Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim (Titans Captivated #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Isla

Houston, Texas

“Hold still, Miss Davenport.” The bridal assistant’s voice holds an edge of panic as she adjusts my veil for the third time. “We need to make sure it covers your face completely.”

Because heaven forbid anyone notice too soon that I’m not Margaux.

Sixteen hours.

That’s all it took for my entire world to implode.

One moment I was curled up in my apartment with my cat and a stack of books after finally making it back from Margaux’s rehearsal dinner, and the next I was summoned to my parents’ home to discover my perfect older sister had fled in the night with her secret lover, leaving nothing but a hastily scrawled note and a wedding that couldn’t be canceled.

Now I’m standing in front of a mirror, not recognizing the woman staring back.

My eyes are wide and scared, my hair is in a fancy updo, and I’m frozen with a cold combination of fear and panic .

“Your sister is a damn coward.” My father’s voice is icy with fury. “Now you’ll do your duty to our family.”

As if I have any choice at all.

“And if you let me down…”

His threat hangs in the air.

“You’ll do what?” I want to challenge. But I don’t. My father is a powerful judge, and anyone who crosses him pays a terrible price.

Even though I’m his daughter, he won’t hesitate to destroy me.

Margaux and I are pawns in his power games, nothing more. We’ve been trotted out at every photo op—Christmas and election cycles most especially. Both of us were debutants, as fitting one of the oldest and most respected names in Houston society.

Despite the fact we were underage, we were pictured with aging billionaires on a luxury yacht in Galveston each Mardi Gras. And in every image, we were smiling perfectly, sometimes in ballgowns so low-cut that those supposed gentlemen could see our belly buttons.

Part of me doesn’t blame Margaux for fleeing, and I wish I had half her courage.

Her intended groom—Dorian Vale—is an awful human being.

When our father first announced that his oldest would be marrying the man, we’d hidden in her room and looked him up on Scandalicious, our favorite online gossip site.

There was story after story about his womanizing and speculation about his business deals.

And the man he’s always pictured with? Brennan West. He’s an actual criminal, with a rap sheet a mile long. But that didn’t seem to stop the pair from hanging out, smiling on either side of their newest conquest.

“Are you listening, girl? ”

I grind my back teeth together. “Yes, Father.”

The bottom of the satin gown is still pooled around my feet in an uncooperative heap as the seamstress yanks at the excess fabric, her mouth set in a tight line.

My arms ache from holding still for so long while another woman kneels beside me.

She sticks one more pin in the bodice—and me—as she desperately attempts to make the dress fit a body it wasn’t designed for.

Because this isn’t my dress. This isn’t my wedding. And Dorian Vale was never supposed to be my groom.

The lace sleeves sag at my shoulders, the neckline dipping dangerously low, a stark contrast to the way the fitted waist hangs loose around my ribs. Margaux has always been a little more voluptuous than me.

I, on the other hand, have very few curves, and my mother has always encouraged me to dress in a way that tries to disguise my lack of feminine assets.

With a sigh, the seamstress lets out a sharp breath, gaze flicking up toward my mother in silent disapproval.

“You look beautiful.” My mother comes in closer, the false cheer in her voice grating against my nerves. “Doesn’t she, darling?”

My father barely looks up from his phone, his mouth a hard line, the only sign of tension in a face otherwise blank with indifference.

The Honorable Judge Davenport, pillar of Texas society who aspires to even loftier heights, can’t even pretend to give a damn about the offspring he’s selling to save his own skin.

The same man who looked Dorian Vale in the eye and promised him the perfect society bride is now trying to pass off his backup plan without a word of warning to the unsuspecting groom.

“Darling?” my mother prompts, her smile becoming even more fragile .

“She’ll do.”

His words fall like stones in the quiet room.

As always, I’m his biggest disappointment.

Since I’m the oldest, I was supposed to get married to an appropriate man and deliver children.

Instead, I walked away from my family. I chose academia over society. Instead of getting a business degree as expected, I earned my PhD in literature. When he cut me off from the trust fund established by my grandmother, I took a teaching job, further humiliating the family.

Even now, I wouldn’t stand in, if the stakes weren’t so high.

My father’s career, our family’s reputation, perhaps even his life—all of these hinge on this marriage going forward exactly as planned. And my mother begged.

The fact that the bride has been swapped without the groom’s knowledge is nothing more than an inconvenient detail.

I squeeze my eyes shut as she digs her fingers into my shoulders, a silent warning to remain silent. To pretend.

Like she has for the last twentysomething years?

I swallow hard, considering the reflection in the mirror. The scared woman staring back at me isn’t a woman looking forward to her fairytale wedding. She’s a substitute. A placeholder. The Davenport family’s last-minute solution to a problem that should have never been mine to fix.

Behind me on the vanity of the wedding events center, a silver-framed family photo mocks me. It was taken on Margaux’s most recent birthday. All of us are arranged in perfect formation, smiling our perfect social-media-ready smiles.

Who brings a picture to a rented room? My mom. Because it will look lovely in all the official wedding snapshots that will be sent to the local media .

The image is less than a month old. Did Margaux know even then? That she’d never go through with this farce of a marriage?

“Hurry up,” my father snaps at the seamstress as he drops his phone into his tuxedo pocket.

Desperately she shakes her head, not looking up as she secures yet another pin. “I need another hour.”

“You don’t have it.”

Hating to see people treated this way, I glare at my father, then reassure the woman. “You’re doing a great job. Thank you.” A pulse pounds in my temples, and a dull ache forms behind my eyes.

“We’ll make it work.” My mother smooths her hands down the front of my bodice, as if the fabric will magically mold to fit. “No one will be able to tell.”

Does she really believe that?

Through the walls, “Pachelbel’s Canon in D” floats up from the string quartet below, the familiar melody now twisted into something ominous.

Each note feels like another step closer to the gallows.

Somewhere down there, three hundred of Houston’s elite have gathered to witness what they think will be the society wedding of the year.

Instead, they’ll get me.

Most likely, the guests won’t realize the switch immediately. Margaux and I share the same dark hair and green eyes, and we’re the same height. Even though I’m slimmer, that can be explained by nerves about the wedding.

But once the truth is revealed…

Dorian Vale will be waiting at the end of the aisle. And though my parents might believe I can be seamlessly swapped for the sister who fled, I know better.

And when he notices, I have no idea what he’ll do or how my father will deal with the repercussions .

The photographer, Marcella—a woman my father has hired a dozen times in the past—sweeps in, camera in hand.

The seamstress and her shop assistant have to move away, and Marcella poses me alongside my parents.

Thank God my veil is hiding my face. Otherwise, my pale skin and stark features would mar their requisite portraits.

“Can you get that posted right away?” my mother asks as Marcella reviews her work.

“You want to see the shots first?”

“We trust you.”

“How about you?” Marcella asks me.

I shake my head. “Whatever you think is best.” If I never see a single picture of myself from today, I’ll be fine with that.

A soft knock comes at the door before it creaks open. “Are you almost ready?”

My only bridesmaid, Evelyn, peeks inside, her smile strained but reassuring. She’s one of Margaux’s closest friends, but even she’s going along with the charade. Probably because her father is in debt to mine.

With a half smile, trying to be reassuring, she crosses the room and takes my trembling hands in hers. “You’ve got this. Everything will be okay.”

Not for one second do I believe that, but I force a nod anyway. My parents—and the no-nonsense etiquette teacher who smacked me with a ruler for every transgression—ensured my manners are impeccable.

A flurry of motion follows. Mrs. Henderson, my wedding planner, sweeps in with military precision, fussing over my veil until it drapes just so, the delicate lace casting intricate shadows across my face.

With a small smile, my mother pretends to hug me.

“Don’t fail me again.” Eyes narrowed, my father stares at me—hard. “Let’s go, Cecilia. ”

The door closes behind them, and I allow my shoulders to roll forward with relief.

“You really are a beautiful bride,” Evelyn tells me.

I appreciate her lie—and her brave attempt at loyalty.

“Are you ready, Isla?” Mrs. Henderson asks.

No. Not ever. But I have to do this. I attempt a smile that falls flat.

Shaking her head, the seamstress stands and moves away from me. I’m sure she doesn’t like disappointing my father. But honestly, her frustration probably has more to do with the fact that the bespoke gown from Hautest Bridal Couture looks godawful on me than anything else.

Her assistant fluffs my dress before standing next to the seamstress.

“Isla?” the planner prompts.

Dread claws at me.

More than ever, I understand why my sister chickened out. Who wants to spend their entire adult life with a man who has ties to the Mafia?

Evelyn hands me my bouquet of flowers. “I have to go.”