Dishonored

by Bethany-Kris

  In a roundabout way.

  Sort of.

  Aria was every reason he was sitting in this office. And their wedding day was every single fucking reason he agreed to do this, too.

  He couldn’t forget it.

  Not even if he tried.

  “Marry me,” he’d whispered against her lips. Because how could he not want to marry this insane, beautiful, sinful woman?

  “Marry me,” he’d demanded with his fingers stuffed deep into her cunt, and his hand tight around her throat. Because how could he pretend like she didn’t own all the good and terrible pieces of him?

  “Fucking marry me,” he’d said roughly when she came for a fifth time, sobbing through the rushes, and shaking just the way he liked. Because when had he ever believed that he could live a day without her when today he’d woken up feeling like she’d been there his whole damn life?

  Caesar expected that yes to come easily. Especially when he and Aria were like this—the very best of them was like this. Sex, and sin, and them. He expected her yes to burst from her lipstick-smeared red lips because he loved her, and she loved him.

  Even if they were still figuring that love thing out.

  She surprised him.

  Like this, he was the one with all the power. She never let him believe differently inside their private moments, but fuck him if she wasn’t so damn good at pretending, too. He controlled, and she bent to his demands. It was the only time he did get her so compliant and sweet.

  And fucking still …

  Still she managed to turn the tables.

  She was always doing that to him.

  “Marry me, mia cara donna.”

  Breathless, trembling, and barely able to breathe with his hand still tight around her throat, she whispered, “On one condition, il mio tiranno.”

  This was the condition.

  This therapy.

  This couch.

  This woman.

  Twice a week, it never failed, even on his goddamn wedding day because that was just how the fucking appointments landed. It didn’t matter. He still needed to come, and face this woman for at least an hour. He had to spill his darkest secrets, and bare his tar-black soul.

  It hurt.

  It was vicious.

  It left him raw.

  Caesar told Amber things he had only ever told Aria, but here, it was different. Here, he had no relationship with his therapist that muddied up the waters. Here, he was not fucking her or loving her like he did Aria.

  “I know Aria trusts me,” Caesar said, coming back into their earlier conversation again. “And that’s why I come here, Amber. I did this for her—I continue to come for me. I don’t think for one second that a couple of months of this is going to rewire the shit in my brain that’s made me the way I am.”

  “But?” his therapist pressed.

  “But here I am—I want to be here.”

  Even if it was his fucking wedding day.

  Even if he could be doing literally anything else.

  Here he was.

  Amber set her paper pad and pen aside before folding her hands in her lap. “And on my other question—what do you have to say for that?”

  Caesar sighed, and rested back in the chair. “What, how I go into sex with her?”

  “That, yes. And how you still view it—is it still inherently shameful for you, or to be used as a way to harm someone else even if you’re doing none of those things during sex?”

  “You are getting close to my line.”

  His one do not cross in all of this was Aria.

  And sex with her.

  He didn’t—and would not—bring their sex life into this fucking mess. He had brought their sexual activities into his mess more than enough, and it wasn’t going to happen again.

  “Caesar, you know that’s not what I’m asking,” Amber said.

  “Maybe not, but it feels like it.”

  “Give me an answer, Caesar. So, then you can go into today and beyond this day knowing. And maybe you can feel like Aria knows it, too.”

  Fine.

  “She doesn’t let me do that—there’s no option for it.”

  “How so?”

  Because Aria was smart, and just as manipulative as he was on her worst days. The difference between him and her was that she could use her abilities for good whereas he had only used his for bad things.

  She wouldn’t fuck him if he was angry—wouldn’t let him touch her beyond a kiss, or something just as innocent on the days he was sharp, and jagged like broken glass ready to cut someone who came too close. She wouldn’t let him take her when his moods were bleak, or worse, when he went into one of his spells with someone else.

  She wouldn’t let him use her.

  Not to feel better, or to redirect his need to hurt someone by doing something else with her. Not to distract himself, or even to divert her.

  No, Aria was too good for that.

  She forced Caesar to reevaluate, figure out another way to handle whatever the issue was, and then come back to her when it was good again. Never once did she allow him to use her sexually in lieu of that, though.

  “Every moment of me and her is always just me and her,” Caesar said, unwilling to explain it much more than those words. “That’s how she wants this—that’s what I like. There’s no underlying shit to it; I’m not out for anything but what she’s giving me in that moment.”

  Sure, they were still dirty.

  They still fucked raw.

  It was great.

  But that’s all it was.

  That, and love.

  Amber nodded, and picked up her paper pad and pen again. “Good. Now, how’s work?”

  Just like that, they were onto something else.

  He glanced at the clock.

  Five hours to go.

  Five hours, and Aria was all his.

  The murmurings in the pews of Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul quieted as Caesar and Cain stood at the end of the white satin aisle runner. Gazes—many of those they recognized; guests specially chosen for this day—turned on the two men, although they lingered more on Caesar.

  He expected that—a new boss was always being sized up by those around him. Even if it was his fucking wedding day.

  The church had been decorated in variances of white and soft lavender. Ropes of delicate tulle connected each pew with a bushel of white roses and purple lilacs holding it all together. He wasn’t one to notice decoration, but Aria had worked particularly hard on every little detail for this day, so he didn’t mind taking a moment to appreciate all her work.

  Every bit of it.

  “You ready?” Cain asked beside him.

  Caesar nodded to his best friend. “Never been more ready, man.”

  Cain’s large hand landed hard to Caesar’s back. “Let’s get this party started, then.”

  The two headed up the aisle, and while Cain stopped to say hello to a scant few guests, Caesar didn’t once stop until he was standing on the bottom step of the altar. His friend joined his side just as the priest came out in all his white and golden robes to stand behind the two.

  “How was your penance, Caesar?”

  Caesar scowled.

  Beside him, Cain smirked.

  The asshole.

  “It went well, Father,” he replied.

  The priest nodded. “Better to go into a day like today fresh and clean, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Sure.”

  That was a demand of the Bishop, and the church’s requirements when it came to marrying a couple. Alongside months’ long couple’s classes, both Caesar and Aria had been made to do confession with their priest before the ceremony could begin.

  It wasn’t like he could say no.

  It’d been … hell, five years since he last confessed. It still felt like nothing had changed even as he had slipped into the confessional room, and took a seat across from his priest re
ady to admit to his transgressions with a promise not to repeat them.

  Some sins, he wouldn’t commit again. Others … well, that was between him, his wife, and God.

  Made men were made for life.

  Well, Caesar didn’t believe for a second that a few Hail Marys and all the other prayers he had been made to recite for his latest sins were going to change very much between him and God. A prayer wasn’t going to get him any closer to heaven.

  It had always been a delicate relationship.

  At best.

  Besides, he always found heaven somewhere else. Now, he found that blissful, wonderful place between Aria’s thighs.

  Caesar grinned to himself.

  Maybe he wasn’t all that different. Maybe he hadn’t changed too much. He was just a different breed of sinner, now.

  The church quieted again when the creak of an opening door echoed down the aisle. Caesar hadn’t even taken his gaze away from those doors at the back of the church from the moment he came to stand on the altar—he felt like he’d been waiting for this day for far too long.

  He was done waiting.

  And so was she.

  There she stood just beyond the open doors in an off-white gown that hugged every single one of her curves, and teased him from fifty feet away. Decorated in lace and pearls, the dress she picked to wear for this day was perfect, daring, and everything he expected. Strapless with a neckline just low enough to be suggestive, yet modest enough to keep the priest from grumbling, it fit Aria like a glove.

  Yet, it was still enough to take his breath away. Always keeping him on his toes. He looked forward to that happening for the rest of his goddamn life.

  How could he not?

  Now that she was there—and almost with him—Caesar had the strangest urge to bolt down the aisle and grab his soon-to-be wife. Even as the people stood in the church to begin the procession of her walk, he had to beat down the urge to go and walk with her.

  She wanted to walk alone. She wanted to come to him willingly.

  She had her reasons.

  He let her have them.

  This love and marriage and life thing was supposed to be all about compromise, anyway. Wasn’t it?

  Their procession and wedding party was small. So small, in fact, that they didn’t even have one to begin with. He had Cain to stand for him, and sign the necessary documents, but even then, he could have made his best man sit for the majority of the ceremony. Aria had done that for the person she chose to be her witness.

  There was no ring bearer to walk.

  No flower girl.

  No people.

  Just her.

  And him waiting at the end.

  Time stood still for Caesar in the seconds it took for Aria to come down the aisle, and meet him at the end. Cain took her bouquet of white roses and lilac accents, and set it aside so that Caesar could finally get her hands in his.

  Jesus.

  He felt so much better when he was holding her.

  He was him again like this.

  Always, with her.

  Her off-white lace veil crowned her face and curls like a halo of delicate perfection. There was nothing hiding her dark eyes and red smile from his view, and he loved it.

  Adored that this was how she’d chosen to present herself. She was not some present for him to unwrap—she’d already given him the gift of her a long time ago.

  “Ti amo,” she whispered before the priest could begin.

  Caesar grinned. “Sempre, Aria.”

  It was the one thing he knew for sure.

  The one thing he believed in until the end of time.

  Them.

  And his vows would be a reflection of that—his vows would be the truth, so help him fucking God; his truth hadn’t killed him.

  Somehow.

  His truth just loved him.

  His vows were for her; because of her: And I will love you until my last breath the way I should have loved you from my very first.

  It was his promise to her.

  No matter what, Caesar would keep it.

  A NOTE!

  I went into this book without really knowing who Caesar and Aria were beyond the skin-deep, surface things. I knew their issues, and how they came to be. But I wasn’t far enough into their minds to really get it. And then when I was, what I found terrified me.

  There has never been characters in my backlist more broken than these two … and I love them for it. I love them for being survivors, but also villains. Because they are that, too. And if you have made it this far, you’ve probably realized that as much as these two are the hero and heroine of their own story, they are also very much their own villains, too. But for every villain, there is someone who made them that way. It’s a good lesson to remember.

  Thank you to all the ladies who helped with this book. Proofing, editing, London for the cover, and more. It means the world.

  To my hubby who gave me that look when I mentioned Caesar was a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, and he never even thought to question me on whether I was sure this was a road I wanted to go down. Of course, it was, he knew. These stories need told, too. Thank you, D. My biggest fan from the jump, babe.

  And to my readers—thank you for coming on this journey with me. It’s less fun when I’m doing it alone; you all make it far better.

  Hugs, loves.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to four young sons, one cat, and three dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, a snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a spouse calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something ... when she can find the time.

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  Copyright © 2018 by Bethany-K
ris. All Rights Reserved.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted material is illegal and punishable by law. No parts of this work may be reproduced, copied, used, or printed without expressed written consent from the publisher/author. Exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in reviews.

  eISBN 13: 978-1-988197-65-4

  Editor: Elizabeth Peters

  Proofreaders: Tracy A., Mia B., Tori W. and Felicia F.

  Cover Design © London Miller

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, corporations, locales and so forth are a product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.