I had a bad feeling we were not going to get a good grade on our counseling…
“Hello,” Jeff said warmly with his hand still hanging mid-air. “You must be Ethan. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m your premarital counselor. We’ll just get right down to it and be finished in a jiffy.”
Jeff walked into the suite with a spring in his dorky step and tsked disapprovingly at the clothing littering the floor. He practically skipped over to the navy chenille couch and made himself comfortable. Pulling out a notebook and a thick folder from a briefcase that poofed from out of thin air, he waved us over to the two chairs facing him.
“Tell you whatsy,” he said as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Why don’t you two lovebirds get dressed and we can begin?”
Ethan and I stood open mouthed as Jeff hummed a little ditty and waited for us to obey his order. I’d never wanted to sigh in defeat as much as I wanted to right now.
“We may as well get it over with,” I whispered to a befuddled Ethan as I quickly pulled my dress over my head and handed Ethan both pieces of his shirt.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, tossing the ripped shirt back to the floor. “It’s the middle of the night. Jeff can come back at a decent hour for his interrogation.”
“Actually,” Jeff chimed in happily with his eyes firmly shut. “It’s not an interrogation at all. It’s just a few thoughtful questions to make sure you two kids are ready to ball and chain it.”
“Kids?” Ethan hissed under his breath.
“Just go with it. Pissing off Uncle God is not on my to-do list. Please? I’ll make it worth it,” I promised with a weak smile.
With a frustrated shake of his head, Ethan held out his hand and led me to the chair. “I really, really love you,” he said with a grimace. “This was definitely not on my to-do list.”
“Are we ready?” Jeff sang as he opened one eye, making sure we were clothed.
“No,” Ethan said grumpily. “You have a half hour to get this nonsense done. Am I clear?”
“Yepperoonie!” Jeff said, clapping his hands together and spreading his paperwork all over the table. “Let’s start with how long you’ve know each other.”
“A little over a year,” I replied tensely, hoping that was the right answer.
Shitballs, what if we didn’t pass? My stomach roiled at the thought of failing the marriage test.
“Very good,” Jeff congratulated me and wrote something down on his pad. “What about the family?”
“What about them?” Ethan asked politely, clearly feeling my stress and trying to play nice with the Angel.
“How do you feel about Astrid’s family?”
And the silence was loaded—and long.
“I’d like to pass on that one,” Ethan replied, looking to me for approval.
I gave him a covert thumbs up and prayed that taking the fifth was allowed. I wasn’t even sure if I could say I liked my family and I certainly didn’t expect Ethan to.
“Interesting,” Jeff commented as he scribbled away in his damned notebook.
Shit.
“Astrid, will you be taking Ethan’s last name or keeping your own?”
I froze in terror. Fuckityfuckfuck. I didn’t even know Ethan’s last name. How in the fucking Hell did I not know my mate’s last name? We would certainly get a big fat hairy F for this one.
“Well,” I choked out, gaping at Ethan for help.
“I go by Ethan, Warrior Prince of the North American Dominion,” he supplied quickly with a helpless shrug.
“Is that a joke?” I asked.
“No, it’s not,” Ethan shot back indignantly. “Do you have a problem with it?”
“Actually, yes I do,” I snapped. “Do you seriously expect me to call myself Astrid Warrior Prince of the North American Dominion? How in the Hell am I supposed to get anything monogramed with that kind of bullshit name?”
“You will be Warrior Princess of the North American Dominion—not Prince,” Ethan corrected me thinking that would make it better.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Dude, that’s not a last name. It’s a nightmare. That won’t even fit on a driver’s license,” I told him as my fingers began to spark. “That can’t possibly be your last name.”
“I’m over five hundred years old,” he growled. “We didn’t have last names back then. We had titles.”
“Then you can take my last name,” I said as I noticed Jeff’s head ping-ponging back and forth watching us with horrified interest.
Again, shitshitshitfuckballshit.
“Not happening,” Ethan stated firmly.
“My, my, my, you’re certainly sexist,” Jeff said.
“Are you hitting on me?” Ethan ground out as Jeff blanched and slid down the couch, closer to the door.
“He said sexist, not sexy,” I informed my mate with a groan of mortification.
“Sorry, my bad,” Ethan said with an annoyed shrug. “This is ridiculous. We shall do this another time—like never.”
Jeff shuffled his papers and raised his bushy red brows in displeasure. Ethan and I sat silently and watched him contort his eyebrows for the better part of a minute. My stomach churned and I was fairly sure terror was written all over my face. As silly as this was, it was part of the process of getting married—at least I thought it was. I’d never been married before…