CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Juliette
I LEAN AGAINST the marble banister, a glass of champagne in my hand and a glimpse of stars above me. The lights of the Queen’s Necklace, a collection of opulent homes and buildings on Malibu Bay, glow against the darkening navy of a summer night. Even though I prefer my mist-covered Olympic Coast, it is beautiful.
I smile at the dark waves of the Pacific rolling lazily up onto the beach. Given the sheer size of the ocean, it’s odd how it can still feel like a comfort, a familiar friend amidst so many strangers milling just a few dozen feet away.
My moment of peace drifts away as someone laughs behind me. Just one hour ago, I said “I do.” Now my gargantuan ring has a mate, a silver monstrosity that has even more diamonds shoved into the band. Its sole purpose is to draw attention to the wealth that purchased it.
Which about sums up my husband in a nutshell.
When Gavriil told me his reasons for wanting an outrageous wedding, I was furious. The man wanted to humiliate me, to put me on display not just for that stupid will, but to show me who had the upper hand in this arrangement. That he would also be showing the world, again, how much money he had was just a bonus.
Two can play at that game.
I take a drink of my champagne. The bubbles dance on my tongue, leaving behind a taste of citrus blended with honeysuckle. The best champagne I’ve ever had. Given what it cost, it should be. I wondered if it would be one those luxury items everyone raves about because it’s so rare when it’s actually terrible.
I’d never heard of king protea flowers or phalaenopsis orchids before I let Gavriil slide that monstrous engagement ring onto my finger. But I made it my mission to do exactly what he said: spend and let the whole world know just how much money he had. But I did it in such a way that even he would be irritated at the amount of money spent.
Judging by the irritation furrowing his brow when I’d handed him the final bill for the catering, I’d accomplished my mission.
He could afford it. I’m comforting myself with knowing Sarabeth worked with Dessie to identify local care centers that would wake up to lavish flowers, carefully packaged Belon River oysters from France, and leftover triple-chocolate cake with raspberry sauce and buttercream frosting. It takes some of the sting out of having just spent over three million dollars on an event that won’t last more than eight hours.
A sigh escapes. The question drifts through my mind again—will this marriage, this farce, be worth the price—even though I know it’s too late as I avoid looking at the rings.
I also know the answer. All I have to do is look at Dessie to know it was the right choice. Ever since I told her that Grey House would be mine again, and that I wanted her to move back in with me, she’s been on cloud nine. Catherine, whose daughter Whitney served as the flower girl, told me Dessie’s been putting more effort into her physical therapy appointments and getting out of her room again.
Those reports came in between concerned questions from Catherine about my engagement and upcoming wedding. Aside from Dessie, she’s the only other person who knows why I loathed Lucifer Drakos with every fiber of my being. She’s not convinced about this sudden whirlwind romance with Lucifer’s son.
But even if I hadn’t signed the contract, I would have kept my word. No matter how much I wanted someone to talk to about this crazy scheme I’d landed myself in.
A scheme made all the more ridiculous by my insane attraction to a man I can barely stand. My cheeks heat as I relive that fateful kiss, from the burn of his fingers against my back to that intimate, playful swipe of his tongue against my lips.
Another gulp of champagne fails to cool me off. Not when I’m thinking about how I kissed him back. Just for one second, but the damage was done. That moment when our breaths mingled, when the world around us stilled and we were the only two people caught in the eye of a storm that had been swirling ever since we’d known each other’s names.
What am I going to do? I had envisioned the attraction between us as simple, a little more intense than the couple previous relationships I’ve had, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
Except I can still feel his hands on my waist. Can still feel that moment his body went hard and still when I returned his kiss, as if I’d surprised him. Can still see his eyes when we pulled apart, wide and shocked like his world had just been rocked as mine had.
Until he’d turned to face the crowd. Any hints of his true feelings were gone beneath that perfect mask as he’d ordered me to smile.
I’d made it down the aisle and to the cocktail hour with what I’d termed as my elated bride face intact. I’d eaten one smoked trout croquette, greeted a handful of people who had a look of importance about them as Gavriil rattled off names I barely heard, given Dessie a hug, and then disappeared into the night with my champagne before she or Catherine could see past my charade.
I have no idea where my husband is. Which is better all around. After our mandatory two-week honeymoon, I’ll be able to come up with plenty of excuses to keep my distance for the remainder of our contract. My work, overseeing renovations to Grey House, traveling with Dessie once she’s feeling up to it. Anything to keep distance between us, to prevent another kiss from happening.
The salty scent of the sea drifts to me on a breeze. I inhale, my breath a shudder as I admit what I will never confess to another living soul: that Gavriil Drakos, a man who stands for everything I’ve fought against for years, has the power to consume me. He’s the kind of man parents warn their daughters to stay away from. The kind who pulls you so high you know you can fly.
Until they let go of your hand and you plummet back to earth. Alone. Broken.
I press my fingers against the cool stone of the banister. I’ve seen the women left behind by powerful men, the discarded toys that mean nothing once the novelty’s worn off. I may have sold my hand in marriage.
But I refuse to sell my soul to the son of the devil.
Awareness prickles the back of my neck. Above the alluring fragrance of orchids and sea salt, I smell amber and smoky wood. A shiver teases its way down my spine as I fight to keep my face toward the waves.
“You disappeared for so long I wondered if I had a runaway bride on my hands.”
His voice slides over my skin.
“Just needed a break. Lot of people.”
He moves to the banister next to me. I don’t look at him, but I can feel him. Feel the heat of his body, feel his sheer presence.
“Our first dance is in eight minutes.”
My lips quirk. “Sounds like Sarabeth found you.”
“Found me and gave me marching orders. I should hire her.”
I can’t help but laugh. I feel him tense beside me, then slowly relax as a chuckle escapes him. Warm and casual, a sound that fills my chest before I can guard myself against it.
“That’s a beautiful dress.”
Now it’s my turn to tense as I finally look at him. The one thing that is mine and mine alone in this sham of a wedding is my dress.
The pissed-off side of me argued for going to the splashiest dress boutique in California and plunking down a hefty sum on a designer gown. Except everything I tried on felt...wrong. Constricting. Fake. I was drawn back time and time again to the cedar chest tucked into my closet in my little cottage. The one my father gave to me before I left to move in with Dessie. The one with my mother’s initials carved in the lid.
I have only the flimsiest memories of my mom. They’re more impressions than images. Cool glass beneath my hand and the warmth of her body at my back while we watched rain splash the windows of Grey House. A laugh, boisterous and full. A soothing voice when I came home from preschool crying because my best friend played with someone else. But when I pulled out her wedding dress, I felt her. Relived those wonderful, warm memories as her floral scent, mixed with the faint hint of cedar, drifted up from the lace.
“It’s my mother’s.”
His eyes widen slightly before a shutter drops over them.
“A surprising choice, given your other selections for tonight.”
I shrug. He doesn’t need to know that I had never envisioned wearing it as my own gown. I’d talked about using part of the train as a veil, or perhaps wrapping a strip of lace around my wedding bouquet to honor my mother. But when I’d pulled it out of the chest, felt that warmth wash over me, I knew I would need that connection today, that remembrance of love, as I walked down the aisle and into a loveless marriage.
“Haven’t you heard? Vintage is in.”
His eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to decipher some puzzle. I’m about to open my mouth and tell him not to bother when Sarabeth materializes out of the darkness.
“There you are!” She taps a finger on the clipboard. “You should have been lined up two minutes ago. Let’s go.”
Gavriil’s lips tilt up. Amusement lights his pale blue eyes as he inclines his head to Sarabeth before extending a hand to me. I ignore him and toss back the rest of the champagne before setting the glass on the banister.
“Charming,” he murmurs under his breath as he grabs my elbow and pushes me toward the dance floor.
“At a thousand a bottle, I didn’t want to waste any.”
His grip tightens and I suppress a satisfied smirk as he leads me to the dance floor. If the man is going to parade me around like a monkey in his personal circus, I’m not going to waste an opportunity to get under his skin.
We near the patio, strung with twinkling lights and surrounded by stunning pots overflowing with the ridiculously expensive orchids and dramatic roses. Tables draped in black tablecloths and topped with smaller clusters of the same flower arrangements form a C around the dance floor, with the orchestra on an elevated platform at the far end of the patio.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Gavriil Drakos!”
The crowd cheers as Gavriil leads me onto the dance floor. I think I’m smiling at the sea of faces blurred by the lights and my own nervousness. The fear that they’ll see right through me.
“It’s a wonder you managed to gain the reputation you did.”
My spine snaps into a straight line as I shoot a steel-laced smile his way.
“Oh?”
He pulls me close, one arm tight about my waist, a hand resting on my naked back and the other wrapped around my fingers.
“For someone with your renown, I expected you not to wear your heart on your sleeve.” He leans down, his breath tickling my ear. “At least look happy for your first dance with your new husband.”
I smile then, a bright, brilliant beam as I stop myself from stomping on his foot.
“Of course, darling,” I croon.
He presses me closer, his eyes flaring as he whisks me into a turn. I grit my teeth against the traitorous pleasure that zips through my veins at the feel of his body against mine. Lights streak by as music fills the air. With the way he’s looking at me, the masterful way he’s waltzing me about the patio, and the gentle brush of lace against my skin, it would be easy to fall into the illusion. To think that the magic of one gilded night could be carried into the next day and beyond.
I focus on a spot over his shoulder. I just need to get through this dance, and then I’ll sit down with Dessie or Catherine.
“Everyone’s been telling me they haven’t attended a better wedding.”
His voice breaks through my thoughts, a touch of cold edging his tone.
“You don’t sound pleased.”
He shrugs before he raises my hand up and spins me into a turn that has my skirt flaring out. The guests applaud and I swear I hear someone swoon. His palm lands once more on my bare back, making me silently curse myself for asking for a “touch of sexiness” from Catherine’s seamstress-friend, who did the alterations.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I can feel him watching me for what can’t be more than a few seconds but feels like forever.
“You confuse me. You spent thousands on flowers and champagne. But you wear your mother’s wedding dress. You work with one of the most lauded event planners in the country, yet invite less than a dozen guests of your own to our wedding. Your father’s ex-girlfriend walked you down the aisle.” When my head snaps up, he grins down at me. “Dessie spoke very highly of you when I introduced myself during the cocktail hour.” He leans down and I swallow hard, vividly remembering the last time his lips were so close to mine. “You’re a puzzle, Juliette. One I want to figure out.”
“You don’t have to figure me out.”
I regret the words almost as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Something flashes in his eyes, fleeting but no less potent in its pain.
I’ve hurt him, and for no other reason other than I want to keep distance between us. I open my mouth, grappling for the right words of apology. But before I can speak, he continues.
“True.” He shrugs his shoulders. “This is a business arrangement. Not a relationship. You have the house you want. And the money.” He says that with the slightest of sneers in his voice as his words slice through me. “And I have what I want.”
“Your share of Drakos Development.” I say it almost bitterly, as if I expected something more.
“Yes.”
“It’s so important you would risk marrying your sworn enemy?”
“I would do anything for it.”
I glance around us then, at the people watching us dance. Some look starstruck, others calculating, as if they know something’s off, can sense the story we’ve spun is pure fiction.
“And what if someone finds out? About the will and why we got married?”
“If they agree to keep a private family matter private, nothing.” His eyes sharpen to chips of pale blue ice. “But if they threaten me, I’ll destroy them.”
He watches me, his head cocked to the side, as if waiting to see how I’ll respond to this display of power. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t intimidating. But in some twisted way, I’m grateful for it. One kiss made me swoon. His frank words, the reminder of why he married me, help cool some of my desire.
If I can just keep playing his words over in my head, a daily mantra to keep me grounded, I can survive the next two weeks in France.
The music starts to wind down. As he takes me into a final turn, he leans down.
“I do, however, propose one adjustment to our contract.”
The glint in his eyes puts me on guard. “Oh?”
“Given how well our first kiss went, perhaps we could do both of us a favor and revise the no physical intimacy clause.”
My heart stops. I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from saying the first word that comes to mind. I can imagine it all too easily: hot, sweaty bodies joining together on top of mussed sheets, questing hands and frantic gasps. An inferno that would ignite every nerve as it destroyed reason and left only pure pleasure in its wake.
Applause sounds like a thunderclap and yanks me from my vision. Gavriil smirks down at me, confident of my decision. The sight of it infuriates me that he would assume I could be swayed by one kiss.
Enrages me that I would be tempted by one kiss.
I slide my arms around his neck and rise up on my toes. Fire flares in his eyes as I draw near...
Then shift at the last minute and brush my lips against his cheek as I steel myself to say what needs to be said. To prevent me from compromising my beliefs any further.
“There will be no revisions,” I whisper into his ear. “And if you suggest it again, contract or no, I will walk away from this marriage.”
His shoulders tense. He draws back, his gaze hard. He grasps my hand and spins me out. My heart leaps into my throat. Have I gone too far?
“My wife, ladies and gentlemen,” he announces in a booming voice. I can hear the promise in his words, the threat. He’s got his ring on my finger. He’s not letting me go anytime soon. And as much as I want to fight him, to shout out the truth and be done with it, I can’t. Not when Dessie is sitting on the fringes next to Catherine with color in her cheeks and hope in her eyes.
His fingers tighten on mine a fraction. I incline my head toward our guests as my body grows heavy.
This is going to be a very long year.