by L. Steele
She swallows and her lips tremble. I take in her features—her flushed cheeks, the straight set of her shoulders, her stiff spine. She is ready to take on the world, to face anything. The woman has a resilience that belies her delicate build.
I hold out my hand. She draws in a breath. I hold her gaze, jerk my chin. She draws herself up to her full height, hesitates.
She twists her fingers in front of her. Under the skirt of her dress, her thighs move. Is she turned on? Can she sense the imprint of my fingers inside of her, my tongue licking her clit, my mouth biting down on her pussy as I take her to the edge, only to draw back, leaving her waiting, wanting, needing.
The opening notes of All You Need is Love by The Beatles fill the room. The crowd quietens. Her gaze widens.
Come. I curl my fingers.
She takes a step toward me, and another.
I stay where I am, brace my feet against the plush carpets, hand outstretched, stalking her as she closes the distance between us.
When she reaches me, she pauses, glances down at my hand, then back at my face.
I allow a smirk to curl my lips. Make a dash for it. Try to escape. Do it.
She places her hand in mine.
I blink.
The warmth of her fingers bleeds into my skin. Her touch is soft, like the petals of a flower, waiting to be torn from its stem. Her palm trembles and she draws back, but I shackle her wrist with my fingers.
She shudders.
I draw her close, weave my fingers with hers. Stare down into her eyes, drinking from that glimmer of anticipation, of surprise, of…Something more I can’t quite define. Her scent crowds my nostrils—subtle lilies, a dash of pepper, laced with that sweetness that tells me she’s aroused. My groin hardens and my cock thickens. I squeeze her fingers.
"You remembered that I love the Beatles?" She whispers.
"I told you, I'd never forget anything about you." I nod toward the front of the room. "Ready, Gigi?"
26
What did the hamburger buy his sweetheart?
Answer: An onion ring
Victoria
* * *
No, I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. He walks forward and I follow. Not that I have a choice. Not that I am going to resist. It doesn’t matter what transpired before this. I am here… With him now... Next to him, as he moves toward where Edward, the same minister who married Sinclair and Summer, waits for us.
"What about the paperwork for the wedding?" I whisper.
"It’s taken care of."
"But how…?"
He angles an eyebrow, "Does it matter? I am the third richest man in the country. Do you think something like paperwork would get in the way of me from getting what I want?"
Right. Of course. Anything can be bought with money…except me. He probably thinks that’s why I’m standing here in this sham of a ceremony, tying myself to him for as long as he intends to have me? I stiffen my shoulders. I’ve got this. I’ll let him think what he wants. I can get through this. I’ve made it this far… I’m approaching the last mile. This will make it easier for me to keep an eye on him. Surely, the proximity will ensure I can wrangle my way into his affairs.
I lean into him, "What were the results of the blood tests?"
"You're clean. So am I." He angles his head, "Not that we needed to know in advance of tonight."
Huh? I furrow my brows. Does that mean…? He doesn’t intend to fuck me on our wedding night? And it would be fucking, make no mistake. He’s told me, in no uncertain terms, that he means to have me… Or perhaps he’s not the bare back kind…? A hollowness grips my stomach.
"Funny," I whisper back, "I would have thought you’d be the kind who wouldn’t let a rubber come between you and your wife."
"You’re right," his lips twist.
"I am?"
He nods. "If you had been my wife, I’d have taken your cunt with nothing except our skin separating us. I’d have shagged you raw, until we melded into each other… But then… You’re not my wife, are you…? Not really."
My heart twists. A pressure builds behind my eyes, "You’re a piece of shit, you know that?"
"Takes one to know one, dear Gigi."
"I fucking hate you." I try to pull away.
His grip tightens and he holds me in place. "Hang onto that sentiment. You’ll need it for what I have planned for us tonight."
The song dies away.
That he'd remembered to choose a song...for this event. What does it mean? Does he have feelings for me, despite his tendency to retreat into his douchebag extraordinaire persona?
My head spins.
My belly lurches and my pulse begins to thud. His cryptic comments are getting to me. Hell. What am I doing? Why am I here? Had I actually thought I’d get through this and find a way to rescue Nina?
I glance around the space. Amelie’s gaze meets mine. She smiles, holds up crossed fingers, then pushes the tips against her forehead and mimics a gun firing off. A chuckle wells up, even as a tear trails down my cheek.
I will not cry. Will not. I swallow down the lump that blocks my throat. Just get through this. One step at a time. I can do this. I can.
Next to Amelie, Summer catches my eye. Her features are pinched. She looks from me to Saint, then back to me. Her forehead creases. I read the question on her face. How I wish I could confide in her. We aren’t related by blood, but I’d trusted Summer on sight.
Just like I’d been attracted to Saint right away. And see where that got me? I force my lips to curve into a smile. Then lean into Saint. He stiffens. Then he brings my fingers up to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
Isla sighs.
Amelie’s gaze widens.
Even Summer’s features relax at that.
Of course, these women are Summer’s friends, and she’s married to Sinclair, one of the Seven and among Saint’s closest friends. Clearly, they would believe him. They have no reason to doubt his tactics. I have no one here on my side. It is me against all of them. Me and my wits. We are well-acquainted with this situation. I turn forward as Saint comes to a stop.
He releases my hand.
The doors to the room open behind us. I hear whispers, then footsteps sound. Amelie appears next to me holding a posy of flowers.
She thrusts it at me, and I take it.
"How?"
She smiles, "Saint messaged me to get them from the flower shop in the lobby."
"He did?"
I glance at the bouquet of delicate blood red lilies. Is that why he'd asked me what my favorite flower was? My head whirls. This makes no sense. Though it's a relief to have something in my hands to hold onto, instead of wringing them in front of me.
Silence descends on the crowd. Edward looks between us. "In what is becoming a practice for quick weddings among the Seven, I am pleased to welcome all of you here today to celebrate the union of Saint Jordan Killian Caldwell with Victoria."
Behind me, I hear the sound of whispering, a small commotion. Edward looks over our heads, "Late but you're in time… Jace and Sienna."
"Sorry, Father… We rushed over as soon as we heard." Jace grins.
"You’re forgiven, considering…” Edward nods at someone I can’t see.
"We’re here now," Sienna’s voice interrupts. "Didn’t mean to steal the attention from the bride."
I glance sideways in time to see Sienna walk up to take her place in one of the chairs. She places one hand on her belly, waves at me. "I’m sorry," she mouths.
I shake my head. My gaze slips back to her belly. I can’t stop a smile from curving my features. How would it be to be pregnant? To swell with a child? Saint’s child. A girl with his dark hair and blue eyes, that nervous energy coiled in her as she beams at boys and reduces them to mush.
Jace dips his head and places his hand over Sienna’s. He kisses her forehead. They smile at each other in that secret way couples who love each other have. Something that I won’t.
Tears prick the backs of m
y eyes again. Jesus, the hell is wrong with me?
More waterworks. Must be the prospect of getting married for the first time that is doing me in. It seems…to mean something. Despite the fact that it is meant to be a sham; standing next to Saint, facing the minister, seems to signify a start. A change of circumstances. Something important.
Saint shifts next to me. Heat from his body flows around me, warms my chilled skin. Goosebumps flare on my arms.
Edward turns to Saint, "Do you, Saint Jordan Killian Caldwell take Victoria…" He turns to me.
"Just Victoria," I mumble.
"Take Just Victoria," Edward smiles, "to be your lawfully-wedded wife?"
Behind me, a chuckle runs through the crowd.
This is happening, really happening. I swallow hard. My palms begin to sweat and the bouquet slips from my hands.
Saint swoops down so fast, I blink. He straightens, holding the bouquet, then turns and shoves it at Damian, who takes it from him. He glances past Damian, who's lips curve in a genuine smile.
Saint makes a noise in his throat. A warning? Nah, it can’t be. He has no reason to be jealous anyway. When Saint is in the room, everyone else recedes into the background.
"Saint?" Edward prompts.
Saint squares his shoulders. I hear him take in a breath. Huh. Is he as nervous as I am? I peek a glance at his profile—patrician nose, square jaw, the hint of a cleft in his chin. His mouth tightens. His jaw tics… He is feeling something, all right. Perhaps this entire situation is as strange for him as it is for me? Of course, he’s the one who proposed it, so why does he seem so unsure?
He shuffles his feet and his shoulders flex.
"Saint?" Edward asks, his brow furrowed.
"Ask me again," he growls.
Edward wipes all expression from his face. "Do you, Saint Jordan Killian Caldwell take Victoria to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish and protect, ’til death do you part?"
Saint’s throat moves as his swallows. The skin of his knuckles is stretched tight. He’s...under pressure, all right. Nervous energy emanates from him. The force of his dominance pins me in place; it’s mixed with something else—anger, frustration, the usual edginess, but multiplied.
He rakes his fingers through his hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen Saint uncertain…unsure. My heart twists. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I reach over and run my finger over the back of his palm.
He stiffens. Then catches my hand, threads his fingers with mine.
A murmur runs through his friends. Edward shoots them a glance. It dies down.
Saint straightens, grips my hand. He stares ahead. "I do." His voice is hard, confident. I swallow. If I closed my eyes and focused on his voice, I’d think he means it. If I bring my attention to where we are joined... Where his hand encloses mine, where he holds my hand firmly, his much bigger palm engulfing mine, I will have no doubt that he means every word of his promise.
I swallow. Heat flushes my skin. The blood thuds at my temples, my pulse pounding. This…this is so right… That surely, it is all wrong. This, whatever is between us, cannot survive. There is no space for it. We are two people colliding at the wrong place, wrong time… Nothing good can come of this… Unless I find a way to make this right. I have to hold on to the time I’ve been given with him, show him the real me. Love him, open myself up to him, and hope and pray that when I leave, he will not hate me. That he’ll realize I had no choice but to do what I did.
I draw in a breath, focus on Edward’s words.
"Do you Victoria take Saint Jordan Killian Caldwell, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part?"
"I do." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know that I mean it. Something inside of me seems to settle. A calmness washes over me. It’s as if my entire life, I’ve been headed in this direction. Everything I’ve done and experienced, all of it has brought me here, to stand next to Saint, holding his hand in mine as he turns to face me.
"I suppose it was too much of a rush to get rings so—"
"I have a ring," Saint replies.
"What?" I open and close my mouth.
A murmur runs through the assembled group.
"You do?" Edward frowns, then jerks his chin, "Okay, then."
Saint pats his breast pocket, his forehead crinkling. "Uh, maybe I forgot it…"
"Saint!" Edward admonishes him.
He releases my hand to feel his left pocket. "Oh, shit," he grimaces. "I can’t believe I left it behind."
"Come on, Saint," Arpad calls out.
"Get with the program, you tosser," Damian smirks.
"You losing your touch, old sport?" Weston chuckles.
Edward holds his forefinger and thumb to his lips and blows. A piercing whistle echoes through the space.
The group settles.
"Right, now that you grownups, who prefer to behave like children, have settled down…" He trains a stern gaze on Saint. "Stop dicking around, will you?" Edward scolds him.
Laugher breaks out from the crowd.
Saint pats the right-hand pocket of his slacks, pulls out a ring. "Here it is."
He reaches for my left hand, slips it on my ring finger. An emerald, set in a simple platinum setting, gleams in the light from above.
"It belonged to my mother," he says.
I shoot him a surprised glance.
"Don’t read anything into it." His features harden, "It happened to be at hand."
Right.
"You may kiss the bride," Edward grins at us.
"No, wait—" I begin to protest, but Saint hauls me close, bends me at the waist, then he kisses me. It’s not hard, not punishing, nothing like his previous kisses. He nibbles on my lower lip, and when I open my mouth, he licks his tongue across my upper lip, tracing the curve of my cupid’s bow. He wraps one arm around my shoulders, curls the other around my waist. He pulls me so close that his warmth surrounds me, his body shields me, and his shoulder blocks out the sight of everything else. I close my eyes, sink into the warm, trembling, buttery sensations that melt my insides. My toes curl and my scalp tingles. All the pores on my body pop. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, tangles his tongue with mine. His taste is enticing, with that dark edge that calls to me, pulls me in, tugs me in, shudders down my spine, coils in the pit of my belly, slides warmth between my thighs. Liquid heat bleeds through my veins, turning me into a mass of quivering, burning, aching goo. An aching hollowness that wants, needs, demands— He breaks the kiss.
I open my eyes, gaze into those burning cerulean depths of his. His features wear an expression of shock…surprise…lust… His nostrils flare. His gaze drops to my mouth. "Gigi, I—"
A burst of applause rings out. I shudder. He firms his lips. A nerve throbs at his temple. He straightens, pulling me up with him.
The clapping intensifies.
He smiles down at me. The expression on his face is open, carefree. So damn happy. In that second, he’s a man, I’m a woman. We have our lives together in front of us. United. Never alone. I have him. He is mine. For now. For this second. My lips curve. His smile widens, white teeth sparkling against his tanned skin. He winds his arm around my waist, pulls me into his side as he turns.
"Bravo."
"Beautiful."
"Congratulations."
"Well done!"
Confetti rains down on us. I blink, "Oh."
"Surprised?" he whispers.
"I wasn’t expecting…" What? Nothing. Anything. I try to find the words to explain, but my brain cells have all turned to mush. "I… I don’t know what to say."
"Enjoy it." He brings me in closer, and I can't stop myself from melting into his side. "Today is your day, Gigi."
He flattens his big hand over my hip. His grasp is warm, possessive. When he's like this... I can almost believe he means the tender words he's just said.
"You...you confuse me, Saint." I turn to him. "One moment, you're
the most heartless bastard I’ve ever met... The next..." I shake my head.
"The next?" He prompts.
"You seem human, almost vulnerable." I search his features. "I think you hate yourself for not being able to conceal your feelings from me."
"Do you?" His gaze falters... Those blue eyes lighten, and for an instant I am sure I can see right through that façade he loves to wear like armor.
"You don't fool me," I declare.
"Good." His lips curve in a smile that's genuine, and predatory, and so... Saint. Filled with secrets, as if he senses what I am thinking, as if he knows what I want before I do... As if he can anticipate my every move before I make it.
"That will make the upcoming days more of a challenge."
"What?" I squint up at him.
"Enjoy it, dear wife," his features harden, "for things are about to change."
I stiffen, peer into his face.
He’s wearing the same smile... But already, that hint of sensitivity that I'd spotted is gone. He jerks his chin, nods toward his friends, his expression still open, his handsome profile every bit as gorgeous, as genuine as he’d seemed a moment ago. But his eyes... Those blue eyes are dark...almost black. Was everything he'd done today an act? Had he been leading me on? And I'd wanted to believe him. For a few minutes there, I had dared to hope.
His lips curl.
He’d taken me to the edge, pretended to care, then he’d pushed me over and watched me fall.
"You bastard," I try to pull away.
His hand around my waist is solid though. He keeps me pinned to his side. He lowers his chin, nuzzles my temple, "Keep that smile, Gigi. You don’t want them to know that something is wrong, do you?"
I swallow.
"Do you, pet?"
"No… No."
"Good." He kisses my temple, his breath hot like a lover’s touch, "Store up the happy memories, for soon you’ll wish that you never set eyes on me."
"Newsflash, asshole," I keep the smile plastered to my face, "I already wish I’d never met you, that I had never agreed to come to England, that I’d never posed as Adam’s wife, that—" I stop to take a breath.