Chapter 8
ROXY
What was worse?
Fantasizing about a man for most of your life in unrequited agony?
Or marrying said man of your dreams when his soul belonged to your sister?
The sounds of laughter, champagne corks, and music from the reception ballroom filtered through the velvet drapes of the alcove I was still hiding in.
I sank deeper into the recesses of the armchair, groaning at the cloying fit of a tight silk wedding gown made for Evangeline’s smaller frame.
For years during my lonely teenage nights, I created elaborate fantasies about marrying Angel, walking down the aisle with him, living in a gorgeous home, and having four beautiful children with him.
My childish daydreams became my comfort when life in the Rosedale mansion became too hard to bear, and I yearned for a carefree life.
Now, part of me was elated about being his wife, even though we’d both been coerced into marrying each other.
The other half of me was terrified.
When we were alone, without the circus of this wedding, how would he treat me?
He had no feelings, let alone love, for me; he’d adored my sister, but he was now forced to contend with me.
That said, he’d tolerated me over the years; in fact, he’d always treated me with respect and kindness.
Yet, it was no small leap to imagine he’d every right now to hate me.
That truth lanced through my soul.
I held my head in my hands, closing my eyes from the revelry.
How had my life gone from a mediocre, middling existence to a dumpster fire in just a few hours?
‘Roxy?’
I glanced up as Sofia stepped into the quiet alcove.
She reached her hands out, and I half-lurched into her arms, fighting back tears.
In the last couple of months, I’d come to value Jude’s wife for her wisdom, her wicked sense of humor, and her refusal to let life crush her joy.
She helped me back onto the chair, rubbing my back as my shoulders shook with a wave of emotion.
‘I am so sorry you’re going through this, cara,’ she consoled me, her Italian accent soft and gentle, which undid me even more.
I still had Elsa’s hankie, and I used it to wipe my tears until my jag ran its course.
‘He probably hates me for this,’ I whispered.
‘He doesn’t. Angel has a lot of respect for you, but he’s a grown man who’s been pushed into a corner, and he’s fighting back, which is his right.’
I leaned my head back onto the seat and met her concerned gaze.
‘What would you do in my shoes, Sof?’
‘Let him ride out his rage, and allow yourself to heal from the initial shock,’ Sofia murmured, rubbing my tense arm. ‘Then, I’d remain the lovely, kind, amazing woman you are; providence shall fall where it will.’
I exhaled a ragged breath and bit my lip.
Sofia tilted her head, her eyes studying my face.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you in love with Angel, Roxy?’
I closed my eyes in despair, my secret now in the open.
When I opened them, I met her gaze with shame and a shrug.
‘How could you tell?’ I whispered, my cheeks burning with immediate exposure.
‘The expression on your face at the altar, and every single time you two were in the same room before today,’ Sofia murmured, giving my arm a soft squeeze.
‘I’ve loved him forever and a day,’ I confessed.
‘But he’ll never adore me the way he did Evangeline.
She was his queen, his forever girl. He used to joke that his name hidden inside hers meant they were destined to be eternal.
I was happy for them, but it killed me. Standing on the sidelines with a one-sided love is pure agony.
Wanting someone I might never have is torture. ’
Sofia nodded, her expression softening with deep empathy.
‘I can understand that. I loved Jude for a long time before he returned my feelings.’
‘How did you get through it?’ I asked.
‘I distracted myself with my job, the support of my friends, books, and my cooking,’ Sofia explained.
‘When it got really bad, I left him, needing the space. I sat with the misery in my hovel of a room in a shelter, feeling the sting, crying it out. Visiting the church next door to meditate helped, too. I also had hard work to help me forget or remember, depending on my daily mood. You have your incredible art, Roxy. Use your canvases to bleed out any deep, wounded emotions.’
‘How will I survive being so close with him all the time? Heck, I’m going on a freakin’ honeymoon with him. How will I be able to stand it?’
‘You’ll discover the resolve; we women always do. Surrender the outcome. If it’s meant to be, it shall be.’
I took a deep breath as I mulled over her words.
Her voice broke through my thoughts.
‘Angel’s coming.’
I glanced up, my heart kicking, as his muscled frame appeared at the archway into the alcove.
‘Sofia,’ he rasped, acknowledging Jude’s wife with a chin rise.
‘Hey Angel,’ she responded, eyes soft, studying his closed-off face.
He took an inhale, his beautiful smoky eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
‘Roxy, we need to roll. Our plane is waiting,’ Angel muttered. ‘We’ll have to stop by your apartment to pack, right?’
‘Yes please,’ I replied, nodding, my heart thumping so loud I thought he might hear it.
‘Fine,’ he grunted, checking his watch with impatience. ‘Let’s head out to my ride. See you soon, Sof.’
He bent over to kiss Jude’s wife on the cheek before prowling away.
I gave Sofia one final, desperate hug, inhaling her vanilla perfume, squeezing her hand back.
Then I stepped out into the night behind my new husband.
Angel’s silver-gray Defender growled through the humid Nashville night, the neon storefronts blurring into streaks of crimson and amber beyond the windshield.
I sat beside him in the passenger seat, clutching my bag.
I flicked my eyes to him as he reclined back, in control of the leather steering wheel, navigating the quiet cross streets toward my neighborhood.
The silence inside the cabin was so tense and stilted that I wanted to open the door at the next stoplight and flee into the night.
With nowhere to go, my mind kept looping between memories of our wedding and worry about what was to come as a migraine throbbed right behind my ribs.
How were we supposed to navigate a freakin’ romantic getaway?
I worried about the rest of our marriage.
He’d made it clear he was all for a quick separation at the earliest convenience, and that fact cut me to the soul.
Another reminder that I was never meant to be his.
I noted that even when opening the door to his ride, he avoided touching or looking at me.
Hell, it hurt.
Unaware of the churning mess of my thoughts, Angel remained silent.
The flitting light and shadows fell on the rugged line of his cheekbone, his set jaw, eyes hard and distant, as he gunned the engine.
We arrived at my condo complex on the edge of the city.
Years ago, Reese bought Evangeline a three-story brick townhouse for her twentieth birthday, but he never contributed a single dime toward one for me or my rent.
I relied on my minuscule gallery salary and art commissions to survive.
All I could afford was a small, cramped apartment, one that Angel had never in.
A fresh wave of panic rolled over me as he parked in the visitor’s spot and followed me without a word to the elevator.
It was silence all the way up the lift, and at my door, I fumbled for my keys, unlocked it, and led him into my cramped one-bedder.
My art canvases, framed sketches, and stacked portfolios covered most of the surfaces inside.
Angel paused in the center of the room, his smoky eyes scanning around.
‘Sorry for the mess,’ I muttered. ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’
He leaned on the counter, his massive frame making the small kitchen seem like a dollhouse.
Red-faced with embarrassment, I scrambled across the rug to snatch a pair of stray control tights and a pink lace bra off the sofa, throwing them into the laundry.
I bolted into the kitchen and began stashing a pile of dirty breakfast dishes into the dishwasher in a poor attempt to hide the evidence of my chaotic start to the day.
To my surprise, Angel took off his tux jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and pitched in.
‘Get your bags packed, Rox,’ he growled, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. ‘Go. I’ll finish the clean up here.’
I stood frozen for a second, as his calloused hands packed away a stray coffee mug.
When I left this apartment that morning, I was a bridesmaid; now I was the bride, with my rockstar husband doing my chores.
The surrealness of the moment was beyond words, a plot twist I never saw coming.
I turned toward my bedroom to pack, pausing at the doorway to flick a glance at Angel.
His broad, sinewy shoulders stretched the fabric of his tailored shirt as he worked; his unruly black hair fell over his temple.
His eyes, weary and hardened with sorrow, were cast down to the sink as he rinsed a plate.
Never had he seemed more handsome, brooding, and out of my reach.
Biting my lip, I sighed and headed to my bedroom.
I peeled off Evangeline’s suffocating silk gown, abandoning it on the floor.
In my bathroom, I scrubbed my makeup off, leaving my face bare.
After freshening up, I slid into faded denim jeans, a plain cotton tee, sockettes, and my favorite leather sneakers.
Opening my cupboard, I grabbed a handful of hangers and began throwing clothes into my suitcase.
I checked off a mental list as I packed for a summer honeymoon that felt more like a sentence than a holiday.
I folded lightweight, breathable tees, linen shirts, and shorts.
Then I added a sleek silk slip dress, a pair of killer heels for the evenings, and a gorgeous blazer for cool nights.
If we ever got around to a dinner out.
Still, a girl had to be prepared for whatever occasion she was thrown into.
I tossed in my favorite swimwear, a mix of minimalist bikinis and a classic one-piece, alongside chic cover-ups tailored for private beaches and boat excursions.
Sunglasses, my makeup bag, toiletries, and high-SPF sunscreen went in, followed by comfortable leather sandals and sneakers.
Plus a selection of lacy, silk lingerie, which, to be honest, was just for me.