Obsession (Sinners of New Orleans #3)

Chapter 10

TEN

Madi

W hether I like it or not, today I’m marrying Adrian Russo.

My mother all but pushed me out the door to the dressing room and now I stand at the beginning of the aisle in a dress that’s clinging to my skin in the worst ways. It’s pretty, that I can’t deny. And yet, I’d do anything to get out of the white fabric. To get out of this church.

There’s an ache in my chest. A longing for the freedom that’s now run out. I wish Lana was here; she’d be able to quiet the anxiety raging inside me. But she’s not. She’s in New York with the man she loves, and I’m here, marrying someone I hate.

Processional music begins to play, and the large wooden doors open, revealing the church filled with guests. This wedding is a spectacle designed by my mother, and everyone is here to watch my demise.

At the end of the aisle is him . Adrian Russo. Dressed in a black tux with a white shirt and a teal bow tie. The color taunts me. It’s almost an exact match to what my hair looked like only yesterday. I suck in a breath, trying to hide my surprise, but Adrian catches my eyes anyway and gives me a wink.

Something about that wink makes my blood boil. He’s forcing me to marry him and he’s taunting me? With those charming eyes and the way he’s watching me, waiting for me to walk down this aisle and become his.

He thinks he’s won.

My mother told me no theatrics today. She was clear that if I did anything other than walk down the aisle and marry Adrian Russo, I would be an embarrassment to the family. This morning, I felt so small and pathetic that I didn’t even think to protest my marriage anymore.

But now?

The anger is reappearing, building up in my chest.

Fuck this family.

And fuck Adrian Russo.

I make my way down the aisle, and instead of walking gracefully like my mother taught me a thousand times, I stomp.

It’s hard to do so in these ridiculous heels, and I bet I look like I just don’t know how to walk, but it doesn’t stop me.

I continue my way, ignoring the faces of the guests lined up in the pews. Each step is lacking any sort of grace, and Adrian smirks as he watches me. I probably look like a child, but if you’re going to force my hand, then this is what you’re going to get.

As I spare a look at my mother’s horrified face, something about her down-turned lips and clear dismay fuels me. I did tell my husband that if he chose to marry me, I would spend the rest of my days finding ways to make him miserable. He should have listened better, because misery starts today.

Adrian meets me at the end of the aisle, just as we rehearsed. He’s not frowning like my mother, though. No, there’s a sly smirk still ghosting his lips, like he’s amused with my theatrics. Large hands reach forward and I flinch, something that pauses Adrian in his tracks. One eyebrow lifts as he looks at me with a questioning gaze. It takes me a moment to realize he was just moving my veil, like he was told to do in rehearsal, not about to hit me.

I inhale deeply and nod for him to continue. He moves the lacy fabric over my head as practiced, revealing my face. Leaning in closely, he fixes the material so it lays smoothly down my back, but also giving him the opportunity to whisper in my ear while no one else can hear.

“You’re being a brat, Madi.” He tsks, the vibration of the action sending a spark through my body. “What did I tell you about being a brat, hmm? It’s gonna get you punished.”

Heat rises to my face, even though I’m begging myself to not be affected. Adrian notices the minute he pulls back, that smug smirk widening on his cheeks as he takes my hand. It feels like he’s leading me to my death as we step up to the altar where the priest is waiting.

Butterflies twist my stomach as he continues to hold my hand. He nods at the Father to begin this joke of a marriage ceremony. I don’t hear any of what’s being said, I just hear Adrian’s voice on a loop in my mind. You’re being a brat, Madi. It’s gonna get you punished.

I wonder what a punishment from Adrian looks like… From my father, it would hurt, leave bruises on more than just my skin. Even from Marcus, a punishment would mean pain. My scalp tingles in response to the thought, like I can feel him pulling my hair as he drags me through the house, even though he’s not here at all. My mother punished with words. Or lack of them. The silent treatment was her favorite way to show me I meant nothing to her.

So many options, I can’t decide what I think Adrian will pick. But he doesn’t seem like my father or brother. I don’t think he’d physically hurt me. And ignoring me would be a gift.

“And now for the vows. Madi, repeat after me.” My name coming from the priest’s mouth nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

“Actually,” I interrupt him before he can start spitting out the normal vows, a new plan coming to life. Adrian already said he was going to punish me, what’s a little more at this point? “I wrote my own.”

Adrian’s eyebrows lift, questions showing on his face, and I swear I can hear my mother audibly gasp from her pew.

“Go head.” The priest gestures for me to begin, and I suck in a deep breath, steeling my spine as I prepare to improv my vows to the man I hate.

“I vow to be there for you in sickness and in health, especially when the sickness is the result of my cooking, and the health is the miraculous outcome of surviving it.” I can hear my mother mutter Jesus’s name from her pew, as this is surely the embarrassment she told me to avoid. “I promise to cherish and respect you, in every argument that we have, ensuring I always have the last word. I vow to support you through all your hard times, standing by your side, and occasionally reminding you, 'I told you so,' in most of them. And I vow to always be there for you. Just remember, you’re stuck with me now.”

I feel validated hearing a few giggles from the crowd as I finish my vows, but quickly, that’s wiped away from the amused look on Adrian’s face. He doesn’t seem angry at all. Rather, he seems like he enjoyed every word.

The priest nods at Adrian.

“That was beautiful, wife.” The way he calls me wife opens a pit in the bottom of my stomach that threatens to swallow me whole. “I wrote my own as well.”

Adrian recites standard sweet vows. Promising to take care of me forever, to love me through everything. The thought of forever makes me want to throw up. I inhale deeply to keep myself from vomiting all over his leather shoes. I thought I would catch him off guard by writing my own, making him stumble through his vows, but he’s not affected by me in the slightest. He must finish because then the priest announces us as Mr. and Mrs. Russo and tells Adrian to kiss me.

There’s that sly smile on his face as he leans in, his lips ghosting my ear. “Such boldness in your vows, princess. It seems only fair that I hold up my end of the bargain. I can’t wait to punish you tonight,” he whispers, and I’m still frozen when he moves his head, bringing his lips to mine in a searing kiss that makes me dizzy.

The world stops spinning as his tongue breaks the seal of my lips, invading me as his arms wrap around my body, holding me close. There are whoops and cheers coming from the crowd, but all of it is hazy background noise.

When Adrian finally lets me go, my lips are buzzing, pulse fluttering and face flushed, and the asshole looks satisfied as ever.

So much for not letting him affect me.

There’s a parade.

A goddamn parade after the ceremony.

Adrian has a million-watt smile as he raises a teal parasol in time with the music. I can’t help but notice the color is a perfect match to his bow tie. Two things are bothering me about the sight as I take my own white lace parasol.

One, is that while I kept as far away from wedding planning as possible, I still know the chosen colors are pale pink and champagne gold. His unique teal color scheme seems out of place and has me itching to run my fingers through my hair. The color feels like a phantom limb, like something that should be there even though it’s not. Why did he choose that color?

Two... “Why the fuck are we having a parade?” I ask out loud.

“It’s tradition.” Adrian grins as he continues to wave to the crowds gathering at the edges of the sidewalks.

The tradition is loud and has too many eyeballs pointed in my direction. People look and cheer as we follow the small brass band. It should be a short trek to the restaurant, but the charade is drawn out as we’re guided down the long way.

Traditions are everything in our world. God forbid you step out of line and be unique. This one, however, feels like a show made specifically for my discomfort.

But I guess the wedding wouldn’t be a PR spectacle without the spectacle .

“Kiss her!” someone shouts from the crowd, and people chant their agreement with loud cheers and hollers.

Adrian’s kiss from the church is still burning on my lips, confusing the shit out of me as we’re dragged through the French Quarter. I’m not ready for a repeat, but when he turns to me, that same grin plastered across his face, I don’t think I have much of a choice.

“Should we give the people what they want?” he asks, sounding as arrogant as can be.

“Only if you want me to bite you in public,” I snap.

Laughter booms from deep within, and his head rolls back, his hand clutching his chest like I’ve told the funniest joke. For a moment, I can’t tell if he’s truly laughing at me or if he’s exaggerating for the show.

Moving closer to me, he wraps his arms around my waist so he can tug me against him. “Princess, look at me,” he whispers, the softness a stark contrast to the laughter.

When I tilt my head up to him, he takes the moment to lean in, pressing his lips against mine in another kiss. This one doesn’t last as long. It’s quick and gentle, and when he pulls away from me, the people on the streets cheer once more.

The reality of this charade weighs on me. Everything he does is manipulation. He wants to show the world what a pretty couple we are, pander to the media while behind the scenes he helps cover up the crime, the money, the blood.

And I’m just a pawn in the narrative.

A cute distraction.

The pretty princess in a white gown.