Slay One: Rivalry

by Paige, Laurelin

  That clammed her up for all of one heartbeat. Then she was crying and hugging me—awkwardly since we were both still sitting—and telling me how happy she was for me and to just be included on my special day.

  It was a knife right through the heart. If only I could tell her the truth.

  My father fidgeted in his seat, obviously ready to be done with all the emoting. “Well, do we get to meet this Edward before the ceremony or is that going to be a surprise as well?”

  I broke away from my mother’s embrace and braced myself. “Actually, Dad. You’ve already met him.”

  And for all the times I’d considered him a dense old man, my father proved then and there that he was more quick-witted than I gave him credit for. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” He stood up and started walking around the room, as if looking for a clue to confirm his suspicions. “An older British man with lots of money named Edward? A man who had been your client? I told you when you asked me about him not to work with him. I forbade you!”

  “You didn’t actually forbid me,” I mumbled.

  “It was implied! No way. There is no way in my lifetime that my daughter is marrying that man. No fucking way.”

  I rose to my feet and lifted my arms defensively, as if the posture could stop his anger. “Hold on. Can we talk about this calmly, please?”

  “There is absolutely nothing to talk about.” He snapped his fingers at my mother. “Madge, get up. We’re leaving. Where did that servant put our coats?”

  “Dad, don’t leave!” If I hadn’t been worried about messing up my makeup, I’d have tried to make myself cry. I knew how to do that.

  It wouldn’t have been that hard at that particular moment, actually.

  My mother hadn’t moved from the couch. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. Who is she marrying?”

  My father’s face went redder than it already was. “She’s not marrying anyone! She’s coming with us. Go upstairs and get dressed, Celia. We’re leaving.”

  What was with all the men in my life thinking it was okay to order women around?

  At least with Edward I’d gotten to choose it. My father just assumed that since he’d donated half my DNA that it was his right.

  Well, fuck that. I wasn’t having it. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m getting married.”

  “To whom?!” My mother was clearly exasperated.

  Edward’s voice boomed out in answer. “To me.”

  Twenty-Four

  In all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed the hall doors open or Edward walk in, but there was no way anyone could miss the authoritative way he spoke those two words. He commanded all attention, all three of us turning toward him the way daisies turned toward the sun.

  “Edward,” my father said tersely.

  “Edward,” I sighed at the same time. Mentally, I reserved the right to get angry later about his intrusion, but for now, in this exact point in time, I was glad he was there. I was relieved to have someone carry this burden with me.

  Which was dumb, wasn’t it? Because I didn’t actually care about my parents’ approval. That was his goal.

  But maybe it wasn’t about Edward, in the moment. This was about my father thinking he had a say in my life. This was about my father ignoring what he believed to be my happiness because of a stupid business rivalry.

  This was about standing up for me.

  And if Edward was going to be on my side, I was grateful for that. I was more than grateful.

  As though driven by a force outside of myself, I floated over and sidled into him. He put a possessive arm around my waist, and extended his other hand toward my mother, who had finally managed to make it to her feet.

  “I’m Edward Fasbender,” he said graciously then kissed the back of her hand. “While I’d hope to best be known as the man who anchors your daughter, I believe your husband prefers to think of me as his main competitor.”

  Even as it was clear she recognized his name, my mother swooned, and who wouldn’t? Edward was one smooth son of a bitch.

  A son of a bitch who’d evidently been listening to—watching, even?—our entire conversation.

  I reserved the right to be angry about that later too.

  “I’m so very glad to meet you, considering what you mean to our daughter,” my mother gushed. Legitimately gushed.

  My father fumed, his fists curling and uncurling at his side. “Madge, let go of that man’s hand. He’s a conniving devil.”

  “It’s not catching, Warren.” Edward dropped my mother’s hand, seemingly humored by the entire situation.

  His amusement incited my father further. He pointed an accusing finger in Edward’s direction. “You are truly incredible, Fasbender. After everything you’ve done, blocking my company’s advances in the European market at every turn, going out of your way to sabotage the relationships I’ve worked my entire life to build…” He was so worked up thinking about Edward’s supposed deficiencies, that he couldn’t continue listing them.

  Instead, he turned his finger toward me. “Don’t you realize he’s using you? He’s not in love with you. He’s just looking for another way to ruin me. He probably expects you to hand over company secrets. If you do this, Celia, if you go through with this, we’re done. You’re on your own.”

  It should have been validating. I knew my father wouldn’t react well, and I’d been right. I’d been right about the depth of his hatred for Edward. It was the entire reason I wanted to play this game in the first place, because I knew how happy it would make my father to see Edward destroyed.

  But I didn’t feel anything like validation. I only felt empty and numb, a feeling I hadn’t felt much of since I’d met Edward.

  “Warren, that isn’t at all true,” Edward said calmly, in stark contrast to my father’s ranting. “I do sincerely love your daughter. We both knew our pairing was not ideal because of who I am, because of who you are. Believe me when I say we fought our feelings knowing you’d never approve. But the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  He was lying out of his ass, and still I couldn’t help the pinch in my chest at his declaration.

  He dropped his hand from my waist, and left me for the mini bar. “I understand, though, that these are all just words. You have no reason to believe anything I say, nor should you. I certainly wouldn’t be persuaded by romantic pronouncements if the shoe were on the other foot. I might add that there is a prenup in place protecting your daughter’s assets, which should be reassuring, but still not exactly what you need to place your trust in this relationship.”

  He poured a brandy as he talked, and then crossed to my father, the drink held out in offering. “In light of all that, of the relationship you and I have had in the past, might I present this to you another way. You fear that I might have forged a relationship with your daughter merely for the benefit of my company. I propose that you have as much to gain from that scenario as I would. Perhaps this could be a union that removes the obstacles that have stood between us rather than building them up further.”

  For the first time since my father realized I was engaged to Edward, his demeanor cooled. His face, though still red, had lost some of its beet color. He actually appeared to be listening.

  He still hadn’t taken the glass offered to him, though, and now Edward nodded to it. “Take the drink, Warren. You watched me pour it. Clearly it isn’t poisoned.”

  With a scowl, my father snatched the drink from his hand and took a long swallow before asking, “Are you suggesting an alliance of sorts?”

  “In the future, yes. It’s a possibility. Tonight, I believe our attention would best be spent on giving Celia the wedding she deserves, with both her parents in attendance.”

  My breath stuttered as it filled my lungs. It was a clever tactic, on Edward’s part, making this whole night about a business advantage. On the other hand, he was an asshole for entreating my father this way. For tempting him with the very gold he hoped to get for himself through our nuptials. Especially without t
elling me about it first.

  It was worse when I looked at it from my father’s side. The fact that this was what potentially changed his mind, and not my own appeals, made me livid.

  I half hoped he’d balk at the vague proposition.

  He took another swallow of the brandy. “I’m not unreasonable. I can agree to set this aside for the time being with the potential of discussing it further in the future.”

  I wasn’t the only one, apparently, who saw the sting in my father’s response.

  “Warren!” my mother exclaimed. She rushed to him so that she could lower her voice, but I could still hear her clearly. “You cannot use your daughter’s happiness to negotiate business.”

  “I’m not,” he insisted. “Celia already said this man makes her happy. Right, Ceeley, sweetie?” He didn’t wait for me to answer before adding, “She’s always been her mother’s daughter. Why wouldn’t she fall for someone so similar to her old man?”

  I rolled my eyes. As if my father were anything like Edward.

  Or, I hadn’t seen a similarity until tonight. Now, as far as I was concerned, they were both devils. I had half a mind to walk out the door right then and fuck both of them over.

  At the very least, I couldn’t stand to be in the room with either of them anymore.

  Without a word, I spun around and charged for the hall doors.

  “Celia, where are you going?” my mother called after me.

  I stopped and forced myself to put on a smile before turning back toward them. “I have to finish getting ready since it looks like I’m getting married in half an hour.” I didn’t wait for anyone’s response—I definitely didn’t wait for anyone’s permission—before fleeing from the room.

  So I’d get married. Sure. Fine. I’d go ahead with my plans to ruin Edward, but instead of doing it to make my father happy, I’d crush his hopes of a business alliance at the same time.

  I wasn’t doing this for him anymore.

  I was doing it for me.

  Twenty-Five

  I was fifteen minutes late getting ready, but I wasn’t too concerned about it. There were only six people in attendance for the actual ceremony besides the officiant and the bride and groom, and even though there was a party planned with more guests invited, we’d left ample time between to make up for a delayed start.

  I probably could have made it on time, despite the interruption to deal with my parents, but I’d learned in the last two months how firmly Edward was attached to punctuality, and, call me a bitch, I wasn’t in the mood to capitulate to him.

  By the time I walked down the stairs at eight-fifteen, I suspected he was fuming. I was mildly surprised he hadn’t come looking for me. I was even more surprised that he wasn’t waiting in the hall to lecture me.

  While Edward wasn’t waiting, my father was. I wasn’t any more interested in speaking to him at the moment than I was my husband-to-be, and when I discovered he was hoping to “walk me down the aisle,” it was almost with pleasure that I explained to him that there wasn’t an actual aisle for him to walk me down.

  I wasn’t entirely cruel, though. I allowed him to escort me down the hall into the salon, which, honestly, was essentially the same thing.

  I’d seen the salon before I’d started getting ready so I knew what I was walking into, but the transformation of the interior still struck me as I entered. Practically a small ballroom, the space was easily a thousand square feet with gorgeous marble floors and a grand fireplace. Huge windows with heavy luxurious drapery wrapped around the outside of the room, alternating with wooden panels that showcased wall-mounted lights that matched the beautiful candle-style chandelier in the center of the ceiling. It was generously furnished with three large sofas, five decorative chairs, four side tables, a dining table, a piano, and several oversized floor vases, but I’d had half of the pieces removed for the event and the rest reconfigured leaving a generous section of the area open for the ceremony.

  While romantic decor had never been my style, I did have a fondness for a good floral arrangement, and so when trying to be sure my touch was seen, I’d filled the room with flowers. Two columns with enormous red and white bouquets flanked the fireplace while eight smaller floral pillars were spread around the salon. Garlands sprinkled with red and white roses had been hung on all the lighting and along the window valances. The hearth had a spectacular arrangement of greenery and blooms, and the table, that would later hold decadent dessert trays and champagne, had a gorgeous centerpiece.

  The heady fragrance of all these flowers was what hit me as I walked into the salon with my father. It was a soothing aroma, and as upset as I’d been prior, a blanket of calm fell on my shoulders, settling my nerves.

  Until I saw Edward, anyway.

  He’d had his back to me talking to the officiant, and I hadn’t seen him immediately. My attention had first gone to my mother who was sitting on a sofa holding Fred. Camilla and Genny sat with her while Hagan stood off to the side, lost in his phone. No one had noticed us until my father cleared his throat, and then everyone stood and all eyes landed on me, Edward’s last of all. He’d waited to finish whatever he was saying before turning, as though refusing to let anyone interrupt him, but then he did, and his gaze slammed into mine with violent force, making my knees shake and my stomach flip.

  He pinned me with that gaze, not letting me move until he’d taken all of me in. And I stood there, unable to even breathe, while he did, waiting to see the verdict on his expression. I’d been anxious for this particular moment for weeks—anxious and eager—because the wedding dress I’d shown him, the wedding dress he’d approved when I’d met with him in planning, was not the one I was wearing. It was the same design—a trumpet style floor-length gown with a slit up one leg and a diamond embellished lace overlay that draped off the shoulder and down my arms.

  Except, instead of being white, the dress I wore was red.

  It had been an outright act of defiance. I’d assumed he’d disapprove, and he did, it was evident in the way the corners of his mouth turned down and the almost indiscernible twitch of his left eyelid. But along with his disapproval was a heated gaze of appreciation. It seared through me. Ignited my skin with its intensity. Lit the space between my legs until my pussy felt like it was a raging fire.

  Whether his appreciation was for the way I looked or the act of wearing it, I couldn’t be sure. What I did know was I liked that look. I wanted him to look at me like that all the time.

  To be fair, I was pretty sure I gave him the same sort of look.

  He. Looked. Incredible.

  I’d been too distracted to pay much attention when he’d stormed in on me with my parents earlier, and he’d only been partially dressed then, wearing his trousers and dress shirt and nothing else.

  Now, with the addition of the slim fit jacket, the double-breasted waistcoat, and the red ascot tie, he was almost too handsome to look at directly. Damn, did this man know how to wear a tux.

  I wondered if he knew how to take it off as well. Or if I’d ever find out.

  “Well, here she is,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine as he crossed the room to me. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a runaway bride, but now it’s apparent why you took so long. You look stunning, darling.”

  The words were for everyone else, playing the part of an amorous groom. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe anything else. He’d even gotten the chance to reprimand me for my tardiness, letting everyone know the late start was not on him. The words were definitely for the others.

  But the gaze…

  The gaze had been for no one but me.

  He kissed me on the cheek, another gesture for appearances, and took my hand in his. “Shall we get started, then?”

  The ceremony began with no other hitches. The officiant wore a stole and clerical garb, which made my mother happy, even though he wasn’t a minister but rather a registered local authority. Good money had been paid to get him to come to the house as well as to approve
the location since legally binding weddings in England usually only took place in churches or registry buildings. I’d chosen a minimalist script with only the barebones required to be legitimate. That made the whole thing, not only simple, but fast-paced.

  After the officiant greeted everyone, we stated our declaratory words and then went directly to the vows, or the contracting words. Edward said his first, repeating the words he was given.

  Then it was my turn. Which is when I learned that my groom had made a switcheroo of his own, because, while the vows I’d agreed to were traditional, they hadn’t included the old-fashioned promise for the wife to “obey.”

  Now they did.

  I hesitated when I heard the presider say it, not because I didn’t intend to repeat it, but because the sneaky addition was a reminder of who exactly it was I was marrying, and I needed a moment to let it sink in.

  Edward’s brow rose as I paused, and I could practically hear his thoughts. I told you my word is law. I told you not to argue with me in public.

  “To love, cherish, and obey,” I said, feeling even more vindicated in my dress choice. Yes, he’d set submission as an expectation for his wife, but I’d worn red, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Obviously, there were ways to get around him.

  Next came the exchange of rings. I hadn’t yet seen the bands that Edward had said went with the one already on my finger, so when he pulled them from his jacket inside pocket and placed them in the palm of the officiant, I leaned in to examine them. My band had diamonds all around it in a delicate ornate setting. Edward’s was a beautiful thick platinum with milgrain detailing and a high-polished edge.

  They were both exquisite, but it wasn’t the rings themselves that caught my breath in my lungs—it was what the presider said about them. “Rings are made of precious metal, but that same metal is also made precious by wearing them. These rings are even more precious as they have been worn before, celebrating the love and union of Edward’s parents, Stefan and Amelie Fasbender.”