Chapter Fourteen
In which this is not the wedding of anyone’s dreams.
Scarlett…
What the actual…
One of the men looks like a lawyer or a businessman, watching us enter and not looking entirely happy about it.
He’s wearing an expensive looking suit, dark gray, which fits perfectly with the mood in the room.
His assistant - clearly, his assistant because his suit is not expensive - steps forward with a folder and an anxious smile.
“Mr. MacTavish-Taylor, good, you’re here! We can just get the words spoken before Registrar Douglas, sign some paperwork and you’re all set.”
None of them are looking at me.
“Exactly what the hell do you think is going to happen here?” I pull away from Wallace’s grip on my arm, putting the dripping roses on a nearby table.
“Darling, we’re getting married.” Wallace says this like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
He’s truly insane.
This is a real shame because he looks so good for a crazy person, his blond-ish curls perfectly tousled and his amber eyes glowing in the dim light.
“No. That’s not happening. I’m assuming here in Scotland you still can’t marry a woman against her will, right?” I’m appealing to the officiant, who directs his attention elsewhere.
“Really? You’re going to pretend I didn’t just stridently object?” The man refuses to look at me, so I spin to glare at Wallace. “How much are you paying this guy?” I stride toward the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do but I’m not staying here.
“Luaith Bheag, haud your wheesht.” Wallace is instantly behind me, pressing me face first against the door, his hand goes down to where I’m gripping the doorknob and his long fingers close around my wrist like manacles.
“I do not understand any of the words you just used!” I hiss. “And I most specifically do not recall any discussion of marriage.” My voice goes up on that last word. “What is this?”
He chuckles, low, in my ear and I hate myself for the little shudder that goes through me. “I said, ‘Little Cinder, stop talking.’ Just listen to me for a moment, aye?”
“Did we go through that whole charade of sightseeing when you were really just pushing me toward this hotel and these guys?” That hurts. The night had been so much fun, the first time I could truly relax in months.
“No, I wanted to show ye the underground tunnels,” he says, keeping me pressed against the door. “Having fun leading up to this moment was highly preferable to just dragging ye here.”
Growling, I push against him, trying to get loose.
“Listen to me closely.” His hands grip my hips and the casual hold he has on me is deceptive. I know he can keep me here, pressed against this door and there’s nothing I can do about it. “We are here because there is a threat on your life.”
“What are you talking about?”
He leans down, his mouth next to my ear, so close that I can feel the brush of his lips against my skin.
“Your stepbrother arranged an alliance with a Russian Bratva, you are part of the deal. They are very bad people. Ye would not survive this marriage.” His fingers tighten on my hips.
“Kyle and Marlena are not letting ye go quietly. They have trackers searching for you now.”
“Is it the Morozov Bratva because I’ve met some of their people, they’re big in New York-”
His grip on my hips tightens. “No, not the Morozovs, they are allies of ours. The Kholodovs are animals, their Bratva is built on human trafficking and the lowest, most vile parts of the sex trade. This new Pakhan is the worst of them.”
“Kyle thought he could make an alliance with this guy?” I gasp. “He was going to sell me off for a deal?” I’m shivering, even in the warm room.
“Aye,” Wallace says grimly. “What the eejit dinnae understand is that the Kholodovs don’t make alliances. They’ll tear through the Banner Syndicate until there’s nothing left.”
“Wh- why would you want to get in the middle of that by marrying me?” I’m still shaking, my teeth chattering.
“Your life is mine to protect,” he says huskily, his lips tickling the sensitive shell of my ear. “It has been since I saved ye from the fire. Marry me. You’ll have the power of the MacTavish and Taylor Mafias behind ye. No one can touch ye then. Not your arsehole stepfamily, not Kholodov.”
I rest my forehead against the wood. “This isn’t like one of those mafia married for life deals, right? We can split up if we decide to hate each other?”
He blows out a long sigh, his minty breath going past me. “I could never hate ye.”
Something about his fervent tone cracks my brittle heart open. Just a bit.
“What…” I’m searching for something to say before he makes this madness seem perfectly logical. “What about your family? Aren’t they going to be furious that you went off and married some random girl? We’re definitely not making any kind of helpful alliance here.”
He breaks into hearty laughter then, and it’s as beautiful as it is startling. “Oh, Luaith Bheag, this is nothing new for the MacTavishes. Come now, come marry me.”
Taking my hand, he leads me away from the door and proffers the roses again that he’d pulled out of the vase outside. “I’m okay without them,” I whisper. “This really isn’t that kind of wedding.”
His lips twitch a bit as he pulls me to the officiant, who looks even more despondent about this situation.
Opening his book, he dourly recites, “Welcome, everyone. I am Malcolm Douglas, an official Registrar for the City of Edinburgh and legally authorized to perform this service. The ceremony is being carried out in accordance with the Marriage Act of 1977-”
“Malcolm, get to the crucial parts,” Wallace interrupts.
“Aye,” he sighs. “Wallace MacTavish-Taylor, do ye solemnly sincerely declare that ye know of no legal impediment to-”
“Skip it,” Wallace interrupts again, making an impatient, ‘get on with it’ motion.
I hear a choked little noise from the Registrar’s assistant and our witness.
“Do ye, Wallace MacTavish-Taylor, solemnly and sincerely declare to love, honor and respect Scarlett Lucia Banner, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for as long as ye both shall live?” Malcolm snaps.
“I do,” Wallace says instantly.
“Do ye, Scarlett Lucia Banner, solemnly and sincerely declare to love, honor and respect Wallace MacTavish-Taylor in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for as long as ye both shall live?”
“I…” Stupidly, I wonder how Wallace knew my middle name. Who am I kidding? He knows everything. “Wait.”
Malcolm looks like he can’t decide if he wants to cry or vomit.
“Wallace, I want a promise from you first.”
His dark brow rises, but he nods. “What do ye want, Luaith Bheag?”
“I want…” I squeeze his hands, so nice and warm against my chilly ones. “Promise me you’ll find the proof that they killed my father. Promise me.”
“I could just kill them in half the time,” he says.
This time, the assistant actually whimpers.
“I want proof,” I say stubbornly. “I stayed in that hell for two and a half years, trying to find out how they did it. Promise me.”
“Of course,” he says, as if it requires a mere snap of his fingers.
“Okay. Good. Okay… we’re doing this.” Squaring my shoulders, I turn back to Malcolm, whose expression has traveled from despondency to despair. “I do.”
“Thank the Lord. Now the exchange of rings.”
Wallace, ever prepared, pulls out two ring boxes, flipping open one to show an enormous round diamond surrounded by brilliant rubies and slips it on my ring finger, then lifts my hand to kiss it. It’s a perfect fit.
Of course.
“What does yours look like?” I ask.
He smiles sardonically, “It’s one I can wear to work.”
It’s black as night, a rugged looking band with Celtic symbols. He hands it to me. It’s heavy. I can sense Malcolm’s impatience as I slide it onto Wallace’s finger.
“BythepowersvestedinmeIdeclareyehusbandandwifeyemaynowkiss.” The Registrar slams the book shut with a sigh of relief.
Kiss? Somehow, this part feels like a surprise. Wallace hasn’t touched me in a way that ever felt sexual. He cups my face in his big, warm hands, thumbs lightly stroking over my cheekbones.
“My wife,” he whispers before his lips are on mine and it is…
Men always seemed to kiss me as simply a prelude to the “next step.”
Wallace, though. This is the destination.
His full lips fit against mine, his tongue stroking, searching along the seam of my lips and oh… His hands tilt my head and he kisses me deeper, a groan rumbling from his chest. He toys with my tongue, sucking it into his mouth.
He’s so warm, he smells like peppermint and smoke.
I didn’t know every nerve ending in my body could spark to life from a simple press of his lips against mine but this is so good. He finishes the kiss by lightly biting my lower lip, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
“Ye alright?” He looks down at me with a slight smile. I realize I’m staring up at him, looking remarkably simple-minded, I’m sure.
“Yeah. Yes.” I nod. “We’re good and married.”
He looks like he’s holding back a laugh, and turns to the assistant, who eagerly proffers the paperwork and a fountain pen.
“Come sit with me, wife.” Wallace seats himself on the couch, pulling me down to perch on his knee. He signs in all the right places with swift, decisive strokes and hands the pen to me. I don’t hesitate to sign. I thought I would, that the paperwork would make it official and too real.
The kiss did that. Thorough and claiming and leaving no doubt that Wallace wanted me. He kisses my hand when I finish and helps me up.
“I’ll have the papers couriered to your home tomorrow,” Malcolm says. “Good night.” His mouth stays open, like he wanted to add something but thought better of it.
“Come with me, Luaith Bheag. My wife.”