Stealing Natasha (Vindictive Queens #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

NATASHA

A n Ashland does not flinch.

Not ever.

Even when she’s being forced to marry a man she’s never met.

I didn’t have anything old or borrowed but I had plenty of blue. Well, black and blue anyway. There was even a little purple under my right eye to make things festive. The makeup artist was careful, but it still hurt when she tried to cover the bruises on my face with concealer.

The thick paste wasn’t even really concealer.

It was theatrical paint I would probably need a sandblaster to remove.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about smudging it.

The artist was incredibly talented too. Aside from the rose-pink lip stain and skillfully applied smoky eyeshadow that lightened my brown eyes into golden amber, I looked like I wasn’t wearing makeup at all.

My curly brown hair even looked good. Somehow, she’d managed to tame my usual frizz and create glossy waves trailing to the center of my back.

“Ten minutes, Tasha!” my father shouted as he pounded on the door with a meaty fist. “Get your fat ass moving.”

Considering he’d have found something derogatory to say regardless of my weight, the jab didn’t bother me, but I bit my tongue before I reminded him that my name wasn’t Tasha. It was just another of his power plays—as if by shortening my name he could make me feel small.

Too bad it usually worked.

Hell, he’d barely given me time to throw a few outfits into a small suitcase before hustling me to the church.

The stylist flinched, then tugged me to my feet and led me to where my wedding dress waited.

The gaudy mass of embroidered lace, tulle, and satin would have looked better on a taller, slimmer bride, but I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.

It was the first dress I tried on that didn’t need alterations.

I sent my best to the curvaceous bride who had managed to escape my fate.

Sometimes I wished my mother hadn’t died when I was a baby, but mostly not. She might have been able to stop my father from treating me like dog shit, but it was more likely she’d have been abused too. Of course, knowing my father, I was pretty sure her death hadn’t been an accident.

I had always been little more than a financial asset—something to trade in exchange for money or power—and I wondered what my future husband had promised him.

At least I knew his name, but aside from that, I was clueless about who Lachlan O’Donnell was or what he did. I hadn’t even seen a picture of him, which meant he was either old enough to be my grandfather, or too unpleasant to get a wife without buying one.

Not that it mattered.

He was probably at least as bad or worse than my father, but maybe he wasn’t. Instead of bitching and grousing, maybe I should’ve thanked my lucky stars I was getting out from under my father’s thumb, but it was damned hard to keep a positive attitude.

Heck, if I was entertaining pipe dreams anyway, maybe Lachlan would let me go to college. I swallowed a laugh. Women in my father’s world didn’t go to college. They learned how to do lunch, plan parties, and direct housekeeping staff.

Most importantly, they learned to keep their mouths shut and stay out of their husband’s way.

And if Lachlan had made a deal with dear old Dad, he was probably the same. I’d be thankful enough if he didn’t hit me and doubly blessed if he got himself a mistress and left me alone after I gave him his heir and spare.

I didn’t look at the stylist or the makeup artist as they zipped me into my dress. There wasn’t any point, and I hadn’t bothered learning their names. Lucky for them, they weren’t my friends, and I’d forget what they looked like before I cut my wedding cake.

And no way would I ever let them know how much it hurt when they squeezed my bruised ribs into the tight satin bodice. I felt like a fucking sausage.

“You look so pretty, Ms. Ashland,” the stylist murmured as she draped my veil over my face. “Mr. O’Donnell won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Yeah. He’s going to wonder whose curtains got used to make this horror of a wedding dress.

“Thanks.” I slipped my feet into the crystal-encrusted heels and straightened my spine. “I guess it’s showtime.”

I picked up the end of the chapel-length train before I tripped on it and opened the door leading from the small dressing room.

To my surprise, a woman waited outside. She wore a pale-pink bridesmaid dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

A silky shawl in a slightly darker pink covered her shoulders and arms, and her blonde hair was pinned into a neat chignon.

“Natasha, hi!” She carried a bouquet of white roses and nearly dropped them when she hugged me. “You look so beautiful! I hope you like the flowers. Lachlan is such a man and didn’t ask for your preferences, so I had to guess.”

I had no idea who she was, but nobody had greeted me like they were happy to see me in years. Giving her a tentative smile, I said, “Hi. I…um?—”

“I’m so sorry! Gosh, I swear, my brain sometimes. I forgot to introduce myself.” She held out the bouquet. “I’m Lachlan’s sister, Saoirse, and I’ll be your bridesmaid.”

“Wow, okay. Thank you. The flowers are perfect.”

“Yay!” She hooked her arm through mine. “We’re going to be great friends. I just know it.”

Maybe things were looking up. I’d been issued a groom and a stupid ugly dress, but once I was out of my father’s reach, I could make friends. My future husband’s sister seemed like a good place to start.

I would probably melt if Lachlan shared Saoirse’s charming Irish accent.

As if to remind me I didn’t get to hope for nice things, my father stormed toward us.

“Beat it, stupid bitch,” he rasped, pushing Saoirse out of the way.

She planted her feet and shook her head, her cheerful smile fading. “I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me, Stevie. Consider yourself lucky you’re being allowed to escort Natasha down the aisle as it is.”

I gasped and tried to find an escape route, knowing Saoirse would suffer for daring to call him anything but sir, but I was determined to get help before he hurt her too badly.

My father might have been handsome once upon a time, but the years of cruelty had left their mark on him. Deep lines scored his face, surrounding soulless brown eyes.

His cheeks reddened and he clenched his fists as he glared at her. “Someone needs to teach you some manners. Maybe it should be me.”

Sighing, Saoirse rolled her eyes and reached down toward her hip. To my shock, she pulled a slim steel dagger from a slit in her dress, then flipped it expertly. She caught the hilt and positioned the sharp tip under my father’s chin. “I recommend against it, but you’re welcome to try.”

“You little bitch.”

“So good of you to notice.” She gave him a delighted grin and curtsied before the smile and the dagger vanished. “Now, move before you get blood on my dress.”

I kept my face clear of all emotion and didn’t even ask why Saoirse was carrying a knife to a wedding.

Not a single giggle, chortle, guffaw, or the slightest hint of a smile would mar my features, even though I was dancing a fucking jig inside.

When I heard organ music from the sanctuary, I said, “I think that’s our cue. ”

After giving Saoirse one last poisonous glare, my father stomped off.

Unable to help myself, I snorted, then clapped a hand over my mouth before a laugh escaped. “Wow. I think I have a girl crush now. You’re my new best friend.”

“Oh, cool!” She grinned, revealing a dimple in her cheek. “I’ve never been anyone’s girl crush before. We’re definitely going to be besties, and I’m thrilled to have a new sister.”

“Me too.”

Arm in arm, we walked to the end of the yellow carpet stretching to the altar in the sanctuary. Ignoring my father, Saoirse gave me a tight hug and kissed my cheek. “I’ll go first, and you follow when the wedding march starts, okay?”

“Got it.”

I ignored my father’s tight grip on my arm, knowing he was taking one last shot at hurting me, but nearly stumbled when I saw my future husband.

Although I didn’t know Lachlan’s age, he definitely wasn’t old enough to be my grandfather.

He was tall and fit, and while there was a definite family resemblance between him and Saoirse, his features were harder, with sharper edges.

Blond scruff decorated his jaw as if he’d forgotten to shave. I liked it though. It made him look…

Maybe more approachable, like he wasn’t a hundred percent perfect.

He smiled and my heart fluttered as I walked toward him. After one look into his sparkling blue eyes, I was head over heels in lust for my new husband.

* * *

LACHLAN

“I can’t believe you’re marrying that inane little cow,” my sister whispered in Gaelic. To her credit, the sneer behind her words didn’t appear on her perfect face.

I’d spent twelve years waiting for the right moment to strike back.

Four thousand, three hundred and eighty days of unclaimed vengeance eating me from the inside. Maybe it was old school to visit the sins of the father upon his child, but Natasha Ashland would pay for every single one of them.

“We’ve been through this already, Saoirse. Drop it.”

“Fine,” she grunted sourly, then added, “The thought of being tied to the Ashland family makes me sick. I can’t even imagine what Darragh?—”

“I said, that’s enough.” I refused to have our brother’s name mentioned while the physical manifestation of over a decade of planning and work walked toward me. “As long as you did your job and convinced her to come to me willingly, your part is almost done.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to this, but I’m finished after tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, just as I promised.”

“Good.” She huffed and seemed to glare at me while smiling at my bride. “I told the bitch I couldn’t wait to have a new sister. She swallowed the lie whole.”