Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ALEXANDER
What the hell have you done, you bloody idiot?
I didn’t need to kiss Imogen. No one expected it of me. Hell, at most British weddings, even a peck on the lips is sometimes seen as too much by the congregation, let alone the kind of passionate kiss I gave my new wife.
It hadn’t been my intention, either. I’d planned to ignore the traditional instruction of “You may now kiss the bride”. I curse my ill thought-out actions. If Imogen hadn’t sassed me or smelled so good, or looked like all my fantasies rolled into one, I wouldn’t have done it.
Initially, I thought Dad had chosen well, but for me, Imogen is a disaster. She’s sweet poison on a silver platter.
A poison I cannot afford to taste.
Every part of me tingles as though I’ve jabbed my finger into an electrical socket. It wouldn’t surprise me if my hair was standing on end. My dick is, that’s for sure, and this morning jacket isn’t designed to hide an erection. If any of the guests lower their eyes, they’ll get more than they bargained for .
At least it’s done now. I’ve carried out my duty—or half of it, anyway. The second half—fathering children—isn’t something I intend to fulfill. I’ll proceed with my plan to isolate my new wife, make her miserable, and with any luck, before the summer is out, she’ll be back in the United States, with an impending divorce in the works.
Rows upon rows of cars line up outside the chapel waiting to take us, and several hundred guests, back to Oakleigh. I lead Imogen to the first car and motion for her to get in, leaving my driver to close her door while I walk around the rear of the car and climb in beside my new wife.
The silence between us is almost a physical thing, but if she thinks it will bother me in the slightest, she’ll soon find out that using silence as a weapon is something I excel at. I thrive on the quiet— crave it . It’s a tactic I use in business and in my… other activities.
Give Imogen her due, she doesn’t speak at all on the short drive from the chapel back to the main house. By the time I step out of the car, she’s already exited and is halfway to the main door, where many of our household staff have gathered to greet us. I hurry to catch up to her, gripping her elbow, and I’m not gentle about it, either.
“You’re hurting me.” She tries to free herself and fails.
“Stop being a brat,” I mutter, glowering when applause breaks out as we walk through the middle of the two lines of staff. “This may be an arranged marriage, but it doesn’t mean you can’t smile for the staff. They’ve bothered to turn out to greet you. The least you can do is show some grace.”
She snorts, upping her pace to get through the impromptu guard of honor as fast as she can. “I’ll smile when you do, and we both know you’re incapable. ”
“Incorrect. I smile when there is something to smile about, such as the idea of giving you a good spanking.”
A growl rumbles through her chest, and my dick jerks. Who would have thought I’d enjoy Imogen’s backchat as much as I do? It’ll make the next few months far more interesting than I’d predicted before she arrived at Oakleigh.
When we arrive at the grand ballroom, we’re greeted by more staff, some familiar and some strangers. For such a big event, we bring in outside resources. There’s a hot buffet lining the far wall, with staff on hand to serve the hungry guests. I’d rejected the idea of a sit-down affair. This way, I can do my duty, circulate for an hour or two, then disappear and have one of the staff take Imogen to her rooms. If I’m not sticking around, neither is she. All part of my plan to isolate her. May as well start sooner rather than later.
My stomach rumbles, but it’ll be a while before Imogen and I have chance to eat. We have hundreds of guests to greet first.
“You can let go of me now,” Imogen says as the first of our guests arrive.
I release her elbow in time to shake hands with Imogen’s father and kiss her mother on the cheek. Jessica makes some joke about me calling her “Mom.”
Grief hits me in waves, an all-consuming ache that time has never dulled. It’s been nineteen years since I lost my twin sister and then, shortly after, my beloved mother, yet the pain is so fresh, it could have happened yesterday. I clench my fists, trying to center myself, but I figure my fury must register on my face when she visibly withers before my eyes.
“I already have a mother,” I clip out. “The fact she’s dead is irrelevant.”
Jessica blushes the color of a cherry, apologies tripping from her lips. Imogen looks equal parts horrified and enraged, as though she’s waiting for me to smooth things over, but I’ve already moved on to greet the next guest.
Eventually, we reach the end of the line, and the moment Imogen has shaken the last guest’s hand, she scurries over to the buffet, and I lose sight of her in the crowds. The next time I see her, she’s got her plate piled high, and she’s chatting with Donovan Sinner, the heir apparent to the Sinner Dynasty.
She throws back her head and laughs at something he says, and he touches her hand, bringing her closer to him. I grind my teeth, my body coiled, ready to spring.
Oh, no, you don’t .
It doesn’t matter to me that this is an arrangement. I’m a possessive bastard at the best of times, and I will not tolerate anyone flirting with Imogen, not even another member of The Consortium. Donovan Sinner is the biggest playboy I know, and I don’t like the way he’s touching my wife. Or looking at her.
I don’t fucking like it at all.
I’m about to march over there and rip her away from him when an important business associate stops me. By the time I’ve extricated myself, Donovan is chatting to my brother Nicholas, and Imogen has moved on. I scan the ballroom. Now she’s chatting with Uncle George, Dad’s brother, and his wife Alice. Whatever Imogen says makes George chuckle, and he pulls her in for a hug.
Fire ants crawl over my skin—that’s the feeling, at least. She couldn’t get away from me fast enough, yet she’s charm personified with everyone else. I recognize I’m being a dick. I’ve been short with her and made it clear I’m not interested in developing any kind of a relationship, so it’s unsurprising she’s sought out friendlier company.
Unfortunately, I can’t allow that. My plan to isolate her includes cutting her off from my family. Unless we’re expected to attend a specific event, such as the monthly dinners Dad hosts, or the occasional ball we throw throughout the year, I intend to minimize Imogen’s contact with them, too.
She takes a sip from a glass of water, running her tongue over her lips to sweep away the excess. My gaze travels over the elegant curve of her neck, a few tendrils of her vibrant red hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. A sudden flush of heat spreads through my midsection.
This is not good. Not good at all. Kissing her was a mistake. A big fucking mistake, and one I don’t intend to make again, especially as she reacted favorably. If she’d pushed me away or stabbed my foot with her stiletto, I might be tempted to use sexual advances as a way to force her hand into divorcing me sooner rather than later.
But she’d liked it. I’ve kissed enough women to recognize attraction, and Imogen had virtually been putty in my hands, a plaything for me to mold. I imagine some of that might relate to her innocence, especially as I’m experienced, but whatever the reason, using any form of sex as a punishment isn’t going to work.
“Alexander.” My father sidles up to me, displeasure tugging his eyebrows toward his nose. “What are you doing brooding all the way over here? Go and be with Imogen.”
“Yes, sir.” Reluctantly, I make my way through the throngs of wedding guests. I brush past Donovan and lean close to his ear as I pass. “Stay away from my wife or I will gut you where you stand. ”
Shock widens his eyes, then he throws back his head and lets out a single-note laugh. “You’re such an asshole. Always have been. I was being nice, that’s all. A concept you’re obviously not familiar with.”
“A concept none of us are familiar with,” Nicholas says, much to Donovan’s amusement.
I grip his upper arm and squeeze enough to cut off the blood supply to the rest of his limb. A limb he’ll lose if he touches my fucking wife one more time. “I mean it, Sinner. Stay the fuck away, or you will live to regret it.”
“Xan, come on.” Nicholas nudges me, and I reluctantly let Donovan go.
Brushing a hand over his sleeve where I’d gripped him, he grins. “You’ve always been a possessive bastard.”
He isn’t wrong. After my sister Annabel died, I became extremely possessive, not only about people but things, too. My therapist puts it down to a strong need for control, because of what happened to my sister and me, then later, my mother. Whatever the reason, I don’t like my possessions being messed around with, and like it or not, Imogen is mine. Until she isn’t.
“Just mark my fucking words, and we won’t have a problem.”
I withdraw, and seconds later, arrive at Imogen’s side. It doesn’t escape my notice that she shuffles a few inches away. I grip her elbow and tug her closer to me. “Uncle George, Aunt Alice. I see you’re keeping my new bride company.”
“She’s a smasher,” George says. “You’re a lucky man, Alexander. May you both have lots of beautiful babies.”
I lock my spine, and Imogen does the same. Interesting. Perhaps she’s no keener to add to the bulging population than I am. That could make life easier .
“Where are you going on honeymoon?” Alice asks, at least five more words than she usually manages. She’s a timid woman, my aunt. It amazes me that George married her in the first place, let alone stayed married to her. They met in Japan not long after my parents married, and George remained there, only returning permanently to Oakleigh a few days before we lost Annabel, then two weeks later, Mum.
Another wave of bleak thoughts overwhelm me, the darkness I work hard to keep at bay breaking free. All those years since our family lost its heart, yet time only makes my grief worse.
Annabel used to talk about who she might marry, and she’d get excited at the thought. Back then, I was more open to the idea, too, especially as I had the best example growing up with my parents. But tragedy has a way of changing our minds about many things.
If I analyze my feelings, it’s not marriage I’m averse to, per se. It’s having kids. I’ll never bring a child into this world. Never. I don’t care that it’s expected of me. Dad has four other children who can carry on the De Vil name. I won’t be one of them, no matter what duty or expectation from my family or The Consortium demands of me.
“We’re not,” I respond in a flat tone.
Imogen stiffens again while George chuckles. “Oh, Alexander. You must have a honeymoon.”
“Why? This isn’t a love match. It’s an arranged marriage that satisfies what’s expected of me and settles a debt Imogen’s father owes to mine. Besides, I’m busy. I have a full diary.”
Static electricity fires between Imogen and me. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s clenching and unclenching her hands as though she’s got pins and needles, and there’s a mottled flush spreading up her neck. If I had to guess, she’s drawing on all her strength not to punch me in the face. I can’t help a small smile at the thought of her attempting such a thing.
“That won’t do at all.” My father’s voice sounds behind me, and he joins our little gathering. “Of course, you’re having a honeymoon. It’s all arranged. You leave for Scotland tomorrow.”
I love Scotland. It’s one of my favorite places in the world, and we have a gorgeous property up there in a quiet, remote part of the country, but I don’t see the point in a honeymoon.
“I have work to do,” I reply, my tone brooking no argument, not even from my father. It isn’t only official De Vil business I have coming up in the next couple of weeks. If my contact comes through with the intel I need, my alternative activities will require my attention, and I’ll need to move fast.
“Yes, you do. Work on producing my first grandchild.”
Imogen sways on her feet, and I automatically grab her elbow to steady her. Loathing drips from her eyes as she detaches herself, shuffling a couple of feet away from me once more. This time, I leave her be.
“I’m mid-contract on a large deal. I can’t simply walk away in the middle of it.”
My father raises his arm and beckons to someone. I turn in time to see Nicholas making his way over.
“Nicholas, go with Alexander and get a handover on this important deal he’s working on—that he failed to tell me about until now. We need to free up his time for his honeymoon.”
Nicholas’s shit-eating grin makes my hands twitch, but decking my brother in front of most of our family’s important business contacts, not to mention several members of The Consortium, isn’t the greatest idea I’ve ever had. Although I’d draw enormous satisfaction from it.
I head straight for my study, slamming the door behind Nicholas the second he’s inside. Not that he’s bothered by my moodiness in the slightest.
“What’s this deal, then?”
I rake both hands through my hair. “There isn’t a deal. I made it up on the fly when Dad dropped this bloody honeymoon on me.”
Nicholas chuckles, his eyes dancing. “That worked.”
My nostrils flare as I push out a huff. Nicholas flops onto the couch, his legs splayed.
“Time to put up or fuck up, brother. What’s the real problem? You get to go to Scotland, which you love, with a gorgeous redhead, who has curves for days. Will fucking her be that much of a chore?”
“I don’t intend to fuck her.”
He steeples his hands and taps his fingertips together. “How are you going to manage that?”
“By not fucking her. It isn’t a challenge not to stick my dick in someone.” I stuff my hands into my trouser pockets and pace.
“Except you want to stick your dick into her.”
“No, I don’t.”
Nicholas gestures dismissively. “Whatever.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know why I don’t want kids. The idea of them being abducted, like Annabel and I were…” I flinch. My thoughts have turned to my sister and my mother far more than usual today, and each time, they’re a knife through my heart. “I can’t risk screwing her. Not until I’ve ha d her see my doctor. And I haven’t yet decided if that’s the choice I’ll make.”
“Yeah, I know why you don’t want kids, and for the record, once again, I think you’re wrong. You cannot continue to let what happened to the two of you drive your decisions. It was a long time ago.”
“You’re happy to bring kids into the world, our world , and risk what happened to our sister happening to one of your own children?”
His face twists. “It won’t.”
“How do you know it won’t?” When he remains silent, I add, “See?”
“Xan.” He rises to his feet and clasps my upper arms. “You have to stop punishing yourself. You get your revenge every single time a call comes through. You’re doing good in the world. You deserve to be fucking happy.”
“I deserve nothing.”
He sighs, exasperated with me. Shaking his head, he motions to the door. “I guess we’d better get back. You have a wife to ‘not fuck’.” He air quotes. “And a honeymoon to ‘not enjoy’.”