Chapter 18
18
Emery
T he limousine purrs to a halt beside the church, and my father opens the passenger door for me.
“You look beautiful,” he says as he helps me out. “Just perfect.”
Yeah, right. I wish I was excited rather than nauseated, but after the week I’ve had, it’s hardly surprising I’ve been munching anti-sickness meds like sweets.
Dante called three times this week. I wouldn’t say he was nice—that’s not his style—but he didn’t indicate anything was wrong.
He has me conditioned not to ask questions, and I knew I’d find out soon enough, but as the days wore on, I wondered whether I was going crazy.
The flowers and the platinum Amex were tangible things, but they were not what scared me. It was the presence, the creeping sensation of never being alone.
I know how it sounds. But it’s not Dante I saw everywhere, or even his cronies.
It was Leon.
His chocolate eyes grabbed mine from car windows, inside coffee shops, you name it. In my periphery, I saw his confident stride, that expensive overcoat, but when I looked twice, they were gone. Even at work, I felt him there, like a ghost.
He stalks my thoughts, sure, but believing I’ve somehow manifested him into reality is definitely the kind of thing that will earn me a one-way ticket to a locked ward.
I didn’t tell anybody what was happening; they’d put it down to stress, and who’s to say they’d be wrong?
So now it’s my wedding day, and none of the tweaks I spent so much money on are making me feel better. Butter-soft roses and Dom Perignon champagne are wonderful but can’t compensate for the man.
The bridal march starts inside, played by a string quartet, and Dad offers me his arm.
“It will be alright,” he says abruptly. “Let’s get it over with.”
He leads me through the doors, and everyone stands, looking our way. I have no bridesmaids to support me. All I can do is get through it.
I stare at my bouquet, trying to steady my breathing. It’s not just nerves; it’s a deep, instinctual dread that pricks my skin like needles.
Every step brings me closer to the man who controls every part of my life—my family’s finances, my father’s reputation, and even my independence.
I agreed to this for my father, for our future, and now it’s too late.
In a few minutes, I’ll be Mrs. Firenze. It may as well be a gallows at the end of the aisle.
“I’m sorry,” my father says, giving my hand a reassuring pat. “Just know I had no choice.”
What is he talking about?
I haven’t dared to look at Dante yet because I didn’t want him to see the regret in my eyes. When I finally glance up, I almost faint in shock.
Standing at the altar is the man who dominated my thoughts and crept into my fevered dreams all week.
Leon.
That’s it—it’s grippy sock vacation time. Please provide one padded cell for Dr. Emery Bright, with bed and breakfast included.
My father’s grip on my arm tightens. “Stay calm, Emery,” he says. “I know this is unexpected, but?—”
“What the Hell is going on?” I whisper.
He ignores me and stares straight ahead, so I turn my attention back to Leon, who is beginning to look a damn sight more real.
His black suit is immaculately tailored, making him look like a shadow against the lightness of the church. His eyes are fixed on me, intense and unyielding, and although his expression doesn’t change as I approach, his gaze holds me captive.
At his side stand two men, imposing in their own way, and between them, an anxious-looking priest.
How is this happening? I figured Leon was rich, but is he affluent enough to commandeer a wedding, with the bride’s consent an afterthought? And why is my dad an accomplice?
I look at my father, hoping for some explanation, but his face is unreadable. He gives me a slight nod as we reach the altar, his lips set in a resigned line.
“It’s for the best, Emery,” he says. “Trust me.”
Trust him? What?
Before I can process what’s happening, he lets go of my hand and steps back, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and face-to-face with the last person I expected to see.
Leon’s hand reaches for mine, his grip solid as he pulls me closer.
“You’re a vision,” he says.
“What’s your game?” I try to twist free of his grasp, but he holds me easily. “You can’t steal me like this. I won’t let you.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a brief, claiming gesture. He leans close, his breath warm on my ear.
“This is happening whether you like it or not,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now.”
Fury and confusion flood through me. “Why? How?”
“Your fuckwit fiancé tangled with the wrong man.” He smiles. “So I did a little monkey business and wrecked his investments. Your dear old dad is next if you don’t cooperate.”
I stare at him, blinking stupidly as I try and process what he’s saying.
“So that’s it? You threatened my father and demanded my hand in return for not bleeding his finances dry?”
“I can bleed more than that if I’m so inclined, val’kiriya .” His light tone belies the threat in his words. “So don’t push your luck, or your father might regret it.”
Resignation floods my body, and I go weak in his grip, too astonished to fight.
“So you are stealing me?”
“Saving you,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering, dark and implacable. “Again.”
Saving me. From Dante? Or for himself?
I scan the sea of faces in the pews. They came to witness a union of wealth and power, an arrangement that would secure Dante’s hold over my family’s assets.
Now, Leon is the one orchestrating everything, and no one seems to bat an eye.
Yet in the strength of his hand, I sense his confidence, and despite myself, a wretched inkling of relief crosses my mind.
I tear my gaze away, and Leon’s eyes flash, his hand tightening around mine.
“Emery,” he says, his voice hardening. “There’s nothing to understand. You have no choice here, so follow my lead.”
He’s nuts. Who does he think he is, stepping in here, taking over my life as if he has any right?
I’m struck by the crushing weight of inevitability. A man coerces me into marriage for his own gain and without a thought for what would make me happy. Who cares if it’s Dante or Leon? The outcome is the same.
The priest clears his throat, his words a distant murmur in my ears. I force myself to breathe and stay calm, but my thoughts are tangled.
Every time I look at Leon, that undeniable attraction flares. It’s infuriating because I have no idea how to hide it, and it pisses me off that he can tell.
For his part, he’s focused entirely on me, those intense eyes never leaving my face, and I feel like I might melt beneath his gaze.
When the priest asks if I’ll take Leon as my husband, I open my mouth, ready to refuse. The wrong words emerge from my lips, my voice a shaky stammer that echoes through the quiet church.
“I… I do.”
It’s surreal, like I’m trapped in someone else’s life, an exciting story of danger and passion that doesn’t belong to a woman like me.
Leon speaks his part with a reverence that should seem like mockery under the circumstances. With each vow, I feel myself slipping further from everything I know, deeper into something I can’t control.
My old, familiar life is fading, replaced by a new, mysterious one. I can’t decide whether the unknown is worse than the horrible future I’d come to terms with.
All I know about Leon is that he’s dangerous, boundary-stomping, sexy to the point of distraction, and one Hell of a good kisser.
Dante never stirred up my body the way Leon did the other night, that’s for sure.
It doesn’t make it right.
No one ever gave me a second glance; this kind of possessive power play is beyond my imagination. It might happen to a gorgeous, unaccountably single leading lady in a movie, but not to me.
Finally, we’re announced as husband and wife, and Leon’s hands move to my waist, pulling me close until his face is inches from mine.
His hands hold me in place as if daring me to resist, and my mind goes blank, my body responding before I can think.
He lowers his lips, and the memory of our stolen moment in the hospital comes flooding back. His kiss is firm and unrelenting, and I’m instantly lost in his delicious warmth; his tongue is lively as it invades my mouth, his solid chest supporting me as I succumb.
He breaks away, and I’m undone. His mouth grazes my cheek as he whispers.
“I’m keeping you, Emery Vasilieva.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I reply, my voice unsteady.
His eyes shimmer with amusement. “Watch me.”