Chapter 3 #3
Chet stepped toward me automatically. He stopped mid-step when Egon growled. The sound rolled through the empty church like distant thunder. "Do not touch her."
Chet sighed dramatically and raised both hands. "Yes. Yes. You beasts are so predictable." He planted his hands on his hips and looked at me again.
"Listen, sweetheart. You're it. You're his mate.
That part is clearly settled. But he still has to do the show.
If he doesn't, we're looking at doom and gloom for the next batch of bachelors.
No show. No aliens allowed to come to our little blue planet to find their mates.
" He tilted his head slightly. "He'd be dooming them to death, really.
Especially the Atlans with mating fever. You know about mating fever?"
"Yes." Of course I did. I'd watched enough episodes to know exactly what happened to Atlan Warlords who didn't find mates.
The fever eventually drove them insane, turning them into violent killing machines.
And the Atlan people—brutal as their culture could be—didn't tolerate that kind of danger. They executed them.
"Great," Chet said briskly. "Then you understand the stakes.
" He gestured between Egon and me. "So, here's the deal.
We need Egon to do the show. Egon needs you.
Therefore, you sign the contract, become an official contestant, and the two of you go through the motions for the next couple weeks.
" He glanced down at his tablet. "There are only ten days of filming. We start tonight."
I studied him slowly from head to toe. The sequined suit. The feather boa. The untied white shoes. "That would explain your suit."
Chet brightened immediately. "The season opener theme is Royalty Among the Stars," he announced proudly. "Very glitter-forward, as you can see."
He gestured at his electric-blue sequins before sweeping his hand toward Egon's bare chest, which was still dusted with sparkling glitter from whatever ridiculous television segment had brought him here in the first place. "We're already dressed for it."
"I can see that." I looked him up and down again, unable to stop the blunt honesty that slipped out. "You look ridiculous." He truly did. Egon, on the other hand… Egon looked like something I wanted to touch. Taste. Explore. But Chet? Chet looked like a peacock that had rolled in a craft store.
"Yes. Yes. It's theater, dear. Don't change the subject.
" Chet pointed impatiently to the tablet still glowing in my hands, his sequined sleeve flashing under the dim church lights.
"The appearance contract is right there.
All you have to do is enter what you want for the appearance fee and sign.
On camera, the two of you pretend like you're just getting to know each other—which, technically, you will be.
In private…" His gaze flicked toward Egon, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You do you. I don't need details."
He waved a hand dismissively. "You keep it quiet.
No one can know. At the end of the show, he chooses you, puts his mating cuffs on you—which is clearly what he wants—and everybody wins.
We get a fantastic season, the males on The Colony get their chance to come to Earth and find their mates, the network gets ratings that will melt their servers…
" His smile softened as he looked at me.
"And you, my dear, will be the biggest winner of all. "
For a moment—just a moment—the showman vanished. The bright, theatrical persona dropped away and something more human peeked through. Concern. Sympathy. Maybe even genuine kindness. It lasted less than a minute. Then the salesman returned.
"Name your price," he said, spreading his arms wide and gesturing at the wreckage of the church around us.
Shattered doors hung crooked on their hinges.
Flower petals littered the marble floor.
Abandoned chairs sat overturned between the pews.
"This is already a mess," he added calmly. "What do you have to lose?"
He wasn't wrong. There was no undoing what had just happened.
My fingers moved before I could overthink it.
I tapped the tablet screen and opened the payment field.
For a few seconds I stared at the blinking cursor.
Then I typed. The number that appeared made my stomach flip.
It was absurd. Impossible. Quadruple what Derek had promised me.
A number no sane television producer would ever agree to. I turned the screen toward Chet.
He didn't even blink. Without hesitation he scribbled his initials beside the number, scrolled to the bottom of the document, and signed with a quick flick of his finger. "Ten days on set and you're rich," he said breezily. "If this thing with Egon doesn't work out, you still win."
A low sound rolled from Egon's chest beside me. It was unmistakably a growl. "She is my mate." The deep rumble vibrated through the air between us, making the hair along my arms prickle.
Chet shrugged as if alien Warlords growling possessively over brides was just another Tuesday. "That's between you and her." His gaze shifted back to me. "Sign it and we're good to go."
Holy. Shit. My hands trembled slightly as I stared down at the contract. Ten days. A ridiculous amount of money. An alien Warlord who had just crashed my wedding and claimed me like something out of my wildest sex dreams. My pulse hammered once in my ears. Then I signed.
The moment I handed the tablet back to Chet, Egon moved.
One second I was standing. The next I was airborne.
His arm slid beneath my knees while the other curved around my back, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all.
My wedding gown—twenty pounds of silk, tulle, and crystal beadwork—might as well have been feathers for all the effort it required from him.
He pulled me against his chest. The warmth of his skin pressed through the thin lace of my bodice.
My cheek landed against his glitter-dusted shoulder, and the scent of him surrounded me instantly.
My arms wrapped instinctively around his neck.
He held me easily as he turned toward the ruined church doors.
Each step he took was steady and powerful, his boots crunching over splintered wood and crushed flower stems without hesitation.
He didn't even slow as he navigated the wreckage.
Being carried by him felt strangely natural.
Safe. Like I had somehow always belonged right here in his arms.
As we passed the altar, I caught a glimpse of Derek.
He was still sprawled among the destroyed flower arrangements, his expensive tuxedo torn and dusted with petals.
His hair had fallen loose across his forehead, and his expression was twisted into something I couldn't quite decipher.
Anger. Shock. Maybe something darker. But whatever he felt…
it no longer had anything to do with me.
Egon carried me through the broken doors and out into the afternoon sunlight.
The brightness made me squint. Outside, a row of white production vans and several black SUVs lined the curb, their engines already running.
Crew members hurried around them with cables and equipment while cameras swung toward us the moment we emerged.
The lenses followed us like predators. Capturing everything.
The alien Warlord carrying his stolen bride through the wreckage of her wedding.
"I will not release her." Egon's voice cut through the activity with calm authority.
The production crew froze instinctively.
"Not to your staff. Not to your wardrobe department.
Not to anyone," he continued, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.
"She stays with me. If I am not with her, she will have Coalition protection. Armed warriors."
Chet opened his mouth to object. Then he paused.
His eyes flicked from Egon's massive frame to the possessive way the Warlord held me and apparently reconsidered his options.
"Fine," he said quickly. "We'll bring the wardrobe to you.
Mobile makeup. Honestly, this might be better anyway—exclusive access, behind-the-scenes footage…
" He was already typing furiously into his tablet again, muttering under his breath about lighting setups and camera angles and viral marketing. Egon ignored him completely.
He carried me straight to the nearest black SUV.
One of the camera operators rushed ahead and yanked the door open.
Egon ducked inside without setting me down, settling onto the wide leather seat while still holding me securely in his lap.
The long train of my wedding gown spilled out the open door behind us.
Two production assistants scrambled to gather the yards of fabric, bundling silk and tulle and stuffing it carefully into the vehicle before slamming the door shut.
The hem was already dirty. Probably ruined. I didn't care.
My body felt strange. Light. Unsteady. The shock of everything that had just happened settled over me like a strange fog. Numbness crept through my limbs. Underneath it, something heavier stirred. Guilt.
Technically, I hadn't lied to Egon. The thought circled quietly through the haze in my head as the SUV door thudded shut behind us.
I stared down at my hands resting against Egon's broad chest, my fingers curled instinctively into the warm, glitter-dusted skin as the vehicle shifted into motion.
I hadn't told him I wasn't married. I told him I didn't love Derek. And that part was absolutely true.