Chapter 4 #2
“Dorian tells me the three of you will be paying us a visit in the next couple of weeks.” Altair keeps his expression neutral as he considers me .
Over my dead body.
“We’ll absolutely be there,” Dorian replies on our behalf. “All three of us.”
What in the actual hell?
My mind spins as I turn my head to gawk at him. I’ve married a man who is into BDSM? Was that one more reason Margaux couldn’t go through with the wedding?
Wildly the vows I just recited ricochet in my memory. Obey. I thought the word was dictatorial. But I’d had no idea that he might have meant it in the BDSM way.
While I’ve been mentally reeling, the conversation has continued around me.
“Do you mind taking a picture of all of us together?” Dante asks Marcella.
I look to Dorian. He’s surely going to say no, right? There’s no way he can be comfortable being photographed with a mob underboss.
“Excellent idea.”
Once more, Dorian has stunned me into silence.
Smoothly he takes the glass from my hand and passes it off to a member of the waitstaff.
When I scowl, he promises to replace it soon.
Rather than letting Marcella pose us, Dorian moves us into the positions he wants. Altair is on the far end. Next to him is Dante, followed by Dorian. I am placed between my husband and Brennan.
As soon as I have a chance to talk to my husband privately, I need to understand what kind of relationship the two men share. All I know is that Brennan is never far from Dorian’s side.
Possessively Dorian slides his arm around my waist.
To everyone around us, I’m sure we look like a happy couple.
If the truth were only known …
After politely excusing us, Dorian moves us to a bar-height table and introduces me to other people in his social circle. From what I can see, he appears to have more guests at this reception than my family does.
I glance across the room. My parents are smiling as wide as they do when they’re hosting a political fundraiser, glad-handing people and indulging in private conversations. Not a surprise. Shining is what they both do best.
Then Dante strides toward them.
My father fiddles with his bowtie, and my mother goes still, her eyes wide.
Stunned, I blink.
Why on earth is my father—a well-respected and powerful judge—talking to a Mafioso? And why does my mother seem paralyzed with fear?
“Isla?” Dorian prompts, dragging me back to our conversation.
“Sorry.” I force a smile as I return my attention to the people we’re talking to.
A few minutes later, after we move on, Mrs. Henderson finds us again. “Marcella would like to take some of the formal portraits now.”
More pictures?
If I have to smile one more time, I’m afraid my face will shatter.
“We’re ready,” Dorian responds.
Mrs. Henderson guides the three of us to another room that Marcella has set up with a greenscreen background.
She has two assistants and equipment I can’t begin to name, including blinding cameras and shades.
“I’d like to start with just the two of you,” Marcella tells Dorian.
Does what I think even matter ?
A makeup artist swoops in to touch up my lipstick and my blush.
Once that’s done, Dorian allows Marcella to position us, shifting me so I’m facing her more. His grip on my waist is like a brand.
Mrs. Henderson fluffs the back of my dress, letting the small train fall in a gentle pool of expensive fabric.
“Smile,” Marcella coaches us.
Doing that takes all my determination.
I lose track of how many times she presses the shutter, accepts a camera with a different size lens, and makes tiny adjustments to our poses.
“How about one with your arms around my neck?” he asks.
“I’m sure that’s not?—”
“Great idea,” Marcella responds, speaking at the same time I do.
Expectantly she waits for me to follow my husband’s suggestion. Sighing, I turn toward him and loop my arms around his neck.
“Much better.” With a feral grin, he clamps his hands on my hip bones and brings me in closer.
Ridiculously close. So much so that his massive erection presses into me. I glare at him. “This is?—”
“Stay where you are. Unless you want the pictures to show my”—his grin deepens—”situation. How much I am looking forward to the honeymoon.”
I wish the floor would swallow me whole.
He quirks a brow. “Isla?”
Having no choice, I stay where I am, inhaling him, feeling his strength. Right now, I hate him more than ever.
“Great shot!” Marcella calls out. “Let’s get some with the wedding party. ”
Brennan strides over, and Evelyn approaches cautiously, her champagne-colored bridesmaid dress catching the light.
She takes her place beside me. Her hand finds mine. It’s the smallest gesture of support, but it means everything. “You’re doing great. Really.”
Thankfully Brennan is next to Dorian, so at least I don’t have to contend with him.
A flurry of poses follows, the flash bursting like small explosions, each one stealing a piece of me, immortalizing this moment in history. Dorian is perfect in his role. But I feel brittle, breakable.
Then my mother enters the room and smooths an imaginary wrinkle from my sleeve, as if presentation alone can hold our fractured world together.
My father doesn’t bother looking at me. He stands beside me, rigid as a statue, his jaw locked tight, his eyes unreadable. The man who sold both his daughters to save himself can’t even pretend to enjoy the moment. Why would he? He has hands to shake and pockets to steal from.
Marcella, to her credit, keeps the session moving, guiding us with smooth efficiency. “All right, now just the bride between the groom and best man.”
“We can go?” my father asks.
“I think I have everything I need.” Marcella nods.
Neither of my parents says a word as they exit the room.
“If you need anything, I’ll be available,” Evelyn tells me.
“My clutch?” I ask. She’d taken charge of it after the ceremony.
“I’ll be right back with it.”
“Thanks.” For her, my smile isn’t fake.
Dorian and Brennan flank me, and the moment their weight is at my sides, the sense of ownership is suffocating. I feel small between them, dwarfed not just by their sheer size but by the unspoken power that radiates from them .
Marcella snaps the image.
There’s a click.
Then another.
Brennan’s gaze flicks toward Dorian, and they exchange glances that seem weighty, but I’m left out of whatever it is.
A few minutes later, Evelyn returns. She catches my eye and places my purse on a table.
When there’s finally a break in the photos, I seize my chance to escape—at least for a blissful few minutes. “Excuse me,” I murmur, already stepping away. “I need to freshen up.”
Dorian captures my elbow.
He has to know it’s a pretense. After all, Marcella’s team just fixed my appearance.
“I need to use the restroom,” I clarify. At least he can’t object to that.
He sweeps his gaze over me, studying my face. “Don’t be long.”
It’s not a request.
When I leave, Brennan shockingly follows me. Have I given up all semblance of freedom?
In the relative safety of the powder room, I lean against a wall.
Then I decide to see what kind of damage has been done to my reputation by Marcella and my husband.
I go into one of the stalls for privacy and pull out my phone.
There are messages waiting for me—from an unknown number, but I know instantly who they’re from.
Oh my God, Isla. I’m so sorry. I just saw Scandalicious.
A second follows.
I never meant for you to take my place. But you have to understand—I couldn’t do it. Not with what I learned. I just couldn’t.
I close my eyes. Then I read the final one.
Please forgive me .
Even though I don’t blame her for running, I hate being in this situation.
My hands are shaking as I delete the messages.
And since Margaux has already told me about Scandalicious, I decide not to look. I’m sure that it’s worse than I can imagine, and I’m sure that seeing it for myself will only make the rest of the night worse.
Back in front of the bathroom vanity, I stare at my reflection. The woman looking back at me is a stranger—someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s possession.
After squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, willing this all to go away, I adjust one of the pins in my hair. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse.
When I exit the bathroom, Brennan is waiting for me. He hasn’t moved an inch.
“Isla.”
His voice is soft, but in a deep, rich, haunting baritone, sending a little, unexpected skitter up my spine.
“Ready to go back?”
Not ever. But I can’t say that to him, can I?
He’s at my side as we return to the anteroom where cocktails are still being served.
Face in a scowl, my father strides toward me. “A word, please, Isla.”
With a polite nod, Brennan moves away.
“Where the hell did you vanish to earlier?”
I frown. None of your business .
“We had a receiving line planned.” His voice is a terrible snarl.
He has me cornered near a wall, and his fingers have curled into a fist at his side. His fury simmers just beneath the surface, but he won’t make a scene here. Not with these people watching.
“I went where my husband decided I needed to go. ”
“You’re an embarrassment to this family.”
My pulse accelerates, and heat flashes through me, a mixture of humiliation and anger. To him, that’s the worst insult he can hurl my way.
“Did you fuck him?”
Suddenly fury wins. If it wasn’t for him, none of this would be happening.
“What if I did?” I challenge, my voice stronger than I thought possible.
“This was your idea, remember? And he wanted the wedding to look legit so he can spin it. If you’re embarrassed by how I look, you should have thought that through before you fed me to a big, bad wolf. ”
A slow clap echoes behind me.
I spin around.
Dorian.
“Well done, little one.”
His approval sends a shiver down my spine.
Brennan is at his side. Obviously the man sensed that my father was a threat and went to fetch Dorian.
My husband uses his powerful body to force the judge back. Then he pulls me away from the wall and stands at my side. His presence is both threatening and protective.
Brennan moves in a little, mimicking Dorian’s play.
Then my husband levels a lethal glare at my father. When he speaks, all the charm is gone from Dorian’s voice. “You and I will be meeting after the father/daughter dance.”
William bristles, but Dorian tilts his head toward me. “If she agrees to one, of course. But frankly, I wouldn’t blame her if she refused to speak to you again. And that would be rather unfortunate. For you.”
My father goes pale. “Are you threatening me, Vale?”
“Protecting what’s mine,” he counters easily. “Don’t cross me.”
William sways a little .
My mother hurries over, and she reaches for her husband’s hand, wrapping her beautifully manicured fingernails around his wrist like a delicate shackle.
Dorian leans in, voice cold steel. “Just so we’re clear, be careful with how you speak to my wife, Judge. I have zero tolerance for disrespect. You’ve had your one and only warning. Understand?”
My father goes from white to ashen.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Then, smoothly, as if he hasn’t just threatened a powerful sitting judge, Dorian smiles at me. “Time for dinner, darling. Our guests are, indeed, waiting.”
With that, he leads me away.
My heart is still beating erratically from the confrontation.
“You did well. I’m proud of you.”
His words shouldn’t matter.
So why do they?
He strokes my wrist, his touch lingering on my pulse point. “Though I wouldn’t mind finishing what we started earlier. Since we’ve already been accused of it, should I take you back to that room and fuck you hard?”