Chapter 15 Saint
Saint
The blue sundress feels wrong against my skin.
Not because it doesn’t fit, it does, perfectly, all of it carefully chosen to present the right image.
The pretty bride out with her new groom.
Calder wants all eyes on us, and he’s dressing me up to do it.
Even if it’s like thirty degrees out. Thankfully, my legs look okay, even with the bruises from my run the other night.
They felt worse than they actually looked.
“You ready?” Calder’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
No. I’ll never be ready. But I open the door anyway because I learned days ago that resistance only prolongs the inevitable.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down that makes his icy-blue eyes even more striking.
Cowboy hat in place, and dang, it looks good on him.
For a moment, he just stares at me, and something flickers across his face, something that might be appreciation or possession or both.
“You look perfect,” he says finally. “I love your hair down.”
“I look like a prop.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “Your perfect little wife, dressed up for the performance.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s exactly what you are today. And you’ll play the part, or people die.”
The threat should scare me more than it does, but after everything, I almost...what? Trust him. It’s not a threat, it’s a warning.
“Let’s just get this over with.” I brush past him and walk toward the door.
His hand catches my wrist, not rough but firm enough to stop me.
“There’s been a slight change, and I want to make sure you’re prepared.
Sawyer told me that my father saw the fake wedding photo I sent to the paper this morning and warned me that he’s already pissed.
That means we need to do our very fucking best to prove we’re in love.
Don’t let the fear and worry bleed through your mask.
I want you to smile and stay close to me.
Act like you’re exactly where you want to be. Understand?”
I understand my life depends on convincing an entire town that I willingly married the man who kidnapped me. I understand perfectly.
“Of course,” I say, and the moment he releases me, I head out the door.
The drive to Black Hollow Creek proper feels both too long and too short. I press myself against the passenger door and watch the mountains give way to valley. The rodeo grounds come into view—a sprawl of tents and trucks and livestock pens, already packed with people.
Everyone will see us there. Everyone will know.
That’s the point after all.
“Remember,” Calder says as we pull into the parking lot. “You’re happy. We’re happy. This is what you chose.”
“I know.” The words taste bittersweet.
He comes around to open my door, offering his hand like some gentleman. I take his hand because I have no choice. His fingers lace through mine, strong and warm and possessive, pulling me close to his side as we start walking toward the entrance.
His heat is helping cut some of the chill on my bare legs.
People are already staring. Whispering. I can feel their eyes on us like insects crawling across my skin.
“Ignore them,” Calder murmurs.
“Kind of hard when—”
“There’s the happy couple!”
Levi Bishop jogs toward us, all easy grins and charm, already dressed in his bull-riding gear. His eyes flick between Calder and me, reading something in our body language that makes his smile falter for just a second before he forces it back into place.
“Thought maybe you’d chickened out,” Levi whispers when he gets close, but there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Not a chance,” Calder replies, smooth and casual. “Saint was just making sure she looked perfect.”
Levi’s gaze shifts to me, and his smile softens into something more genuine. “Mission accomplished. You look beautiful, Saint. Blue’s definitely your color.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Of all the Bishop brothers, Levi’s been the kindest—or at least the least threatening over the years. Closer to my own age. “Thank you.”
But Levi’s attention is already back on Calder, his voice dropping low. “Listen, I need to warn you. Dad’s here as we expected, and he’s, of course, royally pissed off.”
Calder’s hand tightens around mine.
“Where?” Calder asks, voice carefully neutral.
“VIP section. Been there since the gates opened.” Levi glances around, making sure no one’s close enough to hear. “I ain’t ever seen him as mad as he was when he looked at that wedding photo.”
All I can hear is the heavy thud of my own heartbeat in my ears. I know the plan. I know what’s going to happen. I know Calder’s father is here and that we need to look as convincing as possible, but suddenly, that feels like an incredible feat.
“Has he said anything?” Calder asks.
“Not yet. But you know Dad. He’s planning something.” Levi’s eyes find mine, and there’s genuine concern there. “Just be careful, yeah? Both of you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Levi jogs off toward the livestock pens, leaving us standing in the parking lot.
Around us, families stream toward the entrance, normal people, living everyday lives, excited for a day at the rodeo.
I used to be one of them. Used to be the preacher’s daughter, known for baking cookies for church functions and helping at the community center.
Used to have a future that stretched before me like an open road.
Now I’m Mrs. Calder Bishop. And my future ends at the edge of whatever plans his father has for me.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.
“You can, and you will.” Calder starts walking, keeping me anchored to his side. “Your life and everyone you care about count on it.”
If that was supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t.
We pass through the entrance gates, and the rodeo grounds sprawl before us.
The smell of fried food and livestock hangs heavy in the air.
Carnival games line the walkways. The arena sits at the center of it all, already filling with spectators.
And everywhere I look, people are staring at us.
The whispers follow us like a shadow. I only catch fragments—”preacher’s daughter”—”married a Bishop”—”saw it in the paper”—”can you believe”—yet each word is a small knife, cutting away at whatever dignity I have left.
Before I can process what he’s doing, his hand cups my face, and he leans down.
His lips brush mine, soft, almost gentle, nothing like the rough, claiming kisses from the cabin.
This is the kind of kiss that makes people sigh and smile, the kind that says he’s so in love he can’t help himself.
It’s all performance. All lie. But no, it’s not.
Not after what he told me, how he made me feel in that cabin.
My body responds to his kiss regardless of the situation. My breath hitches. My heart pounds. For just a second, I forget where we are and why we’re here.
Then he pulls back, and reality returns.
“What was that?” I hiss, my face burning.
“That was selling it.” His voice is low, meant only for me. “All eyes were on us, and there wasn’t a better time than that moment for everyone to see us like that.”
“But did we have to do it so passionately, in public?”
He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone in a gesture that probably looks more tender than it really is. “We’re young. It’s supposed to be all about passion right now.”
We start walking again, his hand in mine.
The crowd thickens as we walk deeper into the arena, and Calder steps into his role, playing the part of the attentive husband, pointing out attractions, keeping me close, and looking at me with an expression that might fool anyone who doesn’t know the truth.
That’s fine because I know the truth.
We pass a group of women clustered near the cotton candy stand. One of them has a newspaper tucked under her arm, the Black Hollow Creek Gazette. As we walk by, I catch a glimpse of the front page.
The wedding photo.
There it is, in black and white. Calder and I standing outside the courthouse, me in a white dress I never wore, smiling like I’m the happiest woman alive. The caption reads: “Local Couple Ties the Knot—Bishop and James Families Unite.”
I’m pretty sure I’m going to vomit. That photo is a fabrication, another tool used to make this believable. It’s also evidence that I chose this.
We find seats in the middle section of the covered grandstand, visible but not prominent. From here, I can see the VIP section above us, separated from the regular seating by a rope and elevation. At least it’s heated, so I’m not freezing my butt off.
I scan the raised area, and that’s when I spot him.
Roman Bishop. He sits there like a king surveying his subjects.
Even from this distance, he’s imposing. Broad-shouldered, wearing expensive western wear, a Stetson casting shadows across his face.
He’s holding a beer, but his attention isn’t on the arena. It’s on us.
On me.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and ice floods my veins.
This is the man who wanted me dead without even knowing me.
And now he’s watching me sit beside his son, wearing a blue sundress, playing the role of a happy bride.
I watch as Roman’s gaze shifts to Calder, cold and assessing.
Then he deliberately turns his attention back to the arena.
The message is clear. I see you. I know. And we’re not done here.
“He looks angry,” I say quietly.
“He is angry.” Calder’s arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me closer.
“But he won’t make a scene. Roman Bishop doesn’t punish people in public.
He waits. Plans.” Calder’s voice is calm, but I can feel the tension in his body.
“So the fact that we’re still sitting here means he’s at least willing to see how this plays out. ”