Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
IVY
I sighed and stretched out my toes, basking in the feel of the sun warming my face and the soft birdsong trickling through the window. There was a strange ringing in my head, and I reached up to rub at it.
“Shit, how much did I drink last night?” I mumbled into the pillow.
A low chuckle. “I’d imagine it was probably too much.”
I shot up and swung my legs out of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold marble floor. Dizzy from the sudden movement, I squinted my eyes open as my vision adjusted. Someone had removed my heels, but I was still in last night’s dress.
I darted around madly, trying to clock the unfamiliar surroundings. The area was cool and sophisticated, all sleek tan furniture, white-and-blue decals, and custom artwork that looked like it was plucked off the showroom floor. A white wooden bookshelf filled with dozens of leather-bound tomes occupied the space between two sets of bifold doors where sheer curtains danced in the breeze.
Then my eyes landed on him.
“You,” I hissed. “Why am I here?” I questioned in a raspy, slightly shaky voice.
“I’m keeping my promise.”
I blinked in confusion. “What promise?”
“Making sure we both receive salvation.” My jaw dropped. “Besides, it was about time I took a wife, and you fit the bill.”
I choked on my fury.
“Where’s my bodyguard?” I’d demand he take me out of here.
Priest shrugged. “No clue.”
“I hate you.”
Anger scratched at my throat and the backs of my eyes. Ever since Wynter’s wedding, he had ignored me, and now that Aiden came into the picture, he waltzed into my life, kidnapping me.
Bitterness stung, and it had everything to do with his rejection.
“I can work with that.” Frustration chafed beneath my skin and I opened my mouth to curse him out, when his next words left me speechless. “I hear it’s a thin line between love and hate.”
His gaze met mine: blue darkening under a stormy sky. A flicker of something bright passed his expression, out of place in the current context. And then it clicked.
It was madness.
There was no other explanation for it.
“What do you think my brothers are going to say about this, huh?” Shit, what about my fiancé ? Who knew what he might do if he thought I ran off? “I’m afraid you missed your window”—I forced some confidence in my tone—“because I’m about to get married.”
He scoffed. “Yes, to me.”
My eyes widened. “Have you lost your mind?” I screeched. “After your whole spiel about drowning and smothering? I still have no fucking clue what you meant, and now you think I’ll marry you? Are you fucking crazy?”
He flashed me a grin, one that was half sexy, half crazy and would probably have most women falling to their knees. “Quite possibly.”
Swallowing hard, I took a step back. “Have you been here the whole night?”
He shrugged. “More or less.”
I fisted my hands and marched across the room until I was standing right in front of this slightly deranged god of a man. “When my brothers find out, they won’t hesitate to start a war with your family and level you with?—”
“They know.” Priest’s lips widened into a lopsided smile. Red flag , my mind warned. “Get cleaned up and changed. Breakfast will be waiting for you downstairs.” I gaped at him as he turned to leave, but just as he reached for the handle, he said, “Everything you might need is on the right side of the walk-in closet. Any toiletries should be in the bathroom.”
Then he left the room, shutting the wide mahogany door behind him.
The moment Priest’s footsteps faded away, I ran to the bathroom to use the toilet, my bladder ready to burst.
When I moved to the sink to wash my hands, I made the mistake of checking my reflection in the mirror. Jesus, I looked like I’d been to hell and back. My hair was a mess, my white skater dress wasn’t looking so pristine anymore, and there was dirt—or was that drool?—smeared on my cheek. In summary, I looked ragged.
But that didn’t compare to the turmoil going on inside me. I stood there, trying to unpack his every word and meaning. If this man was serious about marrying me—why in the hell did the thought send my heart galloping?—then maybe he could be my ticket to getting close to Sofia Volkov and her twin daughters. My sisters .
Good plan.
But first things first. I eyed the shower and decided I’d get cleaned up before making any rash decisions. After all, I couldn’t have the mafia prince, Christian “Priest” DiLustro, looking better than me.
Shedding my clothes, I stepped under the warm spray, letting it wash away the cobwebs. My head was still pounding and I scolded myself for not drinking enough water between drinks last night. I reached for the shower gel and froze. Chloé, my favorite scented shower gel, and a bottle of Amika shampoo and conditioner stood next to a distinctly manly shower gel.
How did Priest know what products I used?
I glanced over my shoulder, almost expecting to see him standing there, lurking and taking notes. When I found nothing but empty space, I squeezed a hefty amount of shampoo into my hair before doing the same with the body wash.
Once I was sparkling, I tiptoed out of the bathroom directly into the walk-in closet. The doors opened soundlessly and lights flicked on automatically, revealing the grand interior and its contents. Suits. Dozens of them lining the rack on my left—black. Blue. Gray. His button-down shirts were even nicer.
And then there was a shelf with… holy mother of God… gray sweatpants.
My cheeks heated and I pictured Priest wearing them low on his hips, the outline of his?—
“Wipe that image out of your mind,” I muttered to myself, tracing my fingers lightly over the expensive fabrics before letting go and turning to the right, finding stacks of clothes in exactly my size. Just as Priest promised.
I picked one of his white dress shirts and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, then headed out of the room only to come to a screeching halt, my hand flying to my mouth.
A Belgian Malinois, a beautiful shepherd, sat in front of the bedroom door, watching me like I was his next meal.