Chapter 27
Brody
The chamber doors open.
Raya and Harper walk up the aisle. Dressed in satin, their smiles are too bright, as if they don’t quite believe this is happening. Once they reach the altar, they move to stand on the bride’s side, opposite James, my best man.
The doors open again.
Tiny strides down the aisle between the chairs. He’s wearing a black velvet harness trimmed with holly and silver ribbon.
The rings are secured at his chest like medals of honor.
Sighs and laughter ripples through the crowds.
When Lark proposed Tiny as ring bearer at our wedding. I agreed right away. She, of course, couldn’t resist dressing him up in festive fashion.
“Go, Tiny.” James chuckles from next to me.
The Great Dane ambles forward with calm authority. He makes it to me without getting distracted.
I kneel, pocket the rings, then pat him. “You did good, partner.”
He woofs, then parks his butt down and thumps his tail.
I straighten as the doors swing open a third time, and the world stops.
She’s there. Lark.
A shaft of sunlight slants through the arched windows, catching in her hair, turning the pale silk of her dress into something almost luminous.
For a moment, my lungs forget how to work.
I’ve spent years commanding boardrooms, entire companies, entire futures.
Yet, one woman in white brings me to my knees without lifting a finger.
James leans slightly toward me. “You’re a lucky bastard.” I don’t look away from her long enough to answer.
Lark’s gaze never leaves mine as she moves up the aisle. Her mother sniffles from the front row. Her father beams. It feels symbolic that he’s not giving her away. She’s choosing. Choosing me.
And God help me, the weight of that nearly undoes me.
The rows are filled: Nathan and Skylar are glowing. Arthur looks smug with Imelda at his arm.
Tiny is next to me.
Quentin and Vivian, composed as ever, Knox with June, warm and smiling. Also, Tyler and Priscilla, as well as Connor and his wife Phoenix. Sinclair Sterling, our family friend, and his wife Summer are in attendance with their son.
Adrian and Toren, are here. Ryot can’t attend as he’s on a tour with his wife, the Princess Aurelia. Though her brother, the crown prince Viktor Verenza is in attendance.
There’s a woof, then Tiny ambles over to Lark, his claws tapping on the floor.
"Aww, Tiny." Lark scratches behind his ear. Tiny waves his flagstaff tail. When she straightens and begins to walk, Tiny is by her side. Laughter rolls through the assembled people.
She comes to a halt in front of me. Through her mini veil, her eyes shine up at me. With her lush lips, the radiant column of her neck, and her proud curves shown off to perfection by the lace and satin, she’s a dream come true.
My heart begins to beat fast. My pulse rate is unsteady. I hadn’t realized until this moment how significant this moment is for me.
The registrar begins to speak, his voice echoing through the chamber. I stand rooted, fists clenching and unclenching at my sides, as if that will keep me steady.
When I say, “I do,” the words leave me raw, rough-edged. They don’t sound romantic. They sound like an oath. A contract I’ll bleed before I break. How strange. It’s just a ceremony. These are only words. They shouldn’t affect me so much.
When it’s her turn, her voice trembles, but her eyes never waver. When she whispers, “I do,” I feel the ground shift under me.
I slide the wedding ring onto her ring finger. It’s a rose gold band which forms a set with the engagement ring.
I hand her a coordinating platinum band, and she slips it onto mine.
It should feel constricting to have that ring on my finger.
Like it’s holding me back. Weighing me down, perhaps.
Instead, it feels like it connects me to her.
To a possible life I could have with her.
To a future I never could have imagined before.
One I can’t stomach right now. Nope, this is not for me. This is not why I married her.
The registrar pronounces us husband and wife. Applause ripples across the chamber, too loud, too intrusive. James whistles, until I shoot him a glare. Nathan claps with gusto. Arthur inclines his head, satisfied that he’s orchestrated the whole damn thing. Which he has, in a way.
I should be pissed off at him, but for the first time in years, I don’t see a deal being signed, an empire being cemented, or Arthur’s approval being won.
My attention is riveted by Lark, standing in front of me. Her lips part. Her chest rises and falls.
I hear the registrar say, as if from a distance, "You may kiss the bride."
As if in a dream, I raise the half veil so I can look into her sparkling eyes. And when I take her hands in mine, my pulse steadies, and my heartbeat settles. I anchor myself in the warmth of her skin, then lower my head.
"My wife," I breathe against her lips.
A full-bodied shudder has her melting into me. I wrap my arm around her waist and hold up her weight, then lick into her mouth. She moans. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss.
The taste of her goes to my head. My heart rate seems to go off the charts. Sweat pools in my armpits. Kissing her feels like a religious experience. I wouldn’t have believed the act of marrying her would make me feel this possessive.
Apparently, I’m more sentimental than I realized. It’s that thought which makes me release her and step back.
Around me the applause swells again. I notice Arthur wiping a tear.
Damn, never thought I’d see the old man get emotional.
My brothers and their wives clap. Her sister grins widely.
Harper dabs at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.
Next to me, I sense James glowering at her.
I’m aware Harper works for James, but this animosity he feels for her seems more personal.
I shove that thought aside, knowing I’ll ask him about it another time.
I want to take my wife’s hand in mine, but I resist.
I can’t let myself fall for her. My attraction for her, combined with the fact that we're now legally bound together, intensifies the sense of inevitability that has gripped me since I put the ring on her finger.
I step forward, following Rachel as she ushers us toward the tall double doors at the end of the chamber. I sense Lark stiffen, sense the hurt that radiates from her.
My guts churn. Anger knocks against my rib cage. Instead of turning to her, I stalk forward. Alone. Through the throng of friends and relatives congratulating us. My tie feels too tight around my neck. Air. I need air.
I burst out of the double doors, and look wildly up and down the corridor, wondering which way to go. James appears at my shoulder.
One look at my face, and his jaw stiffens. "Come on."
I follow him up a flight of stairs, then down a corridor, until we reach a door. He pushes it open to reveal a covered balcony. I slip outside.
The cool air surrounds me. I draw in lungfuls.
I loosen my tie and, pulling it off, stuff it into my pocket. Then I walk to the railing and hold on.
I take in the rooftops of the neighboring Victorian homes.
Many have Christmas decorations in the windows and outside their doors.
The main street below boasts festive lights.
The sound of carol singing reaches me from somewhere down the street.
Christmas is two days away. I’ve never paid much attention to the celebratory spirit.
Except for briefing a shopper to buy the requisite Christmas presents so I could hand them over on Christmas Eve when I made the rounds of my brother’s homes.
James walks over to join me.
He scans my features, then with a sigh, pulls out two cigarettes. He lights both, passing me one.
"Thanks mate." I haven’t smoked in years. Not since leaving the Marines. But the situation today seems to warrant one. I’ll try anything to try to come to grips with the emotions swirling around inside me.
We smoke in companionable silence for a few seconds. Then he blows out smoke and turns to me. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
"Alrighty then." He turns back to contemplating the scene in front of us. The cold slides in through my jacket. I stamp my feet and sink deeper into it. The sunshine from earlier has been hidden by clouds which hang heavy over the city.
"Supposed to snow," James murmurs.
As if on cue, snowflakes drift down from the skies.
The cold seems to deepen. James shuffles his feet. "Guess we’d better—"
"I might be falling for her," I growl.
He stiffens. "You’re talking about your wife, I assume."
"Who else would it be?"
He turns to face me, shoving a hand in his pocket. "Isn't that why you married her?"
"As you well know, I married her to save my inheritance."
"Right."
"You don’t believe me?”
He surveys me with that shrewd look—the one which warns me that he’s about to give me the unvarnished truth. My brothers might have done the same, but I’ve been closer to James than them.
"Hey, I’m not trying to convince you otherwise." James raises a hand. "I can only tell you what I see from the outside."
"Which is?"
"The way you look at her, the way you watch her when she’s in the same room as you, the way you kissed her earlier… There was nothing fake about it."
"Hmm." I take a puff of my cigarette, and contemplate the tip. My head spins a little. I’m not used to the nicotine anymore.
My life is changing in front of my eyes.
"You know you can’t control life?" James drawls. "We think we make the decisions, but fate sometimes has other plans."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
He smiles grimly. "I’m an adopted kid who’s never forgotten that life might have gone another way for me. But it didn’t. My parents took me out of the foster care system. They gave me an identity. A purpose. And every day, I try to live up to this second chance I got."
I frown. "You’ve never spoken about it before."
"Never had to. But if it gives you, perspective—"
The door to the balcony opens. Both of us turn to find Arthur framed in the doorway.