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Matured Stories

Still Loving You – Season 1 – Episode 11

Episode 11

🔼 RYAN 🔼
After the second of experiment of reproduction was done.
Suddenly, we heard pounding on the door sounded from the other room, and we both jerked our heads toward the noise.
“Ryan Jones?” a stiff voice called.
Amora turned her wide eyes to me, and I sat up, setting her to
the side of the bed.
Walking toward the door, I shook my head in dawning realization.
I should’ve had Kelvin register the room. I’d been smart enough not to use my credit card, but I never thought my father would take the time to call the hotels of Paris looking for me.
“Yes?” I asked, opening the door and then immediately dropping my f–k–g jaw.
The cops? What the hell?
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” a lean black officer said with his hand resting on his baton.
I didn’t take that as a threat. Maybe I should? The other cop was a female. Middle-aged with red hair.
“What’s this about?”
The lady cop tipped her chin at me. “Is Amora Grande with you?”
My heart started thumping. What now?
“Yes,” I finally answered.
“Your girlfriend, right?” the male cop confirmed.
I hooded my eyes and sighed.
“No she is my wife and we are on our honeymoon so please just leave us alone.”
“What’s going on?” Amora asked, stepping up to my side.
She was dressed in jeans and her white blouse from yesterday tucked in.
“Are you Amora Grande?”
Amora crossed her arms.
“Your mother reported you missing yesterday morning,” The female cop explained.
“Tell my mom I’m okay.. …”
“No miss you are coming with us…”,said the lady cop.
“No .. now listen to me. I’m Ryan Jones and if you take my her away, I promise you would be fired immediately”,Ryan said as they nodded and left us.
Amora turned to me with a smirk on her face, and as serious as cops visiting your door is, we started laughing.
The officers exchanged a look as my chest shook and Amora covered her smile with her hand.
“Did you threaten us sir?”
Yes i did.I felt like answering, but I resisted.
No one would know about our marriage yet, and our parents had to find out from us and no one else if we were going to be taken seriously.
“Officers,” I assured, “these are family issues. Amora is here of her own free will, and there is no problem.”
“Mr. Jones,” the male cop started. “We know who your father is—”
But then all hell broke loose.
A woman and her cameraman rushed up behind the police officers and stuck a microphone between them in my direction.
I reared back, and Amora grabbed my hand.
“Ryan Jones ?” the woman shouted,stumbling into the cops.
“Son of Derrick Jones? Her mother claims you kidnapped her?”
My f–k–g heart lodged like a baseball in my throat, and I couldn’t breathe.
I swallowed, looking down at Amora.
“Now, that’s enough!” one of the officers growled, both turning around and holding up their hands to shield us from the intrusion.
What the hell? My dad was a big deal, but not that big of a deal.
Someone had to have tipped these people off.
The female cop kept her voice calm. “Let’s get this under
control. You’re interfering with police business.”
“Is he holding you against your will?” The reporter shook her brown bangs out of her eyes, looking intense and determined.
I leaned over to grab the door to close it, but Amora barked.
“Stop,” she ordered.
“He’s not Mr. Jones. And he’s not holding me against my will, for Christ’s sake! And we’re not having some sordid relationship. He’s my…”
Oh, no.
“… husband!” she finished.
I closed my eyes, wincing, and let out a low groan.
Shit. F–k. what the Hell.
I shoved Amora back, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut, hearing the cops ordering the reporter and her cameraman away.
Locking the door, I slid down the wall next to it and crashed to my ass.
Knees bent, I rested my forearms on
them and banged my head against the wall once.
“Awesome.” I breathed in and out, barely noticing that Amora stayed where I’d pushed her out of the way.
My fists clenched, and I was sure my face was beet red. I felt stupid.
“Oh, my God,” she finally said, looking dazed.
“That was creepy. My mother’s insane.”
“No, she’s smart,” I said flatly. “We just made the news and embarrassed my father.”
Her head fell, and she walked over and sat down next to me.
“Ryan, I’m sorry. I panicked.”
I put my arms around her.
“It’s okay. I guess we don’t have to worry about making the rounds to the parents anymore.”
Everyone—and I mean everyone—
was going to know I was married by the time they went to sleep tonight. There would be no end to the texts and calls for a while as my family and friends would all want to know what was going on.
“How did they know we were here?” she asked.
“I registered under my name.” I sounded less embarrassed than I actually was.
“Your mom wouldn’t have had to work too hard to find us if she found out we weren’t at school.”
Her chest fell hard.
“That’s going to be on the ten o’clock news.”
“And it’ll be on the Internet in about eight minutes. Media outlets have to compete with the speed of Facebook, after all. They’ll have that loaded up in no time.”
I sat there, quiet and stunned, trying to figure out what to do next.
“Look at me,” she urged.
I did and fell back into the comfort of her green eyes.
“We can’t stay here,” she stated. “Where should we go?”
Leaning my head back, I licked my lips, thinking.
Amora and I did nothing wrong. We weren’t running away just so we could have a mini-honeymoon.
And we weren’t starting our marriage fearing our parents’ wrath. If we wanted to be respected as adults, then we had to face the music.
I stood up, pulling her after me. “Home,” I said.
“We’re going home.”

It was about nine o’clock by the time we rolled into the driveway at my house. The pitch-black sky exploded with stars.
The cops had come back to our room for a few remaining questions.
Yes, Amora and I are married. Here’s the signed license.
No, I did not kidnap her, of course. See? No bruises, and she’s smiling.
You can’t touch me, because I’m Ryan Jones.
Now, please go. We’re honeymooning.
They left, we showered and got presentable, and we drove the hour it took to get to our city.
“Wait,” I ordered when Amora started to open her door.
Getting out and rounding the front, I let her out of the car, took her hand, and walked side by side with her to the front step.
I took her chilled face in my hands. “We’re not raising our voices, and we’re not apologizing.”
She nodded and together we entered the house.


To be continued

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