52. Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Two
Emma
“Emma, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” Dacre’s grandfather’s voice almost takes me over the edge.
The little champagne I’ve been sipping is not helping my nerves.
Lined up, ready to go onstage next to me are the other participants, all dressed to the nines. All the women are in different styles of wedding dresses, made to look different and special. Little prizes wrapped in veils.
It’s a darkly lit hallway with little light.
“Ms. Osborne. It’s my pleasure.” An older man grabs my hand and kisses it.
I’m so shocked by everything that I’m just going through the motions at this point.
“This is my good friend and his son Haven. He was very excited to hear of your attendance.”
Haven doesn’t greet me. He just nods with his hands in his pockets. He’s so stoic. I don’t think he could look more uninterested in this if he tried.
“Yes, we’ll be so excited to have you be part of the family.”
“The family?” I gulp, eyes still studying Haven and the pissed-off look on his face.
Haven sighs. “Can we go sit?”
“Yes, son. Is there anything you’d like to say to your future bride?”
“Do you always have all the?” He motions to my face with a disgusted scrunch of his nose.
“Glitter?” I ask.
“Yeah, that.”
“Yes . . . Is that a problem?”
Okay, not only is Haven rude. He’s actually scary with broad shoulders and thick dark brows. I watch the twitch of his nose, and he snarls. Does he smell Dacre on me?
“Petty details, son. All things you can discuss with your new bride.”
Bride sounds a little more than a contractual arrangement Clyde made it seem like.
I turn toward Clyde and whisper. “Is there any way I could talk to you?”
The screech of the announcements echoes through the tent.
“After the auction.” He pats my hand, and I watch them saunter off toward the seating area.
This time, I actually might throw up.
That’s it. I’ve signed a contract with a potential murderer, and I’m going to be auctioned off to his friend’s creepy son, who is apparently allergic to whimsy and, by association, me.
I’ve done something so irreversible that I feel as if my world is crashing down on me. This time, I look for escape routes. I don’t think I’ll be able to get out of this that easily, but I could try to run in these heels and a ten-pound train trailing behind me.
“Go! They’re calling us.” I feel a dig in my back, and I’m being thrust forward.
I grab the edge of my dress so I don’t trip, and I make my way to the stage with sweaty palms. This tent has more wealth than I even knew existed.
Soft, white-draped walls with white flowers dangle from the ceiling.
An audible gasp floods the air, and hushed whispers fall around us in a dense fog as the stage lights fall over us.
The crowd is shimmering in the low lights.
Hundreds of jewels shimmer across the tent.
It’s as if someone dropped glitter from the air and it fell in a blanket around the room.
I can’t see anything up here, not that there is much to see. Everyone in the crowd is wearing masquerade masks that cover their eyes. If it were under any other circumstances, I’d love to take a closer look at all the unique, glitzy dresses.
Cool air pours in from the tent entrance, but I’m sweating. I lift the fabric from my skin to gather some air.
There’s nowhere to run.
As they make the announcements, I stare at my glittery nail polish.
They say grief is like glitter, and I’ve always thought that was true.
When my mom died and my world shattered, I knew it was a cataclysm.
Everything in my world was irreparable, scattering every bit of who I was and who my sisters were at the same time.
That’s why I’ve always embraced glitter and the way grief sneaks up on me all the time. Glitter is my reminder that she was here. Everything I do is a reminder of that. Even now, I stand where she once could have stood. It’s like I’m following the trail she left behind.
The first person to step forward is a beautiful girl with long raven-black hair, adorned in a veil. An heiress to a fortune with favorable blood. The crowd oohs and aahs as she spins in her ball gown. Hands fly up, and the caller rattles off numbers my mind can’t comprehend.
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Six.”
“Seven.”
“That’s eight hundred thousand.”
I fiddle with the locket around my neck.
I think Mom wouldn’t want me to worry so much about the glitter she left behind. She’d want me to leave my own.
Okay, Mom, I’ve really messed up here. I don’t know if you have any type of power up there, but if you do . . . I could use a little magic.
One by one, the others take to the stage and prance around proudly, willingly offering themselves and their blood. I try to smile too. Dacre and his friend are close to the front and not wearing masks, so they’re easy to spot. Haven is scrolling on his phone as person after person walks onstage.
“We saved you quite a jewel. Ms. Emma Osborne has graciously decided to join us as our evening star.”
There are hushed whispers in the crowd as I wobble forward in my heels.
“Woo! Emma!” Parker’s voice echoes, and I squint in the stage lights to find him. He must have come with Olivia. That’s kind of nice. I’ll give them points for moral support, but not even they can save me now.
“Starting bid is five hundred thousand dollars.”
“One million.” Haven bids first.
“Two million.” Then a woman.
I’m dizzy. Suddenly, everything is scarier and a lot more permanent. Being legally tied to a stranger I know nothing about seemed like something I could manage before, but now?
“Five million.”
“Six million.”
Maybe I’m in way over my head. This was truly the worst idea I’ve ever had. I do need someone to tell me when it’s too much or, at the very least, be there to help me put out the fires I create.
“Seven million.” Haven lifts his hand.
Something tells me the things these people have planned won’t be pleasant.
“Any takers? Going once. Going twice.”
“Ten million.” Dacre’s voice is smooth as velvet.
My heart clamors in my ribs as he walks forward through the aisle in a three-piece suit. The bidding begins again, now a battle between Haven and Dacre.
He’s here. He came for me.
Dacre stands with one hand in his pocket, raising his bet with the other. I almost laugh at how beautiful he looks, standing near the stage lights with such calm resolve.
“Fifty million,” Haven says, and the bidding starts again.
My pulse rises with each passing bid. What is Dacre doing? This amount of money is unfathomable.
“One hundred million.”
Whispers sweep through the crowd as the bidding grows higher, but my eyes never leave Dacre’s. All the fear disappears in his calm, steady words. No matter how high the bid grows, he doesn’t show any ounce of fear.
I was right. He does love me like I thought he did. There’s no doubt in my mind that he would come for me, no matter what mess I left behind. He’s my glue.
“Five hundred million,” Dacre says with calm finality.
The bidding halts as the announcer repeats the words.
“Five hundred million. Going once? Going twice . . .”
This is Dacre’s money. His trust fund money.
And he’s absolutely willing to drain every last drop of it for me. My heartbeat is the only sound in my ears as the crowd cheers at the final words.
“The bid goes to Dacre Everhart.”