9. June #2
“Please be seated.” The priest clears his throat. If he knows I’m being forced into this, he doesn’t show it. But now I’m thinking about Cassian brutally murdering that stranger in my house, about his warning in the hall?—
And Hattie sitting among them.
Monsters, all of them are monsters, and Rafe might be the worst of all.
“Dearly beloved, we gather here to witness the union of these two souls. Rafe Corvino and June—“ The priest hesitates, glancing at me.
“Ashworth,” I say, voice shaking.
The priest clears his throat, smiles apologetically, and continues with the ceremony.
All the while Rafe watches me with that disconcerting desperation, and I don’t understand any of this.
There’s blood in my kitchen and a killer in a suit, and I’m wearing a dress that must have been meant for someone else, because surely?—
But no, I’m deluding myself.
This was always about him from the start.
He’s back and he’s not going anywhere.
Not this time.
I curse myself a thousand times as the priest says the words that will damn me to hell. Why did I ever sleep with this monster? Why did I go back to that room? But if I hadn’t, I never would’ve gotten Hattie. Can I really hate him this much?
Yeah. I sure as fuck can.
“Rafe Corvino, do you take this woman to be your wife—to have and to hold from this day forward, to honor and to keep her, in plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”
“I do.” No hesitation.
This can’t be happening.
“June Ashworth, do you take?—“
“I do,” I say before he can get through the full list.
The crowd titters. Rafe tightens his grip on my hands. “Let the man finish, love,” he says softly.
“I’m not your love. Rafe, what is?—“
“Shush now.” Rafe nods to the priest. “Finish it, Father.”
The priest coughs. “Ah, I was saying—to have and to hold from this day forward, to honor and to keep him, in plenty and in want, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”
“I have to,” I say, eyes downcast. “I do.”
Because of Hattie. Because they have my daughter.
I want to scream with the horror of it.
“With this ring, I marry you. What I have is yours, what is mine, I put between you and the world.” Rafe leans down and kisses my finger before slipping a simple gold ring on.
It fits. Yet again.
Almost like he planned this down to the last detail.
“What God has joined, let no one divide. By the authority entrusted to me, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss?—“
Rafe enfolds me in his arms and presses his mouth to mine.
I’m dizzy. I barely kiss him back at first, but I can’t stop myself.
Soon I’m hungry for him, desperate for his taste as it all floods back: that night, locked in my brain, the ecstasy of him, the terror I felt then and now, bending and breaking against the walls of my mind.
He holds me tight as I whimper and releases his lips from mine, pulling back to stare into my eyes.
There’s no sorrow, no uncertainty, no hint that what’s happening is wrong.
“Now you’re both mine,” he says and whisks me away, back down the aisle.
“Wait,” I say, twisting, looking back. “Hattie?—“
“Our daughter will not be separated from us, don’t worry. Theodora is bringing her along.”
“Who? What’s happening? Rafe?—“
“I’ll explain another time.” He tugs me closer. “Nod to Cassian. We owe him a debt.”
The brother waves casually like he can’t wait to get the hell out of here as I’m marched past.
“Why are you doing this?”
He says nothing. I’m led into the hall, but he doesn’t stop there.
Rafe continues on, through the mansion, down to the rear entrance.
I struggle at one point but his grip is iron and all he does is growl for me to stay calm or else he’ll have to drag me by the skull.
And won’t that be a pity? To ruin the bride’s beautiful hair on her wedding night?
It’s sick.
There’s a black car waiting and I have the sudden epiphany that if I get in there, I won’t ever be free again. I yank backwards, nearly stumbling, scrambling for the sidewalk, blindly freaking out?—
“Mommy, what’s the matter?”
I look up to see the tall woman, Theodora, holding Hattie’s hand.
Rafe looms by my side. His face is thunder and death. It’s beautiful and horrible all at once. He holds out a hand.
“Get up, wife. We’re leaving.”
“Mommy?” Hattie sounds scared. “Did you fall?”
“I’m okay, baby.” I let Rafe help me up. “Mommy slipped, that’s all.”
“I fall a lot,” Hattie says proudly to Theodora. “But I don’t cry. Sometimes I cry. I cry a little but not a lot.”
“That’s a strong girl,” Theodora says.
Rafe leads me to the car. We’re about to get in when an older man comes hurrying toward us from the venue, smiling broadly. Rafe curses under his breath but turns to meet him.
“Ignazio,” Rafe says, tone neutral, bordering on unhappy.
“Congratulations, Don Corvino.” Ignazio hugs Rafe tightly and kisses both his cheeks. He’s in his late sixties, balding, heavy-set, with a wide and charming face. His suit is well cut though and his shoes gleam. “We’re all so proud of what you’ve become.”
“Thank you, Ignazio.”
“Can I meet the bride?” He peers at me curiously. “Hello, dear, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.”
I say nothing as Rafe steers him away. They share quiet words before Rafe ushers the old man back into the building.
“Who was that?” I ask as I climb into the back of the car.
“My accountant.” He follows, hemming me against the far window, and the door slams shut.
“Wait, what about Hattie?”
“They’ll follow.”
“No, wait?—“
“Enough.” Rafe’s hand lands on my mouth. He covers it as the car pulls forward. The driver raises the divider between us, sealing me into my coffin. Rafe’s breathing hard, pinning me down. There’s a feral gleam in his eye. “You will listen now.”
I nod, too afraid to fight back.
He moves his palm from my lips, but doesn’t lean away.
“I never wanted this.” He says it like the words hurt, but he’s not softening at all.
There’s only rage in his expression. “But it’s happening.
You and Hattie were safe for a long time, but that’s over now.
This is how I protect you. This is how I keep you safe.
We have a long drive to my house, wife of mine, and I will not spend it answering your questions. Do you understand?”
“Not at all.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He forces himself back into his place. “Put on your seatbelt.”
“Hattie—“
“I will cut my own throat before my daughter is harmed.”
“She is not your daughter.” I bite out the words. Anger simmers, battling the terror. “And I’m not your wife.”
He looks out the window, ignoring me now. “We’ll see.” And lapses into silence. I open my mouth to scream, to fight, to do anything at all, but nothing comes out.
I’m exhausted, afraid, and confused. I still don’t fully comprehend how this is happening. It can’t be legal, right? That priest, what we did? This ring?
This dress?
Nothing makes sense.
But some things are true.
There’s a corpse in my house.
And I planned my own wedding.
Now I’m trapped with a monster and I don’t know how I’ll survive him.