We take our seats at the head table overlooking all our guests. A dance floor is off to the side, and I look away. The waitress comes to fill my glass, and I tell her to fill it up. I’m going to need to be drunk for whatever is going to happen tonight. After my third glass, he makes me stop drinking since I haven’t been eating. I fume and glare at my father, seated only a few tables over, facing us and staring me down.
I fidget a bit before excusing myself from the table to use the restroom, and Blake eyes me warily. I leave without a backward glance and head out to the hall beyond. On my way into the hall, a server has a tray of drinks on her way into the reception room. I snag one from her and drain the entire glass in about ten seconds. My eyes stare at the inside of the glass as the buzz makes me dizzy. Then I stumble a bit to the side table and manage to set the glass down without breaking it.
I am about to continue to the restroom when I see Mr. Fortini at the other end of the hall. I stifle a burp with the back of my hand as he approaches me, smiling. I wait, nervous and wondering if he saw the wedding dress and if I’m going to have to explain myself to him.
“My dear, Marina,” he says, smiling and taking my hand in both of his. “How lovely you look tonight. I’m sorry I missed the wedding.” Relief floods me, even as tears threaten. He sees my reaction and draws me to the side of the hall. He pats my hand in comfort, looking down at me. “What is it, dear?”
It’s then I realized I could have called him. I could have asked him to help me get out of my hell. But on the heels of that thought, his world is different. And if I received a favor, what sort of favor would he have wanted in return? I don’t believe he would want anything vile from me. But he had given my father a loan, and what sort of loan would I be in his world? No, it is best I figure this out on my own.
I look up at him. I realize it has been three years since I’ve last seen him, and he is nothing as I remember those three years past. I note he isn’t quite as tall as I thought he was. He seems to have a stoop in his once robust body and strong back. He seems frailer, bonier, and withered. But as he holds my hand in his own, I still feel some residual strength in his fingers. I flick my gaze to the reception room and then back to him.
“Ahh!” He smiles at me. “Yes, Mr. Harland is quite the enigma. There’s something—different—about him, isn’t there?”
His brown eyes search mine, and I furrow my brow, remaining silent. I hadn’t thought he was too mysterious. Private, maybe, but what is it that Mr. Fortini knows that I do not? Of course, he would have better resources than I would in researching such a man as Blake.
“You will be fine,” he tells me, almost conspiratorially. “He will watch out for you. I’ve seen him with you in this short amount of time. He loves you.”
I blink. Love? Certainly not! And I almost take my hand back as my stomach lurches, but I stop myself. No one yanks their hand away from Mr. Fortini. I remain still, willing my stomach to hold on for just a moment more. Blake doesn’t love me—he only met me briefly three years ago. He barely spoke to me in the years since—and not once in the entire week leading up to this wedding.
Mr. Fortini pats my hand knowingly. “I would like to meet with your husband once this wedding business is done. He can do something for me that I desperately want.”
“What do you want?” I ask, despite myself knowing it is none of my business. But I wonder what would a man such as Mr. Fortini, who can get whatever he needs, would want from Blake?
“A new life,” he says quietly. “A business deal, perhaps.” He smiles at me once again. Then he leans in and kisses my cheeks. “Congratulations, my dear.”
He releases my hand and disappears down the hall, away from the reception. My stomach roils, and I head to the bathroom as quickly as I can. I vomit in the toilet of the first stall, bent over, hands on the seat. Thankfully, my hair is in an updo. I empty my guts once again and again when I thought I was done. I do it once more—probably for good measure.
I guess I’m not killing myself with alcohol poisoning tonight.
I spit out the last and press the button at the top of the toilet before staggering to the sink. Flushed, I rest against the sink and turn the handle for cold water. I scoop water into my mouth, rinse and repeat. I wipe the rest of my makeup off with a scratchy paper towel. My mascara is rockin’ the raccoon look, and I leave it. I rest my hands on the sink and hear the clink. I never thought I’d wear a diamond so big, let alone own one. I twist it a bit, watching it wink as it catches the light. I will not be wearing it for much longer. I head back out to the reception. The noise. The laughter. The clinking of silverware against porcelain.
Him.
His eyes are on me the entire walk. I ignore him and the others who congratulate me. He sees what I’ve done in the bathroom, and his face grows hard once again. I ignore him as I take my seat, and then I glare at him.
“I threw up,” I tell him to explain my makeup or lack thereof.
I snag my wineglass again. As I bring it up to my lips, it continues past my mouth and over to his side of the table, where he sets it down. His movements are so agile and fluid. I scowl, reaching for my water glass instead. It tastes like tap water, and I chug it anyway. Then I use the back of my hand to wipe my lips, ignoring the vibrating ball of anger beside me. He hasn’t said much of anything to me, nor I to him. And when I glance over, his eyes are not on me. I follow his gaze to see my father approaching the table.
My heart rate speeds up as the old fear creeps in, and I take a shaky breath, mad at myself for going full steam, only to have my father squelch it with his approach. I try to bring back my defiance and anger, but he is stalking up to the table and I remember those times when he would stalk up to me. I feel Blake grasp my hand, and I cannot even take my hand away. But then, strangely, the feel of his hand over mine brings me comfort and seems to infuse strength into me. My fear dissolves and anger replaces it.
My father leans over a bit, meeting my defiant eyes, and says, “Marina, you have dis—”
“Don’t!” I dare him, my eyes flashing, and he jerks back. I’ve never talked back to him before. My impending end gives me courage. I hiss, “Don’t tell me I’ve dishonored you!” Then I tighten the screws a bit. “I hate you!”
And just at that moment, the music stops, and the ones who could hear my voice gasp, their eyes darting from me to my father. My father draws back, scowling at me, and flings away from me. I glare at his back and anyone else who dares to look my way. They get the hint, and then I feel the hand over mine shift, so now he grips my wrist tightly, his thumb resting—no pressing—into that sensitive spot that makes my hand go numb.
I do not flinch. I turn to him with a forced smile, like I am most besotted with him, with his gestures—his touch. His eyes widen slightly and then narrow as I lean in and over to his hand, my lips pressing on his hand—my teeth nipping his hand. So he jerks it away in surprise. To the guests, it looks as if I kissed him. I lean back up and see our guests laughing or waiting for his reaction. He gives none.
He rises then and holds his hand to me. The marks from my teeth fade from his skin as if they never existed. I cover his hand with my own, allowing him to draw me up. I stand beside him, my fate, and the guests slowly clap, and some whistles go out. But everything seems forced, even their exuberance. And for a moment, I revel in it. I was able to put a pall over the evening. And as he leads me out, I realize I get to skip the rest of the night here and I am glad for it.
He jerks me to his side, his fingers biting into my side as we walk as one out of the reception hall. We are at the doors ready to leave and my father intercepts us. He looks at Blake and asks if the deal is in good standing, giving a jerk of his chin to me. He glares at me, but there’s sweat on his brow as he faces Blake. My brow furrows, and I cast a glance at Blake, whose jaw is clenched. He tells my father to not worry about it and yanks me out to the Limo.
It’s fully dark out now, the streetlights casting a glow over our path, and I’m
handed into the Limo. We do not speak as the driver takes us to Blake’s place. I’ve never been inside his home, but I’ve seen the pictures. It’s his castle without a moat or dragon guarding it because he is the dragon, and he guards everything and everyone and will drown or blast with fire whoever he wishes to.
He’s ruthless. Determined. He lets nothing get in the way of what he wants. He wanted me, and he got me. So I gave him me—the me that I’ve wanted to be but had been too afraid to let loose. The me that was forged out of the life that dealt me wrong when I was younger and then again, three years ago. The me that was forged out of terror I’ve faced. He thinks he can scare me. But he doesn’t know—I’ve seen the dredges of society. I lived it. I survived it. I’m not afraid of him.
He doesn’t frighten me in the least—after what was done to me, no one can scare me ever again.
Blake
I HEARD HER PACING in the small room where she was getting dressed. I had thought little of it other than she was nervous. I wanted to explain to her before the wedding, and I should have. I know I will have to, eventually. But one thing after the other happened this past week, and before I knew it, it was time to get married. If I had explained to her, then maybe she wouldn’t have been nervous—or upset. I tried to make up for any misconceptions by having that beautiful wedding dress picked out for her. I had it created specifically for her.
I waited at the altar with the Officiant. The music picked up, and the doors did not open. I frowned, and the guests turned in anticipation. I looked at the bride’s section and saw what appeared to be her father’s acquaintances. When I had told him of the date, I had expected him to tell her friends, but I saw no one her age seated in the pews. I wasn’t exactly sure what to think about that. And I was about to walk down the aisle when the doors were pushed open with force, banging against the wall as if foretelling what was about to occur.
And when she entered the room, it was not anything I expected in the least. Her face was thunderous, defiant, and she glared at me. The gasps from the guests went unheeded. I clenched my jaw and my fingers curled into my palms. She stalked up the aisle to me and glared at me the entire time the Officiant spoke the vows. Then she stood still when it was time to kiss. I saw her defiance and anger. And as I pressed my cold lips to her tightly pressed ones, I knew immediately I would need to deal with this delicately.
I hope I can, anyway.
Chapter Four
Marina
I PRECEDE HIM INTO his bedroom, and he follows, closing the door gently, but the click echoes. Despite myself, I flinch. I look around the massive room. The bed appears larger than even a king-sized bed. The frame encasing the thick mattress is cherry wood; I think—it certainly looks like it. Four posts rise to the ceiling. The comforter rests folded at the foot of the bed and the thick, fluffy pillows wait patiently at the head. The bed has been turned down, revealing black, shiny sheets. I bet the sheets are silk; he would not spare that expense. All the furniture matches and is large and imposing to fit the space they occupy. There’s an attached bathroom, a walk-in closet and a large picture window with heavy drapes.
It’s massive. Like he is.
After my quick perusal, I turn and face him and his glittering eyes. “So, where do you want to start?” I challenge and put a hand on my hip.
He draws a step away, his brows coming together. “Start?” he asks.
I finally get a word out of him, and I’m pleased. I want him to do it now—no more waiting. I despise him and what he has done. The only good thing he has done was to rescue me from those two guys in the seedy motel room who were well on their way to hurt me. But even though he rescued me, I knew that my life was over.
“If you start around here,” I gesture to my torso, “I will still be awake when you start in on my face.” Unless his first hit knocks me into a wall, and I clack my head against it. Then, hopefully, blissful peace will descend, and I will wake no more.
I expect him to hit me, torture me—kill me. He can easily dispose of my body. No one will come looking for me—my father certainly won’t care. But the man standing before me takes a step back from me, and I see that I’ve startled him. I kick off my heels, and they hit the side of the wall to fall upside down and on their sides. I toss the purse onto the bed and put my hands on my hips. He still has that strange look on his face, and it would be comical if I didn’t truly understand the fate that awaited me right now.
I know I’ve only just changed hells and I will make sure he does it. If it’s quick, then good. If not, then at least I know it will come. I hate him and his kind. I hate every male that exerts their authority at the expense of the weak. If I was strong enough to kill him, I’d do it. But who am I? And that would defeat my ultimate purpose. One hit from him, and I’m sure some bone would break inside of me. Maybe I’ll bleed internally. I don’t really want the pain, but at least the pain will tell me that it’s working. I’m ready for him to start and now I’m impatient for it.
He looks shocked now.
“Just get it over with. Do your worst.” I demand.
I’m not sure if I’m the chicken or not. I could have done it myself. I almost did one time. Things got bearable after that—for a short time. Then I was on a tighter leash. A leash that choked me and subdued me. Perhaps I am just a big chicken, unable to do this for myself, so I have to goad someone into doing it for me.
“My worst?” he repeats and steps to me.
I do not back up and tilt my face up to his. He stares down at me with those blue eyes that have no depth. I thought he’d still be angry with me, but there is something else there now and it’s strange since I’ve pushed all night for this moment. I study him for a moment—Sympathy? I don’t want it. He can take it and shove it up his ass. I don’t need sympathy. I want nothing from him but what he can do right now.
“Was the dress so terrible?” His voice is gentle and soothing.
I expected a hit, a punch, and now it’s my turn to be confused. The dress was absolutely lovely, and I hated to destroy the thing. However, I had to prove a point—like I did all night—my lips part, and I stare dumbly because I expected him to toss me around, throw a punch, break my bones. I deserve it for what I did, right?
His hand raises and I lift my chin. His knuckles come to the side of my face, and I clench my jaw. The back of his hand traces from my cheek to my jaw bone. The soft, tickling sensation causes me to gasp and I slide away, shaking and confused. My brows come together, and suddenly I’m angry that he doesn’t do what I’ve goaded him to do all night.
“Am I that repugnant to you?” His voice is calm, melodic, and it draws me.
But he asks a question I can relate to. I want to tell him, yes—and cannot. He is not repugnant. Nor would I ever put his name to that description. This marriage is. The way it was conducted is. The way he stood in my father’s office conducting this affair as a regular part business is. He owns my father, and now he owns me. And I had worked so hard to get away.
“I’m not a deal.” My words that sounded so forceful in my head come out in an anguished whisper, telling him exactly how I feel underneath this anger, and it makes me even more upset. I do not wish to reveal to him my pain.
“You pushed me all night,” he tells me in that same quiet tone.
“You forced me all night,” I clap back, my spunk returning. Not exactly true, but he forced my hand. I meet his eyes in defiance. This wedding night is not going how I thought it would. I thought I would bleed more.
His eyes almost look sad. “The loan was a deal. Not you.”
“Same difference!” I shout and close distance, my hands balled at my side. “Now what?” I demand. “The wedding night?” I can barely voice it out, and it ends in a croak, even as a shudder racks my body.
“Do you want it?” A perfect eyebrow raises. The words hang there. He’s leaving it up to me?
He confuses me, and it makes me angry. “No!” I spit out.
But when I look into his ey
es, a part of me wants him to touch me. To hold me, to calm me, comfort me, and make me forget about what I seek tonight. I back up and cross my arms over my chest. I hate him. I need to keep feeding my hate because that will make him slip up. Maybe he won’t do it tonight, but he will. I’ll make him.
“This is your room,” he tells me. He turns on his heel and walks out, the door clicking softly behind him as I’m left in silence.
So much for dying tonight.
Blake
I SAW HER DEFIANCE all night. I knew she wasn’t happy when her father and I made the deal three years past. She was just part of the bargain that I so callously asked for. But she was also a means to my ends—another callous statement. I had never intended on harming her. The marriage I needed I would have in name only for as long as she needed, since no stipulation on the length was ever specified. She was perfect for what I needed to fulfill what the Council expected of me. And then the deal was done, accepted by all parties. And all those years ago, I saw what she tried to hide from me. At that moment, I wished to take her away, protect her, and tell her no one would harm her again. But she was too young and so I made sure she was safe in other ways when she parted ways with her father. And I had thought she might settle down, come into her own.
I got a she-devil.
And yes, I was angry when I saw her walking down the aisle. It was all I could do to not drag her back down the aisle and buy another dress. But the wedding had to take place. I was running out of time and decided to let her wear that dress. I don’t care about the dress, not really. I had my trusted assistant choose it for her, not realizing that maybe she would have wanted to do so. However, we never spoke again until we said our vows. She showed courage and defiance and damned if that didn’t stir me up. I knew she was doing this to try and humiliate me, but her spunk made me think there was something inside of her that was just waiting for me to discover. And I wanted to discover it. I wanted to find Marina inside that wall she erected around herself.
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