Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set

by Black, Stasia

You need the labs. It’s Daphne’s life.

  So I stay quiet in spite of my seething anger. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. But does this asshole have to make it so damn hard?

  “Making me look like a fool in front of Dr. Laurel all the time. Even in front of that dumb, scrawny little kid of his.” Adam shakes his head and walks over to a cabinet. Why am I not shocked when he opens it to display a hidden liquor cabinet. “But he’s gone now.”

  He pours some expensive looking bourbon and then downs it.

  “I tried getting rid of you.” He shakes his head. “But they always say the roaches will survive the apocalypse. I guess street rats are the same.” He pours himself more bourbon and smiles my direction, holding up the glass in cheers.

  “And now, well, if there is a disease that’s going to rid the world of that little bitch, Daphne, what can I say?” Adam shrugs his shoulders dramatically. “It’s just natural selection at work, man.”

  I’m going to fucking kill him.

  I’m across the room with my hands around his neck before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. Two seconds later, an alarm is going off and security guards are charging into the room and pulling me off him.

  “You’re dead!” I shout at him. “If you come near her, I’ll—”

  But a blow by the huge security guard from downstairs cuts off my words.

  Pain explodes across my face, and then the world goes dark.

  Fourteen

  Daphne

  I didn’t think anything of it when Logan said he was going out. He doesn’t go out often, but sometimes we need groceries or the like. And he said he’d be right back.

  I was a little worried when I didn’t hear from him after a few hours. He usually texts or calls if he’s running late. So when I finally heard my cell ring, the anxiety I had been feeling finally calms.

  Until I saw it was Armand calling, not Logan. Only to pick up the call and find it was Armand calling about Logan.

  Because Logan was in jail!

  I push my wheelchair to maximum speed as Armand holds open the door to the County Sheriff’s office.

  I race my chair right up to the counter. “I’m here for Logan Wulfe.”

  Sitting in the chair, I can barely see over the counter to make out the face of the woman attending the front desk.

  I start to wobbly climb out of the chair when Armand puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “Can she go see my client while I work out the details of his release?”

  “You a lawyer?” the woman asks.

  Armand leans in and smiles coyly. “Something like that.”

  The woman, who looks to be in her early fifties, and has a face that reminds me of a bulldog, immediately softens under Armand’s charms. “All right, but it’s a hell of an expensive bail. Quarter mill.”

  Armand doesn’t flinch. “Money is no object for my client.”

  The woman’s eyes brighten and I want to gag. “Where is Logan? Can I see him now?”

  “Marv!” the woman rears back and yells. Even Armand winces at her ear-splitting volume, though he smiles through it.

  An older Hispanic man in uniform ambles around the corner. “Take this one back for visiting hours with the new one. With the—” the woman makes a face and gestures at her left cheek. Like she has any room to comment on someone’s appearance. Besides, Logan’s gorgeous. If this stupid cow can’t look past a little scarring to see that, then she’s—

  “This way, Miss,” Marv says, gesturing me to follow behind him.

  He leads me to a large room with empty tables that reminds me of a hospital cafeteria. It’s empty apart from Marv and me.

  But about five minutes later, the door cracks open and then an attendant leads Logan in. His hands are cuffed behind his back and I can’t hide the noise of distress that comes from the back of my throat.

  I reach for the controls of my wheelchair to go to him, but Marv puts a hand out to stay my action. “No contact,” he says kindly. “Otherwise they’ll send him back.”

  I yank my hand back from my controls. I can’t stand the thought of getting this close to him and them sending him away again.

  “Are you okay?” I call.

  His eyes are stormy as he gets closer. “You shouldn’t be here. What are you doing out of the house? You aren’t strong enough—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m strong enough for, Logan Wulfe. Now tell me right this second what’s going on. How did you get here? What happened?”

  He sinks down heavily in the chair across from me. The attendant undoes the cuffs at his back but warns again about no contact.

  When Logan’s eyes come to me, they are so full of remorse.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, sounding broken. “I failed you.”

  Oh my gosh, he’s killing me. “Logan, tell me what’s going on, right this second. I’m freaking out.”

  So he does. He tells me all of it. About how we have to synthesize the drug for it to really be an effective solution for me. About how we needed Belladonna’s labs. How we needed Adam.

  And how Adam wouldn’t help.

  How Adam sees this as his final act of revenge…

  Me dying.

  Logan didn’t put it that way, but I can finally read between the lines. I can finally see Adam for the monster Logan always said he was.

  Logan’s no fool. He can see what I’ve just figured out.

  “But we’re not going to let that happen,” he says adamantly. “We’ll find another way. There’s always something else we can do. We’ll find a way to manufacture enough doses for you, even if we can’t synthesize it on a large scale in the beginning, I swear I’ll save you—”

  I reach for his hand across the table before I remember it’s forbidden and pull back.

  “Oh Logan. You should’ve talked to me first.”

  He just shrugs and I know that if he had to do it over, he wouldn’t have changed a thing about what he did if there was even the smallest chance it might’ve worked. Logan will never see any other way. Like my father, he’ll fight this until my dying day.

  But unlike a month ago, that doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t make me want to run away.

  For the first time, maybe ever in my whole life, I’m looking the truth in the face.

  I might die.

  Maybe this year. Maybe next. Maybe I survived this relapse and it comes again for me in three years, or five.

  This was always my destiny.

  Maybe my problem is that I’ve been fighting it.

  But what if I stop fighting? What if I stop worrying about tomorrow, something I obviously have zero control over?

  What if I decide to just live the fuck out of today, come what may?

  I look at the man across the table from me, and so much emotion and love wells up in my chest. “Ask me again.”

  Logan’s so dejected, I’m not sure he hears me at first. “What?”

  “Ask me again,” I whisper, excitement brimming in my voice.

  Logan gulps, understanding finally coming into his confused eyes. He doesn’t look like he believes what I’m saying, but he’s a smart man. “Will you marry—”

  “Yes!”

  He leaps out of his chair, much to the consternation of the two guards standing at the door. It doesn’t stop Logan, though. He comes and throws his arms around me, kissing me hard.

  I laugh, tears pouring from my eyes even as I push on his chest, urging him back. “The guards,” I laugh through his kisses.

  Logan pulls back and holds his hands up right as they are about to grab him. “We just got engaged,” he says. “Give a guy a break.”

  The guard just glares at him. “You know this means you have to get another full cavity search.”

  Logan just grins at him. “I won’t enjoy it too much if you don’t.”

  I laugh out loud and Logan winks at me, the entire atmosphere of the room turned on its head from five minutes ago.

  The guards make Logan put his hand
s on his head before cuffing him again, but he’s grinning the whole time.

  “Armand’s working to get you out on bail,” I call.

  “Perfect,” Logan says over his shoulder, struggling to see me while being dragged away by the guards. “Because I’m marrying your gorgeous ass as soon as physically possible. You can plan it while they do the paperwork.”

  I laugh again, a gut laugh from deep in my stomach, because I doubt that Logan is kidding or exaggerating at all.

  Looks like I’m getting married. Soon.

  Fifteen

  Daphne

  I stare at the mirror image of a woman in white. She has a bloom on her cheeks and roses in her hair. Yes, she’s in a wheelchair, but she looks healthy, strong. There’s a glow about her, along with a restless energy that comes from nervousness. But underneath it all, there’s strength.

  The woman is me. And today is my wedding day. My real one.

  Outside, the staff Armand hired is putting the final touches on the bridal walkway. When I asked for a simple ceremony, Armand gave me a big grin.

  “Simple and classic,” he promised, and then added, “For the ages.”

  His statement didn’t reassure me at all.

  “I’m getting married,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror, and her lips curve in a Mona Lisa smile. My hair and make up are done, and I’m in the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever worn. The frothy skirt is tailored to look good whether I stand or sit in a wheelchair. The beaded bodice hugs my curves.

  “Darling! You look fabulous,” Armand breezes in and air kisses me as if he’s been gone an age instead of a half hour. He personally oversaw my hair and makeup, keeping me smiling with his quips and antics. Then he gave me a moment of quiet, while he checked on everything else.

  “Thanks,” I grin up at him. “I know an excellent hairdresser.”

  “Don’t you just?” The way he fusses over my hair for another minute tells me he’s stalling.

  “Armand, it’s already perfect.” I bat his hand away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Well… there’s good news and bad news.”

  “Of course there is.” I blow out a breath. The fact that this wedding is happening at all defies the gods. As soon as I think it, I shove the thought away and give Armand a little smile. “Bad news first.”

  “It’s raining. Not hard. Just a light rain. We’re keeping the guests in the reception tent until it passes—which should be soon. And you know what they say!” Armand holds up a finger and recites. “A wet knot is not easily untied.”

  I realize I’m fiddling with a bead on my dress’s bodice and fold my hands in my lap. “Do they really say that?”

  “Oh yes, honey.” He raises his hand as if he’s being sworn in to testify.

  “Okay,” I can’t help but smile at his sincerity. “And the good news?”

  “The good news is we covered the area for the ceremony with a hanging garden, and it’s keeping that area mostly dry.”

  My jaw drifts to the floor. “I’m sorry...did you say ‘hanging garden’?”

  “Mmmhmmm. I wanted them over the dance floor, but we’d already done the floor. And a garden above and below is just overkill.”

  “Overkill,” I repeat. “What do you mean? What did you do to the floor?”

  “Oh, you will love it. It’s a see through platform—a glass case, actually—and inside is a bed of flowers—roses of course—and ferns. You’ll be dancing over a garden all night.”

  “Oh, wow,” is all I can say.

  “Yes, wow.” He kneels and fusses with my hem. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to get this party started as soon as the rain leaves. Which it should, soon. I have virgins on standby to sacrifice to the gods, in case we need extra insurance to be sure this wedding goes off without a hitch. Anal virgins. It was too hard to find the other kind.”

  “Haha,” I say weakly.

  Armand stands and dusts off his hand, straightening his own tux jacket. He looks incredible, but I’m suddenly too nervous to speak. A young man in his own tuxedo ducks in and signals Armand before rushing out again.

  “That’s our cue.” Before I can protest, Armand pushes my wheelchair to the front door.

  A sense of readiness cloaks me as I look out onto the lawn. Armand’s staff has performed a miracle, transforming Thornhill into a wonderland.

  The reception tent is a vast white bird poised in flight. Beside it is a canopied area for the main ceremony covered by a sort of lattice work dripping with wisteria. Guests are making their way to the chairs, escorted by men in tuxes.

  “We toweled off the entire ceremony area,” Armand tells me.

  “It looks perfect.” I motion him to push me forward onto the wheelchair ramp so I can see how they decorated the front of the house. There’s a green ivy canopy that wasn’t there when I rolled in last night.

  A stream of men and women in tuxedos and lovely gowns keep coming and muttering reports to Armand.

  “All guests seated,” one blue-haired woman announces. She gives me a thumbs up before walking off.

  “This is it,” Armand murmurs as a young man runs up and stands at attention holding a bouquet of peach colored roses. My bouquet. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” I touch the controls to direct the wheelchair. They built a ramp from the front door all the way to the wedding ceremony area, and sprinkled it with rose petals. My own red carpet.

  Armand is still fussing with my hair, arranging each individual curl to his satisfaction. “The rose petals won’t be a problem? We can clear the ramp—”

  “The rose petals are fine.”

  “All right, babygirl.” One hand swipes at his eyes as he lays the bouquet in my lap. “You look beautiful.” He bends and air kisses either cheeks, ever careful to not smear my makeup. “Your mother would be so proud.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper and he steps away, dabbing his own eyes.

  My limbs feel weak as I face the long, long ramp to the ceremony area and the waiting guests. Soft symphony music wafts over the lawn.

  There’s no one to escort me down the aisle, and I like it that way. I live my own life. I come to Logan of my own volition. I will navigate my own way into the life of my dreams.

  I roll myself down the newly made ramp. As I get close, a hidden signal warns the musicians to end their song with a long, lingering note. And then a harp starts to pluck a delicate version of The Swan by Saint-Saëns. The heart-breaking melody flows out from under the hanging garden.

  For a moment, the notes and the scent of flowers swirl together, like something out of a dream. This moment is so beautiful. So longed for.

  The perfection is painful, and for a second I feel as if I’m going to crack in two.

  My mother’s angel statue is off to the side. The way the sculpture’s face is angled, it’ll look like she’s watching the ceremony.

  “Love you, mom,” I mouth. And as I roll the final few feet to the first row of chairs, the sun breaks from the clouds, warming my back.

  I urge my chair faster. The guests all rise as one, but I can’t look to the left or right. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I see Logan. He stands, a monolith in black. I think he’s the only one not wearing a tux. He joked he was going to wear a lab coat, and he did. Armand almost had a heart attack.

  There’s a sprig of green pinned to his jacket. I focus on it as I get closer. It’s a clipping from a bush, an evergreen of some sort, frozen in resin. Needles and a single red berry.

  “Yew,” I whisper to myself, and am rewarded by my fiancé’s smile.

  I reach the end of the aisle. The priestess motions for the audience to be seated. The harpist ends one song and starts another.

  I take a moment to view the guests. There’s Armand, just settling into his seat. He was probably rearranging the final floral flourish himself.

  Beside him, Cora Ubeli glows in a sky blue dress. Her two children sit straight and solemn between her and her husband. I give Cora a little w
ave and she beams at me. Her adorable young daughter tugs her mom’s sleeve and points at me, and Cora leans down to whisper in the little girl’s ear. Both mother and daughter have bright blue eyes.

  I could have planned on rising out of my wheelchair for the ceremony—I am strong enough—but today is going to be long and I want to conserve my strength. I hesitate with my hands on the armrests, wavering on the decision. Sit or stand?

  Logan makes it for me. Gracefully for a man of his size, he lowers himself to one knee. The look of love in his blue eyes washes over me, and I have to turn away. Judging from a few sniffles in the audience, I’m not the only one blinking away tears.

  “Daphne,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper, blinking rapidly. “You’re gonna make me cry.” I half laugh and breathe deep, trying to push my tears back.

  “It’s okay, baby.” His big hand hovers at my cheek, dabbing my made-up face with a white handkerchief. “I’ve got you.”

  “So I look all right?” I can face him now. The tightness in my chest has eased, washed away as his scent surrounds me. There’s just Logan and me here. Nothing else matters.

  “You look beautiful.” His deep voice is balm to my soul.

  “Thank you.” I keep my eyes down, fastening onto the sight of our hands entwined. The ceremony proceeds. Most of it’s a blur, but a few moments I’ll remember forever.

  The breeze stirring the flowers overhead.

  The slanting sunlight illuminating my mother’s statue, haloing her peaceful mien.

  The way Logan’s voice stumbles on the words “in sickness and in health.”

  The way his hands squeeze mine. He doesn’t let go—even to slide on the ring. It was as if he expected me to disappear mid-ceremony.

  “In sickness and in health,” I repeat, covering his big hand with mine. “‘Til death...and beyond.” It’s my turn to grip him hard.

  I’m never letting you go. Death be damned.

  I barely hear the priestess’s final words. Logan is smiling at me. He leans in and brushes his lips over mine.

  I blink at him, suddenly dizzy. “We did it?”