Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
Poppy
Ivan was gone without even saying goodbye.
I’d seen the bags by the front door when I’d woken up, but they were to be sent behind him, as he was already on a plane headed back to his seclusion in the mountains.
Emeline stood in the hallway, gazing at the bags, as if that was enough to bring him back. We both knew he was long gone.
A tear slid down my cheek, and I brushed it away quickly.
He hadn’t even told me goodbye. I wasn’t worth that to him, I guess.
He had more important things to do, and now I was going to marry someone else.
If he’d just given me the chance… I scrubbed my hands down my face.
It didn’t matter because I wasn’t so sure I would have told him anyway. This was my burden to carry.
My breath wavered as I stepped closer. “When did he leave?”
“Early,” she whispered, eyes shining. “Before sunrise. He didn’t wake me.”
A jagged ache tore through me. He hadn’t even bothered to wake his own mother.
“I told him to wait,” Emeline said softly. “But he insisted.”
I swallowed hard and tried to push down the panic rising into my throat. “He can’t… He shouldn’t leave. Not now.”
Her hand drifted to my shoulder, warm and gentle. “Sweetheart, he thinks he’s protecting you.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped me—ugly and broken. “He’s not. He’s making everything worse.”
Her gaze softened with the kind of understanding that made my eyes burn. “He loves you. And in his mind, that means stepping aside. Giving you space. Giving you… safety. He sees himself as a failure.”
My head snapped up. “Why on earth would he think such a thing?” He’d already saved me from so much, things that were harder to admit, but I knew were the right thing now.
“Donovan crushed his hands and fingers. He feels like he can’t protect you from that monster. He wanted nothing more than to take him out for you, but he can’t even pull a trigger right now.”
A wave of nausea rolled through me. “He can’t handle being alone right now.”
“No,” Emeline murmured. “But he believes he must.”
That gaping bottomless pit that I called my chest just grew even bigger.
My vision blurred, and I shook my head as I bit into one of my knuckles.
He wanted to take Donovan out for me, and he thought he was a failure because he couldn’t.
I wanted him back here so I could shake him.
I wanted him back here so I could scream the truth into his face, but it was too late.
Something replaced the grief taking over. Grit and determination, that even more now than ever, I had to protect me and my sister. I was alone again.
I straightened, the quiet fury pulling my spine taut. “Then I guess I’m on my own.”
Emeline’s expression shifted—worry, then guilt, then something like pride. “Poppy—”
I swiped the wayward tears from my cheeks and shook my head. “There’s nothing more to say. I can handle this. I’m strong.”
And for the first time in my entire life, I felt it.
***
With what felt like steel in my spine, I walked down the aisle alone.
The music picked up from a small string quartet, and the only thing I could picture at the end of the aisle was Donovan’s demise—his endgame.
I’d expected nerves. I’d imagined my knees buckling, that my palms would tremble, that I would feel the ghost of fear clawing up my throat.
Walking toward the man who had tried to take everything from me—and was still holding precious Jane over my head—should have made me crumble.
Jane smiled at me from the left side of the aisle, her chin wobbling, eyes shining with a mixture of pride and terror. She thought this was the end of my life.
She had no idea it was the beginning.
On the other side stood one of Donovan’s brothers—Mark… Matias… something with an M. He was stoic, stiff, and utterly forgettable. His gaze flicked over me with appraising interest, but he didn’t matter. None of them mattered. No one in this room would matter once the night reached its crescendo.
All I needed was to get through this.
On the outside, I was composed; I probably looked elated even. On the inside, I was determined. I was ready for the rest of my life, and I knew it started once all of this was over.
I was a woman forged by grief, sharpened by betrayal, and polished by the fire of every terrible thing that had been done to Jane and me. Every step I took down that aisle was one more step toward my freedom.
My future started with his end.
The vows were a blur—empty words spoken into a void that swallowed them whole. Donovan recited his with too much pleasure, grinning at me like he’d won some prize. I said mine with unwavering confidence, my voice calm enough to fool even myself.
I lifted onto the balls of my feet with practiced enthusiasm, lips meeting his with the kind of bright, delighted energy a bride should have. On the outside, I kissed him as if I loved him. On the inside, I kissed him like a woman kissing her way closer to murder.
Maybe—just maybe—there was a flicker of something genuine beneath the performance. Excitement. Anticipation. A spark of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
When he pulled back, his eyes seemed to hold some type of sincere devotion toward me, but I couldn’t let it derail me from my plans.
I couldn’t let him fool me. Hand in hand, we walked back down the aisle where his family and my family were silent in their approvals, but I didn’t care at all about any of them.
The only ones I wanted in attendance could never be.
The Cristof wives, for starters, and their wonderful mother-in-law. Don, maybe, and even Ivan. It still stung that he left. It stung so badly I wondered if I would ever recover, but I couldn’t focus on that either, or it would choke me up.
The photographer snapped picture after picture as we grinned and then, much to my surprise, Donovan dipped me at the end of the aisle. His grin was wicked as he whispered, “Should we go find a closet and explore each other before the reception?”
For anyone else—for Ivan—I would’ve blushed.
Melted. Lost every coherent thought in my head.
But with Donovan? There was only nausea.
A hollow, twisting mortification that crawled up my throat like bile.
Still, I kept my face exactly where it needed to be: flirty, coy, the perfect little wifey pretending to be overwhelmed by her powerful husband.
With a soft giggle, I tapped his chest with my bouquet—white roses, I hated white roses, I didn’t choose them, white roses that represented everything about this day that wasn’t mine.
Nothing about this wedding was me.
Nothing about this relationship was us.
Maybe that was the point. Neither one of us picked anything, because in reality, there wasn’t really an us, and he knew it just as much as I did.
He pulled me upright, arm banded around my waist as he steered me down the aisle and out through the glass doors leading to a private courtyard for more pictures.
My steps felt like they belonged to someone else.
Everything felt like it belonged to someone else, which made it a little easier to pretend.
The photographer eagerly waved us into position beneath an arch dripping with white orchids, and branches sprayed gold. Donovan pulled me close, hand sliding down my spine, fingers pressing too intimately, and too possessively.
I smiled for the camera.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Donovan murmured as the photographer changed lenses. “I can’t wait for tonight.”
I swallowed the disgust threatening to burst through my teeth.
My lips curved again, slow and sensual, though my insides felt like they were rotting.
“You’ll have to earn it,” I whispered, eyes fluttering up at him.
His satisfied smirk came back into play, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean from his face.
There were more pictures with our families, and finally, Jane was able to pull me away from my overly joyous husband.
All I could think of was that he was broke, and I was a means to an end.
Would he kill me and inherit all of my money?
Was that why he couldn’t wait for tonight? I needed to act fast.
“You look beautiful, even if you hate it.” Jane hugged me tightly as if she were putting me back together.
“Thank you,” I whispered into her hair that smelled like hairspray and the new perfume she’d bought with Ivan just a few short weeks ago.
She was almost taller than me and I didn’t want to accept that.
I didn’t want to even acknowledge that she was getting older, and I was about to uproot her from everything she’d ever known.
Would she ever forgive me? Would she thank me?
It didn’t matter at this point; it was all to protect her and someday I would show her the proof that I had backed up in several places.
Someday she would understand. “Is Mrs. Cristof coming to pick you up tonight?”
All of my things would be moved over to Donovan’s home in the next few , but Donovan didn’t make arrangements for Jane.
I knew better than to ask. It was best if I kept my mouth shut about it and played along.
I didn’t need any more conflict. I needed him to believe I was all in, so I could get close enough.
We would go on a honeymoon in a week—if I couldn’t kill him, and then who knows what would happen to Jane.
I would probably never see her again. I hadn’t even made arrangements for her past the honeymoon time because I wasn’t giving myself an out.
I had a plan with the grannies, and they would make sure everything went smoothly. All I had to do was wield the knife that was currently hidden in one of the bathroom stalls.
Jane nodded against my shoulder. “Don is going to pick me up and bring me back to her home. Are you really going to stay with him?”
I plastered another smile on my face and pulled away from her. Her lips twitched in acknowledgment. She could see that the happiness didn’t reach my eyes. “Of course, we’re married now.”
I didn’t know who was listening, and I didn’t want to scare her. She would be frightened enough when we made a run for it.
“You don’t want to,” she whispered, barely audible over the hum of guests returning to their seats.
I forced another bright, empty bridal smile. My cheeks ached from the constant pretending. “Jane—”
“Don’t,” she cut in quickly. Her gaze darted toward Donovan, mingling near the bar, laughing with someone who looked like his carbon copy. “I just… I just want you to be safe. That’s all.”
God. She had no idea that safety was the last thing I was walking toward.
My throat burned as I smoothed her hair, careful not to disturb her curls. “Mrs. Cristof will keep you safe. Don will too. You’re my whole world, you know that?”
Her eyes glistened. “Then don’t leave with him.”
A sharp ache speared through my chest. She knew. Not the whole truth—not the plan, not the knife, not the blood that would stain this night—but she knew enough. She felt the wrongness. She felt the danger.
I cupped her face gently. “Listen to me. Everything I’m doing… everything that’s happening… it’s for you. For us. When this is over, we’ll have a chance. I promise.”
Her voice cracked. “Is he going to hurt you?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t say yes or no because I didn’t know how the rest of this was going to play out. All I knew was that I was going to try and that the grannies would be there to help me.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more.” My voice caught. “Now go.”
Don appeared then, as if summoned by fate—or doom. “Jane? Ready, kiddo?”
Jane nodded and let him lead her away. She looked over her shoulder once, eyes wide and pleading. I smiled again. I didn’t break.
When Donovan slid his arm around my waist and whispered at my neck, “Are you ready to make this the best night of your life?”
I lied through my teeth. But also, was it that much of a lie?