13. Willow
As Royce and I made our way out toward the elevators, I couldn’t help but think back to the first time he came to my rescue. Except, I wasn’t a naive young girl anymore, and he shouldn’t have to save me.
But he did. As always, he’d had my back. He would never let anything happen to me. To us, I thought, placing a hand on my abdomen.
He turned to face me, and I arched my brow in question. “Is everything okay?”
Thick tension rolled off him, sucking all the air out of the elevator. His fists clenched and unclenched around the straps of my bag.
“I should be asking you that.” His chiseled face was so beautiful, and I feared I was too far gone. There was nothing platonic about my feelings for him. Maybe it was just a reaction to his fierce protectiveness. Or the way he always came through for me. “Did I scare you?”
I frowned at the odd question. How could he even think that? If my body wasn’t battered and in such pain, I would have tried to jump his bones. Royce’s eyes darkened like he could read my mind.
“No,” I finally answered. “Nothing about you scares me.”
Without a warning, he dropped the duffle bag and scooped me up into his arms.
“What—”
“You shouldn’t be on your feet—the doctor recommended as little strain as possible. I shouldn’t even have agreed to let you come,” he scolded. I shushed him and leaned into his chest. It was only nine in the morning, but the exhaustion in my bones signaled bedtime rather than a new day. “I sent a message to your parents.”
“What did you tell them?” I asked with uncertainty. I hadn’t told my parents about my pregnancy or my issues with Stuart. Although we were close, their Catholic beliefs often made our perspective on life different—being single and pregnant, for example.
“That you made me the happiest man on this planet by agreeing to marry me, not Stuart.”
My brows furrowed. “And what did they say?”
He flashed me that smirk that had women falling all over themselves for him. “No idea. I was a tad busy. But I’m sure they’ll show up at our wedding. They pulled me aside at the party yesterday and tasked me with finding out what was going on with you. They’re worried. They love you, Willow.”
I was still vague on the details, but his words put me at ease. Knowing Royce, he had a plan, and I’d go along with it because there was nowhere else I’d rather be than under his protection.
“Just so we’re clear…” A headache throbbed behind my temple, but I refused to let it ruin today. “I’m walking down the aisle when I marry you. Sham of a marriage or not.”
A ghost of a smile passed his expression just as the door slid open, and he picked the duffle bag up effortlessly without letting me go, then stepped out into the lobby. The sun poured in from the windows and the space buzzed with life.
“It’s a deal, baby.”
Something grabbed my heart, and for the first time in weeks—months—it felt lighter.
“Why did you bribe the priest and then force him to come along?” I muttered under my breath as the bustle of Lisbon’s morning traffic converged into white noise in my mind. “What if he curses us or something?”
My pulse beat in my throat as Royce drove toward the same church my parents got married in. S?o Miguel, a Catholic church in the Alfama district of Lisbon, was one of the oldest parishes, famous for its gilded interior. It was my mother’s ancestors’ church.
Royce flicked a glance over his shoulder at the glaring priest in the back seat as he zigzagged through traffic. “He won’t. Right, Father Miguel?”
Father Miguel was in the lobby when we exited the elevators. Royce being Royce attempted to bribe Father Miguel, but little did he know the man was the epitome of morals and scruples. The clerical suit and white collar seemed obvious to me, but what did I know?
Needless to say, the man promptly admonished Royce in Portuguese, then proceeded to shove the bills back in his hands. He then attempted to yank me from Royce’s muscled arms, shouting about violence and the sanctity of marriage and other such hysterics. In the commotion of the three of us speaking at the same time—me insisting it wasn’t Royce who’d marked my face, Royce apologizing for the bribery, and Father threatening to call the police—we drew the entire lobby’s attention.
I insisted Royce put me down so I could talk to Father Miguel in peace. He obliged, but then seemed to make a split-second decision and proceeded to throw Father Miguel over his shoulder and bolt out of the lobby and into our vehicle.
“Kidnapping is a sin,” was Father’s response. “And hitting a woman is a sin too.”
“Father, it wasn’t Royce,” I jumped in to defend him, taking Royce’s hand in mine. “He saved me.” The priest’s pitying eyes narrowed on me like I was delusional, and I couldn’t help letting out an exasperated breath. “I promise. It was Stuart, the man who insisted we get married at the hotel and not in the church.” Then, because I was sure I was going to hell anyhow, I added, “Stuart is a nonbeliever, but not Royce. He’s a Catholic. It’s what it took to finally see that we belonged together—our common faith.”
Royce choked, stifling a laugh, and I shot him a glare, silencing him. In Father Miguel’s eyes, it was enough, because he seemed to warm to the idea a little.
“Is that true, young man?” I shifted around to face Father in the back seat, about to answer him when Father Miguel held his palm up. “I want to hear from the groom-to-be.”
“It is.” Royce’s serious expression revealed nothing. “My mother was a devout Catholic and taught me to follow the word of gospel.” I blinked, trying hard not to show my shock. We were on a fast train to hell. “Willow is pregnant, and our child will not be born out of wedlock.”
Oh, shit.
Father Miguel flicked me a disapproving look that told me I’d be burning in the eternal fires of hell unless he blessed this union.
“You had extramarital relations, child?” I flashed him a guilty look. “Do your parents know?”
“No,” I croaked.
He shook his head, watching us like we were two fallen angels and only he could resurrect us back into respectful status.
“I will bless your union.” I sighed a relieved breath. “But only for the unborn child’s sake.”
“Thank you, Father,” Royce answered, a hint of laughter threading through his voice and dancing in his dark eyes.
Fatigue slowly crept through my body, aches intensifying by the minute. It had been a long day, and noon hadn’t even come around yet. I rubbed my belly gently, warmth spreading through me with the thoughts of a little miracle growing inside me. I couldn’t wait to feel the movements, hold her or him in my arms, a fierce protectiveness blooming inside me.
Five minutes later, we walked up the steps leading us to the church. The Lisbon sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, promising a dreamy future. Still, nervousness and a cold sweat encased my body. Royce’s presence and his hand on the small of my back, his thumb brushing against my bare skin, became a comfort I would be lost without. With each step, the light scent of his cologne consumed me in familiarity, and every inhale drew more of him into my lungs. My feet faltered when we reached the top step and I saw who was waiting for us.
My best friends, Aurora and Sailor, stood with their husbands, dressed to the nines. And there, just past them, stood my wonderful parents, smiling at me fondly. Not a hint of apprehension in their eyes. Like they knew this was where I should be, and with who.
“Finally!” Sailor exclaimed, running over to me with Aurora in tow. It wasn’t until they were a few feet away that their steps froze, and I remembered I’d forgotten to hide my bruises with concealer.
“That fucker,” Aurora hissed, clenching her fist while her shadow—her husband, Alexei—came to stand behind her, a cold expression on his face. If it was aimed at me, I’d probably pee my pants, but thankfully, I knew it wasn’t. Alexei Nikolaev was one of the good ones walking this earth, despite his mafia connections.
“I knew he wasn’t right for you, but never could I have imagined he would do this.” M?e’s voice filtered through, breaking Sailor out of her stupor. “Aquele filho da puta.”
“Mrs. Auclair!” Father Miguel stared at my m?e in astonishment, clearly not used to hearing her curse—though, I imagined if he knew the reason behind my bruises, he’d be calling Stuart a son of a bitch too.
My father, on the other hand, cursed like a sailor. “Je vais tuer cette pièce de merde.” Thankfully, the priest didn’t understand French and would hopefully never know about the threat my father just leveled against Stuart “the piece of shit.”
Their hands wrapped around me and my throat tightened. Pregnancy had made me emotional, but this time, I was certain the past twenty-four hours were to blame.
“Raphael, I think we should kill him,” Sailor said to her husband, who was the head of the Colombian mafia.
“No, you’ll leave the killing to me,” my father retorted decisively, the seriousness of his tone concerning. “You have more years left on this earth than me.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Mr. Auclair,” my mother scolded him. She always called him that when she didn’t like what he was saying. “Nobody is killing anyone. This is our daughter’s day, let’s not ruin it with nonsense.”
I buried my face in my father’s chest, the familiar scent bringing forward so many comforting memories of my childhood.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I should have never let it go this far.” I was talking about the preparations for the wedding, how I’d ignored the signs of Stuart’s violence, and my lack of feelings for him.
My mother’s hand brushed against my curls, pushing them behind my ear, while my father kissed my forehead.
“Don’t you worry about any of it,” my father assured. “We had a feeling something was wrong. We should have insisted you tell us.” He cupped my cheeks gently with his aged hands. “Is this what you want?”
“We love Royce,” M?e added softly, beaming like a ray of sunshine. “And admittedly, I’ve always hoped you two would find a way to each other.” Her eyes flicked over my head, and I followed the trail. Royce stood to the side, giving my parents and me some privacy while my best friends badgered him. “When he sent that message, I was thrilled, but it’s a bit rushed. No?”
I tore my gaze away from Royce’s coal-eyed stare and found my parents’ attentive eyes on me, probably seeing more than I’d ever be able to say.
“Yes, I’m sure.” The conviction they saw on my face must have assured them. “Now, how bad do I look?”
“You’re beautiful,” my father said. “Although, when I get my hands on him, Stuart won’t be able to say the same for himself.”
I smiled. “Royce already took care of him.”
And just like that, Royce had my parents under an even deeper spell.