Chapter 4 Marcus
MARCUS
When my wife and I walk into the grand ballroom for our reception, no one bats an eye at the fact that between the ceremony and now, there has not been enough time for the traditional photoshoot to commemorate the “happy occasion”.
I’m surprised the committee didn’t insist on it.
I mean, don’t prisoners usually get their mug shots taken on the day they begin their sentence?
Our guests, which is mainly comprised of our large, extensive packs, as well as the council members, all stand and clap enthusiastically as we walk into the room.
Whispers of what a handsome couple we are and how beautiful our children will be reach my ears, and I fight to keep a straight face.
There will be no little kids running around looking like me.
I might be opposed to this union, but I’m not going to do that to my wife. Even if our marriage is a farce.
As we walk past my great-aunt, I hear her inhale of breath as she turns to my cousin.
“She’s a vision.” I can’t say they are wrong.
My wife is absolutely gorgeous in her gown.
I wonder if she wore the burgundy as a show of defiance or if it is because she wishes people to know she is not a virgin.
My grip tightens instinctively, and if I wasn’t completely against this whole farce, I’d even say possessively, but since I don’t care about this, I ignore the instinct.
“If you must have your meaty paws all over me, would you be so kind as to loosen your grip before I lose all use of my arm,” Esmerelda all but hisses at me.
I lean in and whisper in her ear, “Just making sure you don’t make a run for it. Bride.” The word leaves my mouth like a curse word.
Esmerelda smiles sweetly at me. “Call me bride one more time, and I’ll rip out your liver and feed it to my dogs.”
“Trust me, wife. It’s a whole lot better than what I’d like to call you.”
We reach the bride-and-groom table, and I tighten my grip to indicate for her to sit down.
A spark of defiance flashes in her eyes, but then she acquiesces and takes a seat.
I’m not delusional—I know she has decided to choose her battles.
I push her chair in, and she looks up at me.
To anyone watching, this would look like a tender moment, except I can see the murder in her eyes.
I place a kiss on her head, and the scent of her cherry shampoo hits me with the force of a wrecking ball and nearly brings me to my knees—much like the kiss in the church nearly did the same.
My wife might well be the last person I wish to exchange pleasantries with, let alone marry, but there is no denying she has sexiness in spades.
My cock presses angrily against my pants, and my wolf snarls, begging for the chance to escape and mark his territory.
I wonder how I will make it through the evening with Esmerelda’s scent beating against me like a battering ram.
Before long, the guests ignore us and get back to stuffing their faces and drinking more wine than they should. It’s a pity council meetings didn’t take place under these conditions, then Esmerelda and I might not have found ourselves shackled to each other.
Come to think of it, if our families had just thrown a party like this, they might all have realized they have common ground without having to force our hands. Or, should I say, have the council force our hands.
I smile at the odd guest who makes eye contact and work hard to cover my disdain. It’s sickening how na?ve everyone is to believe that, after being at war with each other for fifteen years, we would join together as we have. Then again, people believed what they want to believe.
The MC announces the father-daughter dance, and I relinquish my hold on Esmerelda.
Her father cuts me a glare. I cover a smirk.
Quite frankly, I should be the one glaring at him.
I’m the one saddled with his feral daughter.
The music starts to one of those cliché wedding songs that usually sets all the tears in motion.
Under the guise of staring adoringly at my wife, I watch her with her father.
Now is as good a time as any to start doing as much research on my wife and her family as I can.
What I don’t expect is to be touched when his eyes tear up.
But what surprises me the most is when Esmerelda reaches up and cups her father’s cheek lovingly.
It is clear the bond between them is very strong, and for a moment, I get the opportunity to see her in a slightly different light.
It makes me realize that despite everything, she is also losing all her hopes and dreams due to this verdict.
What I don’t like is the slight twinge of guilt I feel about how I’ve been treating her.
It’s selfish of me, but I head over to interrupt the dance. I don’t want to feel sorry for her. I want to keep seeing her as the enemy. The MC chuckles when he sees what’s happening. “It seems like the groom is impatient to dance with his wife.”
I grab her around the waist, trying to ignore how hard and how supple she is at the same time. I definitely try not to think about exploring which parts of her are the hard and soft parts.
She leans over and hisses in my ear. “Not only did you rob me of ever having a real wedding, but you’re such an asshole you can’t let me have one dance with my father.”
Guilt assaults me, but I ignore it. “Dance with your father on your own time. The sooner we get the formalities out the way, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.” She stiffens in my arms, but I don’t have time to try and decipher why she’s pissed this time.
It’s not like she wants this anymore than I do.
She stomps hard on my foot. The stilettos she’s wearing that could double as weapons find purchase on my little toe, and I clench my jaw. “Oops.”
“Careful, wife.”
“Or what?”
“If you can dish it out, you can receive it.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Sure.” When she gains control of herself, she stands on the exact same toe again.
I dig my fingers into her waist. “Remember, you won’t always have an audience to protect you.”
“Oh, but that’s what you’re there for, husband. Didn’t you promise that in your vows?” She gives me another sickly sweet smile.
I clench my jaw. As a saving grace, the song ends, and the MC calls for a round of applause. I try not to limp as we make our way back to our table.
Before I can assist Esmerelda with her chair, she hurriedly sits and scoots closer to the table. Typical. Even with something as small as gentlemanly manners, she has to win.
Leonard, sitting on my left, stands and grabs the microphone and his spoon, then gently taps on his crystal champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. The guy loved being the center of attention.
He raises his glass once everyone is looking at him expectantly. “Could I ask you to top up your glasses and raise them to the happy couple?”
Esmerelda shoots back her full glass of champagne like a shot of tequila, and when the server refills the glass to halfway, she takes the bottle from him. With a saccharine smile, she fills her glass to the brim. Of course she has to make a spectacle of it.
The fairy serving us shoots me a quick glance, his pointed ears twitching as he waits for my reaction. When I merely give him a resigned smile, he looks so relieved, I fear he’s about to drop to his knees and kiss my feet, so I hurriedly dismiss him.
“Thank you, Tomlin, you may be excused. It seems my wife has things under control.”
Tomlin scurries away as if his tail is on fire, and Esmerelda takes another swig.
“Is there a drinking problem I should be concerned about?”
She doesn’t look at me as she sets her glass next to the wineglass filled with merlot. This is going to be an interesting evening if she continues working through the alcohol at her current pace. “I’m simply making this day more tolerable. I suggest you do the same.”
“I’m more than capable of handling my emotions without getting inebriated.”
“That’s because you didn’t have to marry yourself.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Leonard begins with his speech.
“Alpha, members of the council, and our esteemed guests. It is with great privilege and honor that I welcome you in celebrating the nuptials of Marcus and his bride, Esmerelda.” Esmerelda stiffens at being called my bride rather than being referred to as her own person, and I stifle a smile.
A chorus of “hear, hear!” echoes through the room.
“Firstly, I’d like to toast to the beautiful bride.
Esmerelda, they say beauty is only skin deep, but with you, it seems to go all the way through…
at least on the surface.” Leonard shoots Esmerelda a wink to show he is joking, but I know he is taking jabs at her.
So does she. Yet, she laughs along with the crowd, raising her glass in a mock salute, as if to say, “Well played.”
He salutes her back “Here’s to a long and happy marriage. We all know what they say about a happy marriage, right? You will be happy, and Marcus will be married.”
The champagne I just sipped nearly shoots out my nose, and Esmerelda glares at me.
“Ooh, you better watch out, Marcus; we all know you love a good challenge. And with a wife as spirited as yours, every day will be an adventure. To the happy couple. And to Marcus, good luck.”
It’s clear by the jovial cheers in the room that everyone thinks this is all an act, but I can literally feel the anger pulsing off Esmerelda.
People start heading over to our table to wish us well, and she leans over.
I’m sure I’m about to get an earful, but then she knocks over her glass of merlot.
I scoot back but not fast enough, and Esmerelda looks at me with wide eyes as the wine spills all over me.
“Oh, goodness. What a klutz. I’m so sorry, darling. You know me, I can be so clumsy at times.”