The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Thirteen: Not Your Typical Wedding Night

 A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for following TMMM. The support has been epic and the numbers just keep surprising me. 

Anyway, I know a lot of people may have expected very different things for the next chapter but I hope this one keeps it interesting. Just because they're married now doesn't mean they go and live happily ever after. Not yet. =)

It's very tempting to feature Brandon's POV but I like consistency in narration so I employed a different trick in this chapter to let you in on his head a little bit without changing POVs. Hope you like it.

Please keep voting and commenting.

And for those who get bored waiting for the next update, check out my other story, Virtue and Vice for some sexy romance. LOL!  Happy reading!

Dedicated to Intoxicated Angel for always supporting this story and being a good WP friend. Check out her story: Shoot The Angel With The Shotgun with a badass heroine and a rockstar hero. 

***

If anyone asked me about my wedding night, I really wouldn't know how to answer.

It was... not exactly what I had in mind.

First of all, I was wiped out.

The adrenaline kept me going but it ran low after having danced half a dozen songs with Brandon, a couple with Jake, one with Martin, another with Francis (much to Brandon's unconcealed disapproval), and a collective number with my bridesmaids and other younger female guests when the band broke out their more upbeat songs that were local favorites.

I was head of the line to meet the band after their set. I didn't ask how much Shelly paid to get them signed on for the reception considering they were a minor celebrity around the city and highly in-demand for plenty of gigs. I never even got to see them until Brandon and I arrived at the reception.

The lead singer, Damien Holt, looked so sexy he might as well have been a decadent treat. The other women were practically salivating as they gathered around the stage. 

I was giddy and a little starstruck when he walked down the stage and met up with me and the other girls. He paid me special attention (duh, I was the bride, after all) and complimented me with a line about how I was the most beautiful bride he'd ever seen, which of course, was a total lie, but I was flattered by the effort. 

Brandon ruined it by appearing behind me and slipping a possessive arm around my waist, declaring himself the lucky groom. 

I couldn't see his face because he'd tucked my head under his chin but I strongly suspected he was looking down his nose on the man in a way that only Brandon Maxfield could execute with the perfect amount of arrogance. 

I couldn't really say I was surprised, to be honest. Having finally married me didn't seem to reassure him in the slightest—in fact, he seemed a little more determined in staking his claim. Were these the ancient times, Brandon would've probably pounded on his chest with his fists and howled to the moon if it asserted his dominance and his territory. 

All this after three hours of marriage.

The adrenaline couldn't last all the way to the end of the party though.

I was tired, drowsy from the pills I popped after a couple of dances, and my midsection was screaming from the strenuous activities of the evening.

After tearing me away from the band and their adoring fans, Brandon decided it was time to go.