Slay One: Rivalry

by Paige, Laurelin

  “These were your parents’ wedding rings?” I was too shocked to stop myself from saying the thought out loud. We were getting married with the rings that belonged to his parents? He’d put his mother’s engagement ring on me? We didn’t have a real relationship. Even if he hated his parents, why would he want to use their wedding set for this? He could certainly afford new ones.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  I’d interrupted, and Edward gave me a stern look. I wasn’t getting any answers now. It would have to wait.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, turning my attention back to the officiant.

  “These rings mark the beginning of your long journey together. They are a seal of the vows you have just taken. May they guard your love as they guarded the love of those who first wore them.”

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it even as Edward slipped the sparkling band on my finger.

  When I picked up the larger band, I held it more delicately than I would have if it had been from a random ring set, and when I said the words that bound us together, “With this ring, I thee wed,” a shiver passed through me, as though I could feel the presence of the woman who’d given it to her beloved before me.

  After that, we were done. We were married.

  The officiant pronounced us legally wed and congratulated us, and while our small gathering of family applauded, Edward put his arm around my waist and pulled me into him.

  I’d somehow forgotten about this part.

  We hadn’t discussed it, and it wasn’t written in the official script, but weddings typically ended with a kiss, and this one wasn’t any different.

  It wasn’t the same kind of kiss that we’d shared before. That kiss had been hungry and wild and out of control and a little bit angry. But even while Edward’s mouth met mine with purposeful composure, it was still dominating. Still possessive as his tongue slid against mine. Still made me dizzy and swept me off my feet with its intensity, and when he started to pull away, and I chased after him with my lips, he didn’t deny me, pressing his lips once more to mine, drawing a small sigh from the back of my throat.

  God, the man could kiss.

  And I liked it.

  And I’d promised to obey.

  Boy, was I in trouble.

  Twenty-Six

  Someone opened a bottle of champagne, and a glass was put in my hand, but we barely had time for a toast before people were arriving. First it was the extra staff we’d hired for the evening. Then the pianist and the photographer.

  At nine o’clock sharp, the guests began to appear.

  There hadn’t been many invited, fifty or so in total, mainly people high up in Edward’s company and other important people he worked with. He called them friends, but I doubted the man had any of those.

  Since I had only been in London a short time, and since my business had been temporarily shut down, I didn’t have any “friends” to invite. There were some old acquaintances from school that had been close enough that they might have flown the distance, if I’d asked. But it was a loveless marriage and guests were only coming to the dessert and drinks portion of the night, so what was the point?

  Having only my parents there for myself turned out to be a blessing. It made the rest of the evening easier to deal with. Edward expected me to be on his arm, ready to introduce to this person and that person, and then to stand there quietly smiling while he and the person talked about things that had absolutely nothing to do with me, and the photographer snapped candid pics.

  It should have been more irritating than it was, to be arm candy. To be decoration. But, it gave me an excuse not to have to talk more to my parents. I didn’t want to have to lie more about my relationship with Edward, and I didn’t want to have to listen to my father daydream about the new relationship he hoped to have with Edward.

  Beyond the excuse it gave me, accompanying my new husband around the room was almost fun. I’d only gone along with his stupid, old-fashioned ideas about the role of a wife because I didn’t plan to be his wife for long. But playing the demure part wasn’t as terrible as I’d imagined. I liked listening to the things he had to say. I liked other women looking at me with envy. I liked the men knowing they couldn’t flirt with me or talk to me or even look at me without Edward being involved.

  It made me feel like I somehow belonged to him. Made it feel like the ring on my finger actually meant something between us. Made me wish it did mean something.

  We were an hour into the festivities when I finally got a second alone with him.

  “You play the hostess very well,” he said, his expression untypically warm, and I swear my heart tripped a beat.

  It was ridiculous how the littlest compliment from him made me ridiculously giddy.

  It also made me brave enough to ask the question that had been burning a hole inside me since the middle of the ceremony. “I didn’t know our rings had belonged to your parents. Why…?”

  I’d meant to put more after that why, but once I got there, I didn’t know exactly how to phrase it without sounding ungrateful. Why didn’t you get new ones? Why would you want to use a family heirloom on me?

  The warmth he’d shown a moment before disappeared instantly. “They weren’t using them anymore. Better on our fingers than in a drawer somewhere.”

  He was scanning the room, and I guessed he was looking for someone he hadn’t talked to yet in order to get away from this conversation, which should have been a sign to end it right there.

  It only made me want to push him more.

  “But why wouldn’t you save them for your children? Why didn’t you use them when you married your first wife. Or...did you?” The thought made me suddenly ill. “Are you reusing them on me?”

  He scowled at me like I was a ridiculous child. “Of course not.” It was obvious he didn’t want to say more, but after fretting for a few seconds, he went on. “They weren’t in my possession when I married Marion. By the time I hunted them down again, she’d already grown attached to the set we’d gotten married with.”

  He’d had to hunt them down. When his parents had died, he’d been destitute. I’d learned that from my research. The rings must have been sold to help pay outstanding bills. They were probably difficult to find.

  Then they had to mean something to him.

  People didn’t just hunt down old family items unless they meant something.

  Edward waved at someone across the room and started towing me toward them.

  Still, I took the time of the approach to ask again. “If they were so important, why did you put them on my finger?”

  “Because I did,” he snapped angrily.

  And then we were in front of the guest we’d been walking toward and Edward’s features were schooled again and the subject was closed.

  It was something I could ask about later when we were alone. But considering it was the first time I’d ever seen him lose his composure, I had a feeling I’d never get the real answer from him.

  Or it was simpler than that and the answer was he didn’t know.

  I was still mulling this over, half-listening to him tell a story to his Chief Strategy Officer when I heard my father exclaim, “Ah, Ron’s almost here!”

  I obviously didn’t hear him right, but apprehension flooded through me at the mention of the name.

  With my hand still wrapped around Edward’s bicep, I craned my neck in my father’s direction. He was standing next to my mother typing into his phone, which didn’t explain why I’d thought I heard him say my uncle’s name. Because there was no way Ron could actually be coming here.

  Could he?

  Edward patted my hand, a subtle reminder that my focus should be on him, but then the doorbell rang and giving him my attention became impossible. I had to find out what my father had actually said, and who was here.

  I politely excused myself then quickly pulled away from my husband. I’d pay for that later, I suspected, but I figured he was so intent on me not challenging him in public that
there was no way he’d challenge me right now either.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when I reached my father’s side.

  “Ron’s here,” he said as he tucked his phone back in his pocket. “Wanted to make sure he was at the right place before he got out of the cab, so he texted, but I bet that doorbell was him.”

  My throat went dry and my stomach dropped to my ankles. “Uncle Ron?”

  “Of course Uncle Ron. Who else would I mean?” His eyes were pinned on the doors to the salon, expectantly.

  “He’s in London?” My voice had miraculously sounded steady.

  “He’s been in Frankfurt,” my mom piped in. “We told him we’d be here for your birthday party, and he said he’d try to pop over. We didn’t say anything because he wasn’t sure he could make it. Isn’t it wonderful that he did? He’ll be disappointed to have missed your wedding, but he’ll be so glad he got to see you on your special day.”

  Before my mother had finished talking, my father exclaimed, “There he is!” He waved excitedly.

  I felt outside of myself, like I was somewhere else watching what was happening instead of being an active participant. My body turned toward the man approaching. I saw him, saw the familiar balding head and smarmy expression. My face even put on a smile, but I didn’t feel present in any of the actions.

  Then he was standing next to me, reaching out to give me a hug, and I let him, as though it were nothing for him to touch me. As though I were powerless to stop him. As though my insides weren’t twisting and churning with horror.

  He was still embracing me, his hands a little too low on my backside as he said something congratulatory a little too close to my ear when a third hand, a warmer, heavier hand—Edward’s hand—pressed possessively between my shoulder blades, and I suddenly came back into myself.

  At Edward’s appearance, Ron let me go, his gaze lingering when his body no longer did.

  “Darling, I believe we haven’t been introduced,” my husband said, pulling me tightly into his side.

  It was only an accidental rescue. As selfish as Edward was, he’d likely only come over because he saw another man touching his wife—a man that he didn’t know, no less.

  But as inadvertent as it may have been, I clung to him like a lifeline.

  “This is my brother, Ron Werner,” my father announced excitedly, eager to be the one who made the introduction between them. “I don’t know if you recognize him, Ron, but this son of a bitch who married our girl is Edward fucking Fasbender.”

  “Fasbender?” Ron mused. “From Accelecom, right? How did this pairing happen? Did you set up some sort of arrangement and not tell me, Warren? Brilliant.”

  I felt like I was going to throw up.

  “Well, we’re still in discussions,” my father began.

  But Edward spoke over him. “Certainly not,” he said crossly, yet not loud enough to draw the attention of others. “My wife isn’t some pawn to use to conduct business. She’s a person with thoughts and feelings and free agency, and she chose to marry me, and you’d do well to remember that. Both of you. As for any dealings that might occur between Werner Media and Accelecom, we absolutely will not be discussing them tonight. If getting something out of my company is the only value you see in ‘our girl,’ I assure you that we won’t be having any future discussions either.”

  If the photographer had taken a picture of us in that moment, I was sure that it would have captured four Werners with their jaws agape.

  Correction—three Werners. I was a Fasbender now.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Edward went on, ignoring the shocked expressions of his audience, “my wife and I have other guests to attend to.” With his hand securely at the small of my back, he steered me away from my family.

  Instead of taking me to “other guests” as he’d said, he directed me to the champagne table. There, he poured a glass of bubbly and handed it to me.

  “Drink this,” he ordered softly.

  I did. I drank it all down, wishing it were something a lot harder. Like cognac or Scotch or rubbing alcohol.

  By the time I’d finished, I’d gotten my head back. I wasn’t even sure exactly what had happened, but I was grateful and humiliated and ashamed and...confused.

  Where had all that come from? After Edward had persuaded my father to allow me to marry with the promise of a potential business alliance, he now was the defender of my honor? What the fuck had changed?

  Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure I trusted his motives. I sure as hell didn’t trust him.

  “What was that about?” he asked. Strange since I thought I was the one who should be asking him that.

  “What was what about?”

  “You. Your uncle. What’s going on there?”

  Twenty-four years, and he was the first one to ask.

  I didn’t know how to feel about that. However I felt, I certainly wasn’t going to start talking about it now. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Cut the bullshit. You were white as a ghost. You were shaking when I touched you.”

  “I just…I didn’t know...” I shook my head, looking for an excuse but my mind was blank.

  After all the years of excuses, all the lies, I couldn’t think of a goddamned thing, and that, on top of Edward being the one to really see me, on top of everything else that had happened that day, was the final straw.

  I was pissed.

  “You know what? You cut the bullshit,” I said, turning on him. “This doesn’t involve you. Why do you care?”

  Edward reached out and drew his thumb softly against my lower lip, sending a parade of goosebumps down my arms. “It does involve me. Everything to do with you involves me. And I care because, my darling, I’m your husband. And not two hours ago, I vowed to protect and care for you. Or have you already forgotten?”

  Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I refused to feel. Not for this. Not for him.

  And I refused to believe he actually meant to honor his vows or this marriage or me any more than I meant to.

  And I absolutely refused to believe he might actually care because, if there was one good thing to have come out of Ron’s showing up, it was that he reminded me the lesson I’d learned a long time ago—when rich older men say they care, it only goes badly when they try to show you how much.

  Twenty-Seven

  The after-party invites had stated the evening would be over by eleven, but, as happens, guests lingered until almost midnight. Not being night people, my parents had left earlier taking my uncle with them, thank God. I’d originally felt a tad guilty for my plan of bringing them all the way to London on the pretense of spending time with me and then, not only springing a surprise wedding on them, but also deserting them the next day for a honeymoon. Now, knowing they had Ron in town, the guilt was gone.

  Emotionally and physically exhausted, I headed up to my bedroom ahead of Edward. I could hear him below as I climbed the last stairs, giving instructions to Jeremy, who I’d learned was more of a house manager than a butler. After spending the majority of the night on his arm, it felt strange to be away from him, like I was missing something. In contrast, I was very aware of the new band on my finger, pressing heavily into the webbing of my hand.

  All in all, the evening had turned out acceptable. The goal had been accomplished. I was married to Edward, and my parents were still speaking to me. It may have taken a few bumps to get there, but that was the way with projects that had any worth.

  It would be worth it, wouldn’t it?

  I wasn’t sure anymore.

  At the moment, I could barely remember why I wanted to do this in the first place. Play The Game. Ruin Edward. The reward was the destruction. The reward was the numbness.

  Did that reward always feel this abstract in the process?

  Looking back over the last dozen years, I couldn’t remember feeling...well, this much. Couldn’t remember a time that I’d been more than blissfully empty. Right now I felt full. Ful
l of rage and hopelessness and shame and loneliness and a bunch of other emotions I was too unfamiliar with to identify, and I just wanted them all to disappear. Go back to wherever they’d been hiding.

  Maybe I was just tired. Tomorrow I’d feel better. Tomorrow I’d feel nothing.

  Holding onto that hope, I found the energy to kick off my shoes, tug down my zipper, and shimmy out of the tight-fitting dress. I left it on the floor and trudged into my ensuite to wash the makeup off my face. On the counter, I found the white lingerie set I’d left earlier. I’d bought them intending to seduce my husband on our wedding night, but now the mood was long gone.

  Actually, no it wasn’t.

  Actually the mood was still very present. It was underneath all those other burdensome emotions, laying low but steady. A constant, throbbing undercurrent of need.

  And, when I thought about it, I realized the other things I was feeling stemmed from this pulse, tributaries off a raging river of arousal. As if that sexual tension that had wound and wound and wound over the last few months had twined so tight that the strain had triggered other sensations. I probably wouldn’t be so mad if it weren’t for my fucking libido. I wouldn’t be so melancholy. I wouldn’t be so unbalanced.

  And after all the shit Edward had pulled today—meddling with my parents, using me as bait for my father’s business, expecting me to be his attachment while he mingled with friends, rescuing me from Uncle Ron and making me have nice thoughts about him—after all that shit, didn’t I deserve to be relieved of this ache?

  Fuck yes. I did deserve it.

  My energy renewed by my resolve, I abandoned the face washing and freshened my makeup instead. Even after the long day, I still looked good. The soft curls had held. My eyes were sultry and expressive. All I needed was another coat of mascara and lipstick, and I looked brand new.

  I stripped from my bridal undergarments and put on the sheer lace bralette and panties and the matching gossamer robe then spritzed some perfume and returned to the bedroom. Just as I slipped my foot into one of the red heels I’d worn for the ceremony, I heard Edward opening the door of his room.