Chapter 6
Chapter Six
IMOGEN
After Alexander’s bold statement regarding our non-honeymoon, I admit it’d stung. Sure, our union is an arrangement, and yeah, he’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want this any more than I do, but the way he blurted out to his uncle and aunt that he had no intention of taking me on a honeymoon made me feel like a piece of dirt.
I didn’t like that feeling one bit. And now, since Daddy De Vil butted in and told him we’re going to Scotland, Alexander’s mood will be even blacker.
Visiting Scotland should excite me. I’ve always wanted to go there, and I still do.
Just not with him.
Unfortunately, it appears my first visit to a dream location will be in the company of the moodiest man I’ve ever met.
Standing here in this room filled with strangers, and with my parents nowhere to be seen, I’m at my lowest ebb. Depression wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, and tears I’m doing my best to hold on to burn the backs of my eyes. I don’t even dare blink in case they fall and ruin my makeup. I don’t care about the makeup really, but I do care about showing weakness. If I’m to survive this marriage until I force Alexander into giving me a divorce, I’ll have to pull on strength I’m not sure I have.
There must be a well of courage buried within me that will help me get through the upcoming days, weeks, and months.
I only hope it isn’t a year or more. It’ll be too late to escape by then. I’ll already have lost myself.
“Imogen, my darling daughter-in-law.” Charles holds out his hands to me, waiting until I place mine inside his. “Would you do me the honor of a dance while your husband is scraping work off his plate and onto Nicholas’s?” His eyes twinkle, and he winks at me.
I must admit, I do like Charles. He seems so different from Alexander. It’s hard to believe they’re related. And Charles and George are so alike they could be twins rather than brothers, in looks and personality.
“I’d love to.” If nothing else, it’s a chance to glean a few shards of information about his asshole of a son.
He sweeps me onto the dance floor, right into the middle of the crowd. People shuffle to give us room. No one mentions that the first dance a bride has should be with her husband, not even Charles, and I’m grateful for that. I’m already raw from Alexander’s behavior without others piling on.
“You make a beautiful bride,” Charles says. “As I knew you would.”
I offer a small smile. Beautiful bride sure is a lot better than Alexander’s “You look… nice” he ground out in front of th e minister. Maybe I should have married Charles instead. He’d make a better husband than Alexander.
“Can I ask you something?”
He leans back slightly from where he had his cheek pressed to mine. “Of course, my dear. You can ask me anything.”
“Why did you force Alexander to marry me?”
His eyes flare, his pupils dilating in what I read as surprise. I might be wrong, but that’s what it looks like to me.
“Force Alexander?” He shakes his head. “My dear, no one forces Alexander to do anything he doesn’t want to. Not even me.” He chuckles. “My son is headstrong and complicated, and yes, moody and unpredictable, too. I didn’t force him to walk down the aisle.”
My confusion must show because he continues. “Alexander, like all my children, knows that their duty is to secure the future of our family line. The De Vils have been around for more than a millennia, and we have a responsibility to our ancestors to continue to flourish far into the future.”
Ah, so no one forced him, per se, but he’s so steeped in duty, he knew refusal wasn’t an option.
Just as it wasn’t for me.
“Besides, Alexander doesn’t truly know what he wants, not when it comes to love.”
I swallow a laugh. Love? I’m pretty sure Alexander De Vil doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
“But do arranged marriages work?” I murmur, more to myself than asking an actual question.
“My dear, families like ours have always entered into arranged marriages, and they work beautifully.” I mustn’t hide my thoughts on the matter, because he chuckles. “You don’t agree?”
“I don’t disagree , but it would have been nice to have had the choice to meet someone, fall in love, and marry them rather than a man I only met four days before I walked down the aisle.”
His lips purse. “Hmm. Yes, I wasn’t in agreement with his decision not to meet you beforehand, but like I said, it’s difficult to force Alexander to do anything he doesn’t want to. He’s strong-willed, that boy.”
Hearing Charles describe Alexander as a boy brings a smile to my lips. There’s nothing boyish about him. He’s all man .
The low-lying muscles of my stomach clench as my mind flips back to that kiss. All man, indeed.
“Look at it this way,” Charles says, oblivious to the tingles racing through my body. “If you’d met a young man at a club or a bar, fallen in love, and married, your chances of making it past five years of marriage are somewhere around the fifty percent mark. Whereas arranged marriages, in my family at least, have a ninety-five percent success rate.”
“Yeah, but isn’t that because they got their heads chopped off if they suggested divorce?”
Charles throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, Imogen. What a fine wife you’ll be to Alexander. And yes, you may have a point. Many moons ago, that probably would have been the outcome of a wife suggesting divorce, but we live in modern times now.” He winks. “I’m sure beheading is frowned upon by His Majesty’s government.”
“Good to know.”
He smiles kindly. “My dear, trust me, trust your parents, and trust the process. Alexander isn’t the easiest of nuts to crack, but I know you’ll find a way to handle him.” He winks. “Do try to avoid lopping off his head, though.”
I break out what feels like the first genuine smile since I arrived on Wednesday.
“Could I ask one more question?”
“You can ask me as many as you wish. There isn’t a quota.”
“Why me? Why did you choose me as Alexander’s bride? I wasn’t even born when my father signed my life away. How did you know I’d make a good wife for your son?”
“I didn’t choose you so much as your father and I came to an agreement. Call it instinct, but the moment he proposed the idea, I knew it was the right thing to do, for you and for Alexander.” He leans in closer, whispering in my ear. “I know you won’t let me down.”
A blush steals across my face. If he knew what I had planned, he wouldn’t be so nice to me. But if my strategy works out the way I hope it will, it’ll be Alexander who has to deal with Charles’s disappointment and, yes, possibly wrath. I can’t allow myself to worry about that. I need to be selfish and to put myself first.
“I’ll try not to, sir,” I lie.
“I hope you’ll settle in here at Oakleigh, and it’ll become a home to you as much as it is to us.”
Not a chance . “Thank you, sir.”
With his features steeped in kindness, Charles smiles. “I want you to be happy here.”
I don’t know how to reply without sounding disrespectful, so I return his smile but say nothing.
“Ah, here’s Alexander.”
My stomach sinks. Great. Right when I was having a nice time, here comes husband dearest to ruin it all. The smile slides off my face as Charles releases me and hands me over to Alexander.
“Dance with your wife.”
There’s more than a hint of an order in his tone, and despite his earlier comments regarding Alexander’s stubborn streak, I get a distinct feeling he won’t outwardly defy his father. Charles bows to me as Alexander takes my hand and slides his other hand around my waist. Unlike his father, who swept me around the room as if dancing was in his blood, Alexander’s frame is stiff, and he couldn’t look any less comfortable if he tried.
“You don’t have to dance with me, you know,” I say. “Especially if you’re going to make that face while doing it.”
He peers down his aristocratic nose at me. “What face?”
“The constipated one.”
His expression transforms from constipated to disgusted. “I do not look like that.”
“You should see it from where I’m standing.”
I probably shouldn’t rile the beast, but I can’t help it. There’s something about my brand-new husband that makes me want to behave like I’m still in grade school.
“What did my father say to you?”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“He said you were an asshole, but as you’re his son, he has to like you. I think he was trying to make me feel better.”
He freezes in the middle of the dance floor, and his hand is so tight on my hip, I’m sure he’ll leave a bruise. His sigh comes up all the way from his polished Italian shoes. “Did you learn to run that mouth at the expensive college your parents paid for?”
Angling my head to one side, I offer a faint smile. “It’ s odd, you know. With everyone else, I’m the epitome of politeness. Just ask your father. It’s you who brings out the sass in me. Funny that, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for a response I’m not interested to hear, I wriggle from his grasp and head for the nearest server holding a tray filled with drinks. If I’m to make it through my wedding night without stabbing my husband in the eye with a diamond-studded letter opener, I’ll need more than the glass of water I’ve had so far.
I swipe a flute filled to the brim with the finest champagne, probably flown in from the vineyards of France, and down a third. The hit of alcohol goes some way to soothing my frayed nerves. I’m not a big drinker, but tonight, I need it. I check the gold watch Dad gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Ten o’clock. God, I’m exhausted, but I guess I’m stuck here for a while longer yet. Probably for the best. Nerves are already streaming around my body at the idea of losing my virginity to a man I disliked on sight, and who clearly doesn’t like me, either.
I’m scared.
What if it hurts? What if he’s rough? What if I can’t bring myself to do it? Would he take me anyway?
Yes, I think he would.
I feel sick at the thought of him holding me down while he forces himself on me.
Once again, my anger rises at my parents, and right at its peak, they appear, all beaming smiles and shining eyes.
“There you are. We wondered where you’d gotten to. Are you enjoying yourself?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask them whether they’re being purposely obtuse. Am I enjoying myself? What kind of question is that ?
“Oh, I’m having a ball, Mom.”
“I’m so glad,” she replies, oblivious to the undertone of sarcasm. “Darling, I wonder if I might have a word. In private.”
She tucks her hand into the crook of my arm and leads me to a quiet corner of the ballroom, farthest away from the speakers blasting out music.
“This is a bit cloak and dagger, Mom. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I… wanted to say that… well… I probably should have talked to you about this before now, but…” She trails off, biting her lip.
“Mom. Spit it out before I turn gray and spout facial hair.”
She chuckles. “Ah, there’s my girl. So spirited. So like your father.” Her cheeks pink up, and she blinks several times in succession. “It’s… well, tonight is your wedding night, and I wanted to make sure you had the information you needed.”
Oh. My. God. My mother wants to give me the birds and the bees talk. Please ground, open up and swallow me whole.
“Mom. Stop. We did sex ed in school, and I have girlfriends who weren’t sold before they were born and made to keep themselves intact to satisfy the traditions of a thousand-year-old English family. I know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night. I know what’s expected of me.”
I don’t want to do it, but you’ve given me no choice.
I’ve always known my destiny and never questioned it, but since Alexander sprung this wedding on us eight short days ago, a trickle of resentment for my parents has sprung up. Just what did my father get out of the deal he struck with Charles De Vil that was worth selling his only child for ?
“Mom, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”
“If I can, darling.”
“Why did you and Dad agree to this arrangement? What did you get out of it?”
Her eyes shift to the left, and the flush to her cheeks deepens. “The De Vils are a powerful family, Imogen. We knew merging our families would be good for all of us.”
“All? Including me?”
“Yes, including you.” She sweeps a hand down my arm. “My baby girl, do you think your father and I would ever allow any harm to come to you? Marrying into this family will open incredible doors, not just for you, but for your children.” Pulling me into a hug, she kisses my forehead. “Please trust your father and me to do the right thing by you. An arranged marriage has a far greater chance of success than the more conventional methods Western society prefers. And in large parts of the world, this is the norm. I know the two of you will be happy, given time.”
No, we won’t. Not if I have anything to do with it. As for opening doors? I’m perfectly capable of opening my own, except no one gave me the opportunity to try.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll give it a shot,” I lie.
“Good girl. I know you won’t let us down.”
No. I won’t. I’ll leave that to Alexander. All he needs is a shove, or more likely several shoves, in the right direction.