6. Cara
6
CARA
D eclan didn’t let me go. Each time I tried to wrench my hand free, his fingers locked down tighter. If it wasn’t a show of his strength, a reminder that he was bigger and stronger, it was a sign of how badly he wanted this wedding to happen.
I didn’t need another example of his power. He’d caught me—easily and without so much as a grunt of exertion—when I fell from the wall I’d so foolishly thought I could climb over. Really, in heels and this enormous dress with so many layers I felt like I was wrapped in a bubble of lace? It had been a dumb plan to try to run. The front doors were locked, which raised red flags.
The courtyard had no exits, and a knee-jerk reaction to the vision of having to be with Declan for the rest of my life had me panicking and wishing to run.
He frightened me, even if he was strong and able to prevent me from crashing to the path and breaking a bone. It still hurt. I’d sprained my ankle, and it throbbed as he hurried me back into the empty church.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t utter a damn word, and I refused to let out a sound of discomfort or pain. Letting this man see me vulnerable would be too much to bear. With someone so dark and impatient as him, I had to make sure I presented myself as an equal, not a thing to push around.
Even if he literally dragged me like I was an object to place at the altar.
I didn’t bother smiling, facing him off with all the disdain and irritation I could muster. He didn’t care. Staring right back with that frustrated glare, he gave me the impression that making him run after me was a grievance he didn’t care for.
Why? Why me?
As the timid priest cleared his throat and began speaking, Declan squeezed my hand tighter. A signal that this was happening.
But why?
Tiring of maintaining this glower on Declan, I shifted my focus to the only other people in the room.
Shane and Keira stood together in the first pew. They’d switched sides, standing behind Declan, and I couldn’t look away.
My father had never acknowledged me. Not once in my life once he met Keira. I thought back to how he’d been so annoyed with my late arrival to his mansion, disobeying his request that I come speak to him about that “favor” earlier this week.
Behind him, Saoirse smirked. Smug and stuck up. I seldom ever spoke to her, but it all clicked now without any words needing to be shared.
Declan must have made an offer for her . And seeing what a hulking thug Declan was, she'd refused.
That’s why. My father expected me to marry Declan so Saoirse wouldn’t have to. I was the backup. The sacrifice. The spare to dispose of.
Keira tipped her chin higher, and I was pulled to consider her haughty expression as the priest droned on. She slit her eyes, honing her anger on me.
You fucking bitch. I didn’t react to her direct glower. I kept my face masked and locked in this frown as I revisited the image of my phone. I’d received a text from her when I'd so idiotically tried to escape in the church’s courtyard.
Keira texted me a simple warning, Marry that man or else. Attached was a picture taken of a document. I’d stared at that simple paper many times, wondering if and when my mother would be not only accepted for the kidney transplant, but also to be matched before it was too late.
I didn’t want to know how Keira got her hands on a copy of that document from the farm. She knew how to use it with maximum effectiveness.
Marry him or your mother will be taken off the waitlist for this.
Her text chilled me. And just like that, I caved to her threat. I couldn’t forsake my mother. I couldn’t compromise her hope for a healthier rest of her life. My cooperation in all of this was contingent on that detail. That was the only way I could go through with this wedding, nodding and mumbling my replies to the priest.
Only for her.
She was the only reason that made this bearable.
Declan tugged on my hand, noticing that I looked around. If he worried I was trying to run again, he could relax on that. His ironclad grip on my hand was no joke. My fingers would go numb soon, but still, I refused to show him that he was hurting me.
Do your worst, asshole. Go on. I dare you. Because I would be the winner here.
Little did he know, but I couldn’t carry a child. I had very limited chances of fertility due to complications with an ovarian cyst rupture when I first entered puberty. Scar tissue had rendered me damaged and unlikely to ever conceive, so the joke was on him.
My idea to strike a deal with him was an impulsive decision. I knew I was marrying him to secure my mother’s health and safety, but I couldn’t just leave her or my home. I had to get back to her. Once my father paid her bills, I’d be nearly free to return to her.
I wouldn’t give Declan an heir.
I would let him consider me his wife for mere months. Then I would be the one walking away victorious. I’d be the one to get what I wanted, and I couldn’t trouble myself with feeling a morsel of guilt about it.
He was only using me. He only wanted me to knock me up. He'd told me so bluntly that he didn’t care who his wife was, just as long as he had one and she could give him a child. His frankness peeved me, proving how much he didn’t give a shit about me.
Of course, he doesn’t care. He’s not in this for love or money or anything else. A man who’d enter an arranged marriage—and force it upon his bride—wouldn’t even consider the normal reasons a couple would be united.
I hadn’t ever thought about marrying. Independence mattered too much, and once I toughed out these six months, I would actually, finally, have some taste of it. Without my mother’s medical woes and debts weighing down on me…
“Ow.” I hissed, losing my stride with not showing Declan any discomfort. He’d squeezed harder on my hand, and I furrowed my brow at him.
The priest cleared his throat, ripping my attention from the jerk who’d be my husband.
“What?” I snapped.
Blushing and timidly glancing at Declan, the priest gestured at a hand reaching out to me.
Another man seemed to bite his lip, struggling not to laugh as he held up a ring for me to take from him.
I’d zoned out so much, I wasn’t paying attention to the ceremony.
I made eye contact with the tuxedoed man and took the ring.
“Got yourself a really sweet one here, Dec,” he teased.
“Shut the fuck up, Ian.” Declan held his hand up for me to slip his ring on. I did, ramming it over his knuckle and pushing it hard enough to sting as it hit his palm.
“You sure she’s going to stick around?” Ian whispered back with too much amusement.
“Shut up,” I told Ian, annoyed. I didn’t need any more damn reminders of my stupidity to escape the first time. I wouldn’t lose sight of what mattered. My mother was dependent on my obedience here, and I wouldn’t risk her life.
Declan took the simple band and positioned it to slide up my finger. I expected him to force it onto my digit like I had done to him. I knew nothing at all about this man, but I counted on a devilish malice with how cruelly and wickedly he glared at me.
Instead of pain, I was teased to a slow drag of the cool metal up my finger. He pressed it up until it rested as far as it could go. Then, keeping his crystal blue eyes on me, he raised my hand to his smirking lips to kiss where the jewelry now resided.
Heat flared through me, confusing me and pissing me off. The touch of his mouth on me should’ve repulsed me, but my body wasn’t on the same page as my mind. It was the sinister promise in his stare that ignited this ridiculous spike of lust.
“She won’t be going anywhere,” he vowed in reply to his best man.
I swallowed, narrowing my eyes at what sounded like a threat to fight against.
But it also seemed to be a genuine oath, that he would ensure that I stay captive as his bride.
“Six months,” I reminded him in a hot whisper.
His lips lifted in a cruel smile, and I bit my lip not to shout at him.
“If you dare to renege…”
He spoke over my heated whisper, answering the priest with an I do .
“I’ll run,” I warned, stepping closer to whisper. “I’ll run so fucking fast if you back out of our agreement.”
The priest cleared his throat again, and without acknowledging him, I maintained this glare on my groom and through clenched teeth, replied, “I do.”
Declan didn’t waste a second. His hand left mine at last. Reaching up to grip the back of my neck, he hauled me close for a punishing kiss. His lips dominated, forcing me back without any room to move as he locked his hand on me, securing my head right where he wanted me.
Fuck.
I was overwhelmed, stunned and shocked. He claimed my mouth, infusing heat and angry passion against my lips with a brutal urgency I couldn’t deny. Desire tricked me into wanting to moan and reply in kind. Fear kept me nervous and bewildered.
A potent burst of lust spiraled within me, but the stubborn insistence to appear unaffected and unchanging won out.
I froze, doing my best to ignore how fucking good his lips were against mine. Warm, firm, and so ravenous.
He broke away, staring at me with mere inches buffering between us. Those blue orbs glittered with desire and power, maybe a hint of mischief too, as though he was laughing at me.
Fuck you. I’d be damned if he'd mock me, if he thought he could get under my skin in any way at all.
Narrowing my eyes, I waited for him to release the back of my neck. Deep down, I resisted the pull to him, to grab his jacket and tug him back down so I could have a repeat of that hot kiss, to ask for a longer dose of that desire I had no business feeling for him .
Tough it out, then run. That’s all I have to do.
“You’re mine now, Cara,” he growled.
Not for good.
Ian chuckled. “Shall we leave for the reception?”
I flinched, jarred by the realization that it wasn’t just me and Declan here. That we weren’t in this bubble of desire and anger, antagonizing each other in private.
The priest had scurried away. My “family” filed to the exit.
Ian waited for Declan and me to leave.
“Reception?” I asked, dodging his grip.
“Yes.” He smoothed down his jacket. “An evil necessity we must endure to make this look as believable as possible.”
You are my evil necessity. I held up my hand, showing him the band he’d placed on my finger. “This is proof enough.”
He grabbed my hand and held it, leading me down the aisle. “My family will need to meet you.”
I rolled my eyes. “But they couldn’t bother to come to the ceremony?”
“The ceremony you tried to flee?”
I rolled my eyes, looking aside and trying to brace myself for a party to meet his family and the people whose opinions he cared about.
My family wasn’t here. My mother was home, likely confused about why I’d taken off. Struck with a deep sense of homesickness, I followed my husband out of the church and tried to convince myself that I could handle this.
That I could handle anything he dared to throw at me.
Just so long as he doesn’t try to weaken me by kissing me ever again.