Chapter 17
Edmund
I love her so much it hurts. Our bride. Our wife.
The ceremony passes in a blur of happy emotions. My father says I feel too damn much? Well, fuck yes I do, and I’m glad. Because these kinds of feelings make everything else—rage, pain, sorrow—worth it.
Danica is a vision. Her creamy-white gown has tiny little sleeves capping her shoulders.
This one isn’t fancy like her first gown was; it’s a completely different style.
It hits her mid-calf, exposing her family tattoo.
She’s proud of her heritage, of her family.
She should be. While no family is perfect, hers has overcome incredible struggles.
Her blond hair is piled on her head in a riot of intricate curls and braids. I want to find the pins in her hair and let it all down so I can touch the strands, so I can breathe in her sweet scent.
We walk back down the aisle, arm-in-arm. Married. Troy walks on one side of her, me on the other. If music is playing, I’m unaware. All I can focus on is our Danica.
The reception is also fairy-garden style.
Small picnic tables laden with tea cakes and Russian cookies, dainty dish sets in mismatched designs and colors.
Flowers everywhere. Gauze in pink, purple, and yellow drapes over the tree branches, creating an ethereal effect.
As the sun sets, twinkle lights come on, illuminating our romantic wedding night.
We dance—Troy dances with Danica first, and then it’s my turn.
I also dance with my mother, who gushes about the “perfect night” and how she “hopes this will last, unlike your father’s and my sham of a marriage.
” I let her comments roll off my back. She and my father are, as usual, flaunting their affairs to each other and thriving on misery.
I found something better. Something joyful and everlasting.
The night is perfect. Even when one of the caterers dumps an entire tray of cookies on the lawn, nobody bats an eye except to help the poor woman pick them up. We have plenty of cookies. All is well.
While everyone seems distracted, I grab Danica’s hand. She grabs Troy’s, and I lead us under a large willow tree. Its long branches form a tent around us.
“This is the perfect night, the perfect wedding.” Danica’s gray eyes shine as she looks between Troy and me. “I love you both so very, very much.”
“I love you, too.” Troy kisses her cheek.
“And it’s still a good night for you, even though your cousins showed up?”
He grimaces. “They’re behaving themselves. For now. I’m not worried about them—you’re the only family I need.”
“And your parents seem to be getting along okay.” Danica reaches up to squeeze my arm.
“They’re okay enough. Like Troy said, I’m not worried about them. I have you.”
She sighs. “This is like a fairytale. But we should return to the party before we’re missed.”
“I don’t care if we’re missed.” Troy leans down to nuzzle her neck.
I crowd her on the other side. “Neither do I. You’re our bride. Let them think we’re getting up to all sorts of nefarious, filthy things with you.”
Danica giggles, then sighs as Troy and I both kiss over her neck. I find her lips with mine and drink her in. Soon, she’s making soft, needy sounds in the back of her throat.
“Back to the party,” I say in a cheerful voice.
Troy chuckles.
“Argh!” She stamps her foot. “I hate you both.”
“I know, princess. You hate us a lot. But in one hour, we’re taking you home.”
She blinks and widens her eyes. “And—and then what? What happens at home?”
Little brat, playing innocent with us.
“Something fun.” Troy’s voice is deep.
Danica scrunches her nose. “More fun than the party?”
“She wants a spanking tonight, doesn’t she?” I meet Troy’s gaze.
“I think she does.”
Danica’s hands find ours. “Only if my husbands are doing it.”
I lift her knuckles to my lips. “Always.”
Troy repeats it. “Always.”
Danica’s eyes shine with happy tears. “Always.”
* * *
Seth
Damiano finds a very pretty woman to dance with. I think she’s Edmund’s cousin. I watch the two of them sway to the music. Damiano’s having a grand old time.
Me, not so much.
I hate weddings. Every time I attend one, I remember my brother’s. That was six years ago. Fucking hell. What a mistake I thought he and the bride were making. They were so fucking young.
I don’t know if youth was their bigger crime, or the fact they wouldn’t listen to me—the older, wiser brother.
Maybe in the end it’s good that they got married. He only lived for another year, because fuck motorcycles.
Either way, tonight’s wedding has been pretty okay as far as weddings go. Extra points for the whole fairy garden theme, and for holding it outdoors. If I had to suffer through this in some stuffy reception hall, I’d grab the cake knife and stab myself in the chest.
Oh, and extra points for the cookies. I can’t get enough of these things. I’ve probably eaten an entire tray, all on my own. And I sit up and start drooling like Pavlov’s dog when a server steps out of the catering tent. She’s facing away at first, struggling with the canvas door.
“Hurry up,” I mutter under my breath. I dab at the crumbs left on my plate. I could really use another cookie or twenty.
She finally wins her fight with the door, then spins around to face the party, cookie tray held aloft.
Fuck. Me.
She sees me at the same time I see her. Those pouty lips turn down in a frown. Her cheeks were already flushed—probably from her frustration getting out of the tent. Now the blush deepens as her green eyes zero in on my face.
She drops the tray of cookies. She freezes as they cascade to the ground, her lips parted in surprise and dismay. Then she bends down to start picking up the fallen cookies. Several nearby guests jump up to help her collect them.
I remain in my seat. I can’t move. I can’t fucking breathe.
One month ago, I bought her in an auction at Low Vice.
I watched her fuck my friend because I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Fucking her would be ten thousand shades of wrong.
Even though her pert breasts had my mouth watering more than the cookies ever will.
Even though the sight of her plump lips kissing Damiano drove me insane with lust. Even though her needy sounds echo in my head.
Even though I wake up hard every morning after her face has floated in and out of my dreams.
I can’t have her. But I want her so fucking bad.
I won’t do it, though. I won’t pursue her. Not ever.
Because it’s her—Madison. My brother’s widow.