Chapter 1
ONE
SADIE
As I turned the corner and faced the petal-strewn aisle that separated me from my soon-to-be husband, I realized I might’ve made a mistake in the wake of my latest heartbreak.
I should’ve done the usual thing and given myself bangs while sobbing over my bathroom sink.
Instead, I’d signed up for an arranged marriage.
My heart punched a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs, and I inhaled the scent of the rose petals scattered at my feet. I gripped the stems of the flowers in my hands, my freshly painted nails digging into my palms. Sweat dribbled down my spine. It was as warm inside the church as it was outside.
For a single, suspended moment, I observed my husband-to-be without being seen in return.
Light from the stained-glass windows behind him haloed his head, the chandelier above the aisle sending flickering lights dancing over half of his face.
His expression was closed off as he stared at a spot on the floor in front of him, his sharp jaw clenched.
He was tall, with a straight back and perfect posture.
His lips were pinched. Tension radiated from him, streamed through the space between us, and struck me in the solar plexus. I inhaled sharply.
He wasn’t feeling great about this whole wedding thing either, apparently. At least we had that in common.
I couldn’t blame him; Gideon Mars had agreed to marry me based on the results of matchmaking software that was the brainchild of his billionaire grandmother. A powerful algorithm had matched us with each other. We were meant to be.
Allegedly.
At the very least, we were meant to repopulate the town of Marswood Harbor, which had been suffering from a slow descent into bankruptcy and oblivion for at least two decades.
The matriarch Etta Mars’s grandfather had founded this town around his logging company and sawmill, and now she was watching her family’s legacy wither and die.
Fortunately for Etta Mars, the little enclave in coastal Maine had an overabundance of Mars men, all of them strapping and handsome and in need of wives.
We the wives would flood the town with fresh blood and inject new life into its streets.
In exchange, we’d get a new home, a new start, and a shot at true love.
So I’d left everything behind to end up here, in a tiny, decrepit New England town, tying my life to her eldest grandson’s. I had the wedding dress, the veil, and the flowers to prove it.
My heart gave another thud of warning, and I wondered if it was a sign to turn around and leave. This wasn’t wise, even for me. I wasn’t a stranger to bad decisions, but marrying a man I’d never met might’ve been one step too far. This was the mother of all rebounds.
But what choice did I have? I’d exhausted all my other options.
My business was failing. My personal life was a wasteland.
It was either this, or move back in with my parents at the tender age of thirty-one.
I was teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff face, and this was the only path back to stability.
I wondered if my desperation had a stink.
If the congregation would wrinkle their noses as I walked past. If my husband would be able to smell it when he stood in front of me and said his vows.
Then Gideon looked up.
If the graffiti and vacant shop fronts on Main Street hadn’t scared me away, my husband-to-be’s obvious hostility probably should’ve.
His attention hit me like a sledgehammer.
His glare was so intense I rocked back on my pearlescent white heels, my fingers spasming around the bouquet of red roses I’d bought at my favorite florist in Manhattan before driving up here yesterday.
From where I stood, I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but I felt their intensity.
His lips flattened even more, and my stomach clenched at the open animosity in his gaze.
Unfortunately, my sense of self-preservation had died along with my last relationship, and his glare didn’t make me run off screaming.
I’d come this far. I wasn’t changing my mind—even when the other side of his face came into view.
His chin-length hair had been tucked behind his ear, revealing a jagged hairline.
Even from a distance, I could tell that there was something odd about the shape of his ear.
The skin tugged at the corner of his eye, dragging it down slightly, scarring running across the side of his head and neck to disappear beneath his collar.
He watched me watch him, and his hard lips curled into a sneer. Because of his scars? Because he thought I’d run away screaming? Thinking I couldn’t possibly agree to marry someone who didn’t have a perfect, unblemished body?
Anger flared in my chest. He thought I was shallow and stupid and easily scared.
A familiar, almost-forgotten spark kindled to life in my gut: that driving stubbornness that usually led me straight into trouble.
The little devil who used to be my constant companion tapped my shoulder and whispered in my ear, Are you going to let this one slide?
I hadn’t spoken a word to Gideon, but I was insulted that he thought so little of me.
That he was so quick to reject me like everyone else had.
I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders, then I narrowed my eyes right back at him.
My body wasn’t perfect, either, but my scars were hidden from view.
Electricity snapped against my skin as he held my gaze. He was challenging me, those eyes blazing from the other end of the aisle, prodding the fight-or-flight instinct inside me.
Fight, the little devil urged.
My lips curled into a smile I knew didn’t reach my eyes. A notch appeared between his brows. The smell of roses filled my nose, cloying.
Somewhere above and behind me, an organ began to clatter out the opening notes of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” The noise echoed and bounced off the arched ceiling, chaotic and loud and overwhelming.
The small crowd of guests shifted in their pews.
Their gazes raked over my skin like pinpricks, but I kept mine glued on Gideon.
His stare was harsh. Angry. Hostile. It made my blood turn thick and hot, sent a buzzing sound rattling around my head.
The longer he stared at me, the more I wanted to snarl.
The more I was alive. My breath burned in my lungs, and my legs twitched and bounced beneath the simple silk dress that hid them.
For the first time since Henry sat me down and told me he was calling off the wedding, a rush of life went through me.
I wasn’t just putting one foot in front of the other.
I wasn’t just swept up by grief and shame and heartbreak, carried along on a current of my own misery.
I wasn’t scrambling to scrimp together enough to pay this bill or that one, or despairing about my dwindling client list as a wave of doom threatened to crash down atop me.
No; right now, I burned. My soon-to-be husband lit a blaze in my gut.
It ignited in an instant and spread, all the way to my fingertips and my toes.
His eyes drilled holes into mine, the line of his shoulders as rigid as a plank.
The weight of his stare bore down on me until I couldn’t breathe.
Until I felt like I was flying or drowning or dying. Until I had to look away.
Damn it. I hated showing weakness.
Beside him, three groomsmen studied me. They were obviously all related.
Brothers, probably. The best man beside him resembled him the most. He tilted his head at me, curious.
Guarded. A couple of inches taller than my groom.
No scars. The one next to him was about Gideon’s height, but he was as broad as a bear.
I’d never seen a man so gigantic. His face was utterly blank and unreadable.
And when my eyes flicked to the third and apparently youngest brother, he flashed me a quick, reassuring smile.
Gideon drew my gaze like a magnet. His brothers fell away, fading into the background as soon as my attention landed on him. He angled his head slightly, showing me the mottled, too-shiny skin that made up the left side of his neck and part of his head. Thinking I’d run away screaming, probably.
He didn’t want to marry me, obviously. Well, I thought, join the freaking club, big guy. There was a long list of men who’d met me, slept with me, and said, No thanks.
This time it would be different.
After today, I’d have a ring on my finger, a new home, and a fresh start.
Gideon would just have to deal with the fact that he’d been matched with me. Boo hoo. Poor him.
As if he could hear my thoughts, his eyes turned to blazing, hostile slits, sending my pulse hammering.
His fists clenched and released, and his gaze finally tore away from mine to rake down my body and back up again.
Goosebumps flared where he looked. I wore a slip dress that I’d designed and sewn myself.
The expert seamstresses I’d previously employed had left for greener pastures.
By which I meant pastures that paid them actual money for their time instead of only the empty promises I had to offer.
Such was life when your wedding dress business collapsed.
My design style was all about clean lines and perfect tailoring, but I wasn’t opposed to taking on more elaborate projects if the price was right.
For myself, though, I’d gone simple. The thin straps framed my neck, the neckline a gentle curve.
The fabric was cut on a bias, and it fell like water around my restless legs.