by Nikki Sloane
A quiet but persistent stream of tears had been leaking from my mother’s eyes since I’d put on my great-grandmother’s Harry Winston necklace. It was my “something old” to satisfy the tradition. My “something new” was my dress.
The borrowed item was one of the cufflinks from the pair I’d given Royce for his twenty-sixth birthday last month. Ares, cast in white gold, that I hoped he’d wear the day he usurped his father. He rested in the tiny pocket I’d had Donna sew into my dress.
My sister had given me an ice blue handkerchief with the words keep your shit together embroidered on it, which tucked around my bouquet to serve as my “something blue.” So, I had all of the tradition satisfied, my dress and veil on, and my half of the bridal party at the ready. And while I didn’t have cold feet, I had nerves in spades. I was quaking inside the bodice of my dress. The world was spinning too fast.
Selene began to fuss, no longer satisfied with Sophia’s baby talk or the light-up stars dangling from the arch over her chair, and both my sister and my mother made a move for her.
“No, I’ve got her,” my mother said to Emily. “What if she spits up? You don’t have time to rinse it out before we head outside.”
“That means you won’t either,” my dad quipped. “Give her here.” He held out his hands enthusiastically.
“Oh, my God, Dad.” Emily laughed. “You are such a baby hog.”
He scowled. “I am not.”
But he successfully maneuvered his granddaughter out of his wife’s arms and into his own. My sister was right; he hogged the baby every chance he got. I didn’t think it was possible for my parents to love anyone more than my sister and me, but my niece was giving us a run for our money.
A short set of knocks came from the door, causing our conversation and my heart to stop. Was it time already? When the door opened, I expected it to be one of the wedding coordinators, dressed elegantly in black and wearing an earpiece, but it wasn’t.
A chill swept into the room with him.
“I need a minute alone with the bride,” Macalister said.
His voice had an edge of strain, like he’d held back the desire to demand everyone leave the room immediately. They got the message loud and clear, though. My mother exchanged a furtive glance with me, unsure if she should go, but I nodded. There was no point in fighting this. It was his house, and he was paying the entire astronomical bill for this wedding, so they needed to honor his simple request.
He kept his head turned away, watching the photographers, my family, and Sophia file out of the room, and didn’t look at me until the door was shut and we were alone. As if he didn’t want anyone else around while he looked upon me for the first time.
His gaze began at the hem of my white satin dress, trimmed delicately with lace and beading, and ever so slowly climbed upward. Donna Willow had given me elaborate, showstopping pieces to wear in the past, but my wedding dress showed off her more restrained side. I’d given her three requirements, and she’d nailed each one.
The first was that the dress be sophisticated. It was classically elegant with a long train and a simple neckline, which played into the second requirement. I wanted to wear my great-grandmother’s wreath necklace, and not have it compete with the garment.
My final requirement was that it show off Royce’s favorite place on my body.
So, it was backless. My dark hair had been twisted up and pinned away, and my cathedral-length veil unembellished, so as I walked down the aisle, our guests would catch a glimpse of my bare back, obscured only by a thin layer of tulle.
Macalister hadn’t seen that yet, though, since I was facing him, and I was glad. Him seeing me alone like this, before any other Hale, was a power move. It should have been Royce, standing at the end of the aisle, and I was angry his father had stolen that from him.
I also didn’t like how he was looking at me. It was the same way Royce had looked at me the first time I’d tried on the red dress nearly a year ago. The longing in Macalister’s eyes was downright terrifying and made my insides bubble.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Each time I think you couldn’t possibly look more beautiful, you prove me wrong.”
I swallowed painfully, struggling to get out my response. “Thank you.”
There wasn’t a wrinkle or speck of anything marring his black tux, and his white shirt was as pristine as his eyes. Everything was perfectly in place, from his dark brown hair to the white square peeking out of his pocket, and the white rose pinned to his lapel. Of course, it was. Today he was Zeus, the god all the other gods and goddesses looked up to.
My nerves obliterated whatever tiny filter I had on my mouth. “Every time I see you in a tuxedo, something bad happens.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Today, you take my name and fully become a Hale.”
“Royce’s name,” I corrected.
“Which I gave to him.” As if a thought had just occurred to him, he reached inside his tuxedo jacket and strode toward me. “I have something to give you.”
My heart lurched up into my throat. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it. Gifts from Macalister came with strings, and I’d only felt free the last few months. “No, thank you.”
He ignored me and produced a tiny black box, only big enough to hold something outrageously expensive. I shook my head, making my veil swish across my back. When I refused to accept the box, he opened it and thrust it forward.
The oval sapphire at the center of the ring was massive, and diamonds flanked it on either side, and it was so beautiful it stole my breath. My gaze fluttered from the ring up to his in disbelief. This ring was way, way too much. That size of it alone made me nervous, but for him to give me a ring—one that could have stood in as an engagement ring—it was wildly inappropriate.
“It’s beautiful, but I couldn’t.” I took a step back, retreating.
He pulled the ring from the box, and his face was full of determination. “It’s yours. You will wear this.”
“No, I won’t. Take it back.”
Confusion was something I rarely saw in him, and it played out on his face, creasing his forehead. His voice went uneven. “I can’t. I believe she would have wanted you to have it.”
I froze, allowing the meaning to sink in. He wasn’t talking about Alice because he’d used the past tense. “This was Royce’s mother’s?”
“It was an early wedding gift from me. She’d said she wanted something blue to wear.” His chest expanded on a heavy breath. “Now it will be my gift to you. I’m sure it comes as little surprise that I’m not a sentimental person, but . . . I don’t give this ring lightly. It’s one of the few things of hers I’d kept just for myself.” He glanced down, examining the stunning piece of jewelry in the light streaming from the nearby window, making it throw rainbows around. “But then I thought if I did this, perhaps a part of her could be with Royce today.”
This was the man I’d seen in the library, clutching a tumbler of scotch as he mourned the death of the woman he’d loved. I was all sorts of emotional today, and unexpected tears leapt into my eyes, but I blinked them back.
“I need you to wear this ring.” And then he said the word he’d probably only used genuinely a few times in his life. “Please.”
It came from me in a rush. “Yes, of course.”
When I took it from him, our fingers brushed and—had he just let out a sigh? I slipped the ring onto the third finger of my right hand, where it fit perfectly, although it was heavier than I had expected.
We admired it together for a long, quiet moment, and I found the courage to speak.
“You did a nice thing,” I whispered. He was at war with his son, but this felt like an overture toward a truce. It was encouraging to see him care about someone other than himself.
“Your influence, I’m sure.” His gaze locked onto me and refused to let go. “When I brought you into my home, the plan was to mold you into how I thought you should be. Instead, you’ve changed m
e.”
My heartbeat went into double-time, and trepidation inched up my spine. I sensed it before it happened but was unable to stop him. Macalister clamped a cold hand around mine and stepped into my space, taking all the air with it. His head was tipped down so he could peer into my eyes, searching them like a missing figure was hidden inside and he just had to look hard enough.
“I have tried harder than anything else in my life to keep my distance from you. I’ve told myself I don’t care, nor do I want to change the way you feel about me, but no amount of lies will drown out the truth.”
I tried to shake off his hold, but he responded by threading a hand between my back and the veil, and when his fingertips skimmed across my bare skin, lightning sparked, and his eyes clouded with dangerous, reckless desire.
“Macalister,” I whined in a sharp, low voice so no one in the hall would overhear and come in.
“At first, my attraction was purely sexual in nature. I was consumed by the desire to get what I was owed and what you had denied me.”
His hand on my back was a tool of torture. If I tried to move away, it forced me closer to him, putting us chest to chest. The full skirt of my wedding dress crushed between us.
“Say what you mean,” I hissed. “You just wanted to win.”
There wasn’t a drop of shame in him. “Yes. But as time went by, the way I longed for you shifted and grew deeper. We have a connection, Marist. You cannot deny it. Perhaps you think I’m not good enough for you, but I know with absolute certainty Royce isn’t.”
His thumb swept across the ridge of my spine, causing me to tremble. His lips hovered so close, it’d take no effort for him to close the space and press his mouth over mine. “I understand you think you love him, but I’m only trying to protect you.”
It was my wedding day, and I was only minutes from walking down the aisle. Anger erupted inside me and spilled out, making me spit each word as a bullet. “How dare you?”
My castigation glanced off him and fell harmlessly to our feet. He was immortal and impervious.
“You’ll marry him,” he decreed. “We’ve come too far for any other outcome, but you don’t have to love him. Behind closed doors, you can be with whomever you choose, such as a man who strives for perfection, who never gives up trying to be better.” His expression was resolute. “My persistence means you and I are inevitable. We are inevitable, because I love you.”
THIRTEEN
SHOCK MADE ME GO BONELESS. My knees softened into nothing, and as I sagged, Macalister was there to keep me upright, his hands cold and splayed across my back.
“No,” I cried in a horrified whisper. “You can’t.”
“And yet, I do.” He looked confident as ever, saying it the same way he’d tell me money was green and his last name was Hale.
My hands were balled into fists with my forearms pressed to his shirt, and my muscles ached to move and beat my fists against his chest. It was so exceptionally cruel, I couldn’t breathe. I’d longed to hear one Hale tell me those words and mean it, and instead the universe had sent me another.
A tear spilled out and rolled down my cheek, but I was too shaky to do anything about it. Macalister moved to cup my face and hold me steady, and to my horror, he leaned in until there was no space left. He kissed my cheek, tasting my tear.
I finally found my strength and shoved him away, tripping over my long skirt and nearly falling over. I didn’t give a fuck who heard me now, and the sharp, angry word burst from my lips. “No. Get out.”
Beneath my skin, his kiss burned and stung, and I wiped at my cheek, trying to soothe the invisible mark away.
He straightened, and something like hurt flitted over his expression, but then it hardened. “He doesn’t love you. You’re nothing more than a cog in his master plan.”
“Get the fuck out.”
Oh, Macalister didn’t like that at all. His face soured, and aggression flared in his eyes. “If you don’t believe me, I suggest you ask him about his relationship with Dr. Galliat.”
I flashed back to the awkward reaction Selene’s father had when Royce appeared in Emily’s hospital room. The coincidence was hard to ignore. Was there a kernel of truth to what Macalister was saying? I shook my head, shutting down and trying to prevent an even worse overload. This was calculation. A strategic move he’d made to try to win the game of my heart, and I wasn’t going to allow it. Instead, I exacted a dark, cold demeanor and spoke in a language he understood.
“If you don’t leave this room right now, there will be serious and devastating consequences.”
It was subtle, the way he flinched and began his retreat. “I am sorry if hearing the truth upset you.” He gave me a final look, noting how I was shaking with adrenaline and a wide range of emotions, the strongest one being rage, and tipped his head to me in farewell. “I’m leaving this room, but you are smart enough to know I’m not going anywhere.”
I stood like a statue as he opened the door, walked out, and pulled it closed behind him. My blood was thundering in my ears, but I heard him tell my waiting family I needed a minute to compose myself. At least he’d done me that favor. It gave me time to drag air painfully into my lungs and press my shanking hand to my throat and the diamond necklace there.
They said the fall from heaven was painful, but I didn’t know going up to join the gods was going to be as well. Was I even going to survive it?
At some point, the door creaked open, and Emily peeked her head in. She gave me a once-over, her eyes widened, and she pushed into the room, announcing to everyone in the hall that I’d be out in a minute.
Seeing me in whatever state I was in made my sister go white. “What’s wrong? Is it something with Royce?”
I was still struggling to catch my breath. “No.”
“What did Macalister say to you?”
“He . . .” I couldn’t tell her. There was too much, and my shame was too great. I closed my eyes and set my fingertips to my forehead.
She gasped. “What is that?”
When she seized my right hand, I understood what she was asking about. Her stunned gaze traced the huge blue stone and the half-moon diamonds on either side.
“It was Royce’s mother’s.”
“Oh,” she said wistfully. “That’s wonderful.” She looked at me with an understanding look, like she believed this was why I was so emotional.
And like a coward, I let her.
My father and I stood in the sunroom at the back of the Hale house, sweating despite the air conditioning. It would only get hotter when we stepped out onto the patio and began the long walk down the stone stairs into the garden, and then up the aisle to where my groom waited. And there’d be five hundred pairs of eyes on us as we did it, which was likely why my father looked ill.
At least I’d had some practice. Not only had I broken in my Manolos going up and down the steps numerous times the last week, but I’d been at the top of that same staircase nearly a year ago with Royce and withstood the scrutiny of Cape Hill’s high society when I was a nobody.
In theory, today would be easier.
The photographers circling us made me feel like my performance had already begun, and I pulled my lips back into a bright, nervous smile. For the next ten hours or so, I’d be on stage, reprising my role of Marist Northcott the brand, not Marist Northcott the person. Hopefully, the smiles would come easier once my stage partner was at my side. Royce was an experienced actor, who’d cover up any forgotten lines and guide me through the scenes.
When the event coordinator opened the door and announced it was time, my heart clogged my throat. I clutched my bouquet tighter in my left hand and looped my right arm through my father’s, and he set his hand on top of mine in reassurance.
“Your mother and I love you very much,” my father said. “We’re so happy you’re happy.”
When his chin began to quiver, my eyes went wide. “Oh, God, Dad. Please. If you start, I’ll start.”
He nodded, blew out
a long breath that seemed to even him out, and then we were off.
The music of the orchestra wafted up over the balcony as the processional concluded, and as my father and I made our way toward the top of the steps, the garden below came into view.
It’d taken a team of contractors five days to transform the space. Elegant white folding chairs were set in endless rows, twelve seats on each side of the wide center aisle, which was a boardwalk covered in flawless white. It led to a white, three-tiered platform at the front like a stage, and at the back of it rose an arbor, draped in gauzy curtains and decadent flower arrangements. It’d serve as the backdrop for the ceremony, and microphones had been hidden inside so everyone could hear us as we exchanged our vows.
The bridal party was already assembled. Emily and Sophia looked stunning in their pink dresses, and Vance and Tate were handsome as they stood on the platform steps in their tuxedos, sweating under the bright sun.
As my father and I appeared at the top of the steps, the guests’ conversations abruptly stopped, and they rose to stand. I was Medusa once more, turning the entire crowd into stone.
During the rehearsal last night, my father and I had been instructed to pause here for a minimum of fifteen seconds. My father had been told not to start us moving again until he received a wave from the head coordinator at the base of the stairs. I was supposed to use this time to get my first look at my groom—that way I wouldn’t be distracted while I descended the stone steps. It was precarious in four-inch heels, a full skirt, and a heavy train.
Fifteen seconds wasn’t nearly enough time.
Royce was so far away from me, but it didn’t matter. I could see his enormous grin from where I stood. I’d seen him in tuxedos before, but rather than the standard bowtie, he’d opted for a black silk necktie, tucked into a black vest, and covered with a classic matching jacket. It left only a V of his white shirt showing and drew my eyes up to his gorgeous face.
He made my heart stop, but as my father’s arm gently pulled me along, it started anew.
I smiled as we slowly descended the stairs, my teeth clenched with concentration and my long train and veil trailing behind us. When we reached the bottom, I felt the full intensity of everyone’s stares, but I had tunnel vision.