by Nikki Sloane
I only saw Royce.
And I wanted my father to move faster so I could get to my groom quicker. I couldn’t wait for the moment when my father would put my hand in Royce’s because I felt like I hadn’t touched my fiancé in a lifetime, and I was desperate to have the connection back.
After the rehearsal dinner last night, we’d said goodnight and slept in separate bedrooms in the same house for the first time in months. He’d texted me in the morning to say he hadn’t slept well, but only because he’d been missing me.
So, while he still hadn’t said the words, I believed in my heart he felt them. As I marched up the aisle toward him, he gazed at me with so much emotion in his eyes, it couldn’t be anything other than love.
He came down the three steps of the platform to meet us, waited for my father to give me a kiss on the cheek, then accepted my father’s hearty handshake. When my hand was finally set in his, electricity poured through me. I sighed in relief, feeling as long as Royce and I were together, there wasn’t anything that could stop us.
Not even Macalister Hale.
We walked together up the steps toward the officiant waiting for us, and when we reached our places, Emily and Sophia hurried to spread out my train and make it picture perfect as it cascaded down the platform’s steps. Royce stole a glance down at the unfamiliar ring on my right hand—and did a double-take. He gazed at the ring like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He lifted his confused, rapidly blinking eyes to mine, and whispered, “My mother’s?”
I nodded.
His incredulous smile nearly broke my heart, it was that full of love.
The ceremony was a blur, and it was a small mercy for our guests. Even though it was just the first week of June, it was hot and humid and there weren’t any clouds in the blue sky, so we were all baking in the sun. I was sweating through my makeup, and there were undoubtably artists waiting to dab powder at me in the shade of the gazebo at the back of the garden, before Royce and I would pose for pictures.
Once we’d said our vows and exchanged rings, I couldn’t stop staring at the silver band across his finger. It was easily the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. It played a big part in how excited I was when it came time for Royce to kiss me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the officiant said, his voice raised proudly, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Royce Hale.”
We turned to face the crowd and their thunderous applause, and a thrilled smile broke on my face. Perhaps the sea of happy people before us were all sycophants and didn’t really care, but they looked up at us with such excitement and joy I decided to accept it exactly as it appeared.
It was unavoidable how my gaze drifted to the couple in the front row on Royce’s side. Alice’s champagne colored dress had beads cascading down the front, like someone had tossed handfuls of glitter at her and they scattered over the fabric. She wore a perfectly manufactured smile as she stood beside her husband.
Macalister wasn’t smiling or clapping; his expression was fixed. To others, he might look mildly irritated or bored, but I saw the scowl aching to bow on his lips and the seethe locked in his eyes.
I tangled my hand tighter with my husband’s and gave him the biggest smile in my arsenal.
Royce was so exhausted by the end of the night, he fell asleep in the limo as it carried us toward the Four Seasons hotel. We’d spend our wedding night there, and tomorrow evening the Hale jet would take us to Nice, then we were on to Cannes where the yacht and her crew waited for us.
His hand was clasped in mine and nestled in the folds of my skirt, and I grinned at the ring gleaming on his finger. Would I ever get used to that? My smile grew wider, but it could also have been the three glasses of champagne I’d consumed on a mostly empty stomach. They’d been for medicinal purposes—my feet were killing me.
I’d expected the day to be long, but nowhere near as enjoyable as it had been—minus my visit from Macalister. Once I fully committed to my role as Marist Hale and treated the endless mingling as a game, it was . . . kind of fun. We’d put on a show and completed all the tasks required of us, cutting the cake and the first dance. We’d done our best to greet each guest and thank them for coming. We’d laughed at the toasts our siblings gave and kissed when people clinked their silverware against their glasses.
But we hadn’t gotten a moment to ourselves until the limo, and he’d faded fast. I decided to let him rest, not wanting to bring up what his father had said and mar an otherwise perfect day.
I took a picture of him asleep in his tux, me snuggled beside him, and posted it to Instagram, tagging it with all the hashtags I would have hated or called cheesy a year ago. But now I believed them. It’d been a hard road to get here, but maybe we were a fairytale romance. We’d earned our happily ever after.
When the car pulled up to the front of the Four Seasons and the doorman opened the back door, I nudged Royce. “Power nap is over, husband.”
He blinked his sleepy blue eyes and quickly became more alert, sitting up straight and flashing a lazy smile. “Okay, wife.”
The elevator ride up to the presidential suite was quick, and I carried my excruciating pink shoes in my hands as I strolled toward the bedroom and flopped down on the mattress, my dress and bustled train billowing around me. Royce shed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, and he leaned against the doorframe, watching me as he loosened his tie.
“You hungry?” he asked. “Want me to order something?”
“I’ll be asleep before it arrives.” I rose onto my elbows, half sitting up so I could look at him directly. “I can’t believe I married you.”
He understood exactly how I meant it, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward. “I can. I had you the minute I said you looked like Medusa.”
I pressed my lips together. He was right, but it had taken me a while to figure it out. “And when did I have you?”
His eyes deepened. “I told you, long before that. That night you went to the club with Emily.”
“Oh, right.” I pretended I’d just remembered. “The night you called me a nobody.”
He straightened from the door and stalked toward me, seduction flooding every inch of his face. “You’re not a nobody anymore. You’re my wife. Marist fucking Hale.”
I loved the sound of it, and I grinned darkly. “Should I put that on my business cards?”
“Do it.” He chuckled and climbed on top of me, straddling my hips and the wedding dress I wore. I lay back down as he delivered a slow, thorough kiss, like he’d been storing it up all day for me. His tongue dipped into my mouth, creating an achy desire that filled my body.
“I have to warn you,” I said, my voice rasping, “I’ve had a lot of champagne, and I might fall asleep on you.”
A short laugh was buried in the side of my neck. He echoed the same thing I’d said after I’d been released from the hospital. “I’ll do most of the work. You can just lie there and take it.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
But once he started, there was no danger of sleep.
The plane had just leveled off when Royce asked, like he’d been waiting for the ‘all-clear,’ “When did he give you the ring?”
I was still wearing it, and instinctively tensed. I wasn’t sure I was ready to have this conversation now. Maybe it was better to wait until we were too far across the Atlantic for Royce to order the pilots to turn around.
“Oh, uh, right before the ceremony.”
I’d been anything but normal with my answer, and he latched on instantly. “What happened?”
I wasn’t going to lie to him, but I stalled on telling the truth. “He said he thought your mother would have wanted me to have it, and that he hoped part of her could be with you on your wedding day.”
It was like I’d just told him Vance had been elected president. “He said that specifically? Or did he make you think that’s what he meant?”
He didn’t believe his father could do anything heartfelt because his father didn’t have a heart.
My breath caught as I considered the two possibilities. Either Macalister’s gesture was genuine, and he was capable of feelings—meaning it was possible he was truly in love with me—or he was an emotional void, and the gift was just a calculated move to draw me in.
I wasn’t sure which possibility was worse.
I cleared the lump from my throat. “No, he said it specifically. He said it was hard for him to give it away because it means a lot to him.”
It was unavoidable, the way both of our gazes fell to the ring, and Royce’s voice lost some of its power. “I asked him if he’d let me have it so I could give it to you. He told me no.”
The urge to deflate was fierce, but I forced out a smile to stay strong for him. “When I look at this ring, I’m only thinking about her. All that matters is she was there with us, okay?”
He took in a deep breath and stared at me with his intense eyes, which saw all the way to the bottom of my soul. “Yeah.”
When the conversation fell quiet, the only sound was the hum of the plane’s powerful engines, carrying us away from Boston. I tried to let it go, but the truth itched under my skin. “Your dad said some . . . other things.”
Royce’s gaze had been out the window, but it turned back to me, and he looked wary. Like he knew whatever I was about to say would be bad, and he wasn’t going to like it. “Like what?”
My pulse was whirring as fast as we were hurtling through the sky. “He told me he loved me.”
He turned to stone for a long moment, before a sneer curled on his lips. His tone was patronizing. “As a daughter-in-law?”
It was doubly cruel for him, as his father hadn’t told Royce he loved him in at least sixteen years. Maybe his whole life he’d gone without hearing it.
I could barely choke the words out. “As in, he’s in love with me.”
“You believe him?” My husband’s expression was measured and cautious.
“No.” The word came quickly. “I don’t know,” I amended, staring at my hands in my lap. “It doesn’t matter either way. I love you, and you love me.”
My gaze flicked to his in a challenge, and he accepted it with a resounding word. “Yes.”
It was the closest he’d come to saying it, which made warmth spread through my chest, but it was also the ultimate tease. He could be so strong and assertive when he wanted. Why was it so hard for him to say what we both knew was true?
“When we land,” he said, “I’m going to get someone to find a place for us in Boston.”
“It’ll be midnight Eastern time when we land.”
Determination pushed his mouth into a frown. “In the morning, then, but we’re moving out.”
Of course, I wanted to leave. The patriarch of the Hales was in love with me, and another wanted to kill me. But my practical side gave a humorless laugh. “He won’t let us. You know he’ll find a way to force us to stay, either with your job or your inheritance—”
“He’ll throw us out as soon as I take his seat.”
“But that could be months away.” Ascension had fought tooth and nail while they looked for a white knight company to save them. It’d forced up HBHC’s offer.
Royce shook his head. “No, they caved. Their board is voting by the end of the week.” He adjusted the unfamiliar wedding band on his finger. “I bet the news breaks while we’re still on our honeymoon.”
“How long will you wait before you—”
“I won’t do anything. I left the ‘when’ up to Tate, but I think he’ll wait a few weeks before he blows the whistle.” Arrogance threaded through his expression. “Just long enough for my dad to congratulate himself on his big win.”
“And after, what happens to Ascension? To Tate?”
He shrugged like he wasn’t talking about a company worth billions of dollars. “Obviously, we’ll need to clean house, and Tate knows where the dirtiest people are.”
Meaning he’d take care of his friend and put him in a high-level position to manage the restructure.
“Your father said something else.” I watched him closely to gauge his reaction. “Had you ever met Dr. Galliat before that day in Emily’s hospital room?”
There was only confusion in his face. “No.”
“So, you’d never spoken to him before.” I used the same word Macalister had. “You don’t have any kind of relationship with him.”
“Relationship?” he repeated. He paused to draw in a breath. “No, of course not.”
My heart ground to a halt, and the rest of me went on autopilot. “Then why would your father say you did?”
Royce lifted a hand casually. “Because he wants to get between us.”
And he’d been successful, because I was certain my husband had just lied to me.
FOURTEEN
SUN BOUNCED OFF THE RIPPLES OF BLUE WATER, and even though I had on sunglasses, the glare was so bright, I still had to shield my eyes. I lay next to Royce on the lounging bed beside the small in-deck pool and tried to focus on the novel I was reading. It was a modern retelling of the story of Ares and Aphrodite, and the book was so hot, it would have made me sweat if I wasn’t already.
But I couldn’t focus on my book, because as he’d done that first night in the library, he was staring at me. More specifically, he was staring at the white string bikini with gold accents I was wearing, and each pass of his lust filled gaze forced me to re-read the last line.
“I’m trying to read,” I said, adjusting the way I was propped up by the pillows.
“Then read.” I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the devilish smile in his words. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
He was distracting in every way. First, he was the poster child for a billionaire playboy right now, lying on the deck of his private yacht in only his aviator sunglasses and black swim trunks, three days’ worth of suntanning making his skin golden brown. Second, I felt his relentless eyes all over me, touching every crevice, stroking each sensitive spot.
And third, when I didn’t give him the attention he desired, he used his fingertips to trace the Medusa tattooed over my ribs. It was pleasurable lightning across my skin, and even more exciting when he leaned over and kissed the ink. It was enough of a distraction for him to grab one of the gold ends of my bikini top and start tugging at the string.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I tried to fake a scowl, but it came out as a lopsided grin.
His kiss moved over the fabric cups of my top while he continued to slowly pull at the string, giving me ample time to stop him.
“We’re in France.”
I threaded my hands through his hair, holding his head to my chest as his mouth traced the edges of my suit. “Technically, we’re in the Principality of Monaco.”
We’d sailed down from Cannes yesterday afternoon and dropped anchor outside the port. The coast of the ultra-rich city-state loomed in the distance.
“Technically, we’re in the territorial waters of the Principality of Monaco.”
“Someone might see,” I whispered, pretending to be reluctant.
His lips fluttered against the skin in the valley between my breasts as he spoke. “Then they’d be really fucking lucky because your tits are amazing. Come on, Marist. Go European for your husband.”
I laughed and arched my back, reaching behind myself to undo the knot. I’d never been shy about my body, and they were just boobs. I wasn’t going to be embarrassed if someone from the crew got an eyeful. They’d probably seen topless clients dozens of times.
Royce pulled the top away, the strings trailing over my body, and dropped it to the deck. “See? Better this way. No tan lines.”
He sucked on my neck while his fingers drew slow circles around my breast, each circuit tighter than the last, closing in on my nipple. My eyes fell shut, and I surrendered to the sensations.
I didn’t know what to do about how he’d lied to me. I had no evidence, only Macalister’s word, which came with an agenda for sure. And I wasn’t exactly being hones
t with my new husband either. I still hadn’t told him what had happened during Thanksgiving in Aspen.
So, I didn’t bring it up. Instead, I let his hand wander south and inch below the waist of my bikini bottom. My voice was husky. “Are you going to try to fuck me out here?”
“No. I am going to fuck you out here.”
The multilevel yacht wasn’t anchored near anything else, and it bobbed gently in the calm waters. The ship was huge. We were out on the lowest deck of the stern, and although we felt completely alone, there was a crew of six aboard.
His tone was sinful. “You don’t want to?” His fingers worked deeper inside my bikini and strummed my clit, making pleasure sizzle across my nerves. “We’ve never had sex outdoors before.”
But we had with other people watching, hadn’t we? I pushed the thought away and refocused on what he was doing to me. When a soft sigh drifted from my lips, victory flashed through him.
He knew he had me.
Although our cabin was spacious, the bed was soft, and the waves served to rock us to sleep, it wouldn’t come for me. This afternoon, we’d taken the dinghy into Monaco. We had dinner at one of the finest restaurants in town and played blackjack at the Casino Monte Carlo. We’d been up by twenty thousand euros at one point, but then our luck ran out and we managed to leave only a few hundred in the hole.
We’d had drinks and danced at a nightclub, full of loud, pumping music, a gorgeous atmosphere, and rich people. Heiresses, royals, and celebrities. At one point, we ran into one of the guys Royce had gone to Harvard with. Royce invited him to join us for a drink, but the guy declined, and I was relieved. He’d seemed like a dick, and right as we were leaving, I saw him snorting coke with two women I could only assume were models.
It was late when we’d climbed into bed, and Royce had fallen right to sleep, and although I was tired, there was a nagging at the back of my mind that would not be quiet. It told me if I didn’t draw the line now, I’d be setting myself up for more lies in the future.
