on the edge or else massively pissed off and which was halfway between a stride and cheetah-on-the-hunt fast and which I was forced to sort of trot to in order to keep up with. Somewhere past catering a fold of my many underskirts fell from my fingers and I trod on the stupid thing and staggered inelegantly,

"Crap – ,"

It was entirely likely I would have fallen onto my face too had Dean not blinked himself rapidly from his ranting and then tensed his arm to hold me up.

"Whoa, you okay?"

"Uh huh, but this dress is too long."

He snorted,

"Princess that dress is a whole bunch 'a things and so the sooner we get it off you and pretend this never happened the better the both of us are gonna fuckin' feel."

By the time we reached the door to the locker room, he had run out of things to mumble about and I therefore assumed we would simply step inside and then try to find me something halfway acceptable to put on until Roman managed to sniff out my real clothes. But instead of leading me over the threshold, after banging the thick wooden doorway wide, Dean suddenly turned around with such sudden motion that I bumped off his ribcage in a sexy bounce that I didn't mind.