Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
NICHOLAS
For as long as I can remember, every event I’ve ever attended where Victoria has been present, she’s had this look about her. A sour demeanor, as though she’s eaten a bad prawn and is too polite to spit it into a tissue. But as I watch her glide from group to group, laughing and smiling, sharing a word with as many guests as she can, I’m struck by a question: Which one is the real Victoria Montague?
Correction, Victoria De Vil, now.
An odd sensation skitters down my spine. It’s not at all unpleasant, but nor can I put my finger on its meaning. A mixture of confusion and a hint of excitement.
My eyes track her around the ballroom. Uncle George appears on my left holding two glasses of champagne. He gives me a nudge, then a wink.
“Look at you. Can’t take your eyes off her. Not that I blame you. She’s positively glowing.”
He’s right, she is. Absentmindedly, I nod, accepting one of the glasses from him.
“She makes a beautiful bride,” Dad says, approaching from my right.
“Yeah.” My eyes are still locked on her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t tear my gaze away. It’s as though I’m seeing her for the first time. “I’m still sleeping with one eye open, though.”
Uncle George lets out a laugh. “A little overdramatic. Thought our Tobias was the dramatic one.”
I pivot to face him. “She can’t stand me.”
And until today, the feeling was mutual. Signing a marriage certificate and wearing a wedding band can’t change how I feel, can it?
“In her opinion,” I continue. “I’m still partly culpable for what happened to Elizabeth. I’m not sure a platinum ring and a four-tiered wedding cake is going to change her mind.”
“She’s grieving, Nicholas,” Dad explains. “She and Elizabeth were always close. You of all people should be able to empathize. You know what it’s like to lose a sister. It’s not something you get over in a few weeks.”
I suppress a wince, automatically scanning the room for Xan as I’m prone to do whenever the subject of Annabel is brought up. I lost a sister, but he lost a twin. It’s something I try to remain cognizant about. We all loved her deeply, but his love was created in the womb, and that’s a special kind of connection only he and others like him can understand.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Show her a little bit of kindness and understanding, and she might surprise you. Every flower needs care, attention, sunlight, and the right amount of food and water to flourish.”
“It sounds like you’re saying to feed her and take her for daily walks.”
“She isn’t a Golden Retriever, Nicholas.”
“No. She’s a Rottweiler.”
Uncle George guffaws. Dad rolls his eyes and prods me in the back. “Circle the room. Your wife is showing you up.”
Wife. That’s going to take some getting used to. Even as my wedding to Elizabeth had approached, I can’t say I thought of her in those terms. Strange, I know, but to me she was just Elizabeth, the woman I’d chosen out of the two offered.
But Victoria as my wife? For some reason that hits differently. Deeper, and I’m not sure why. The sight of her walking up the aisle toward me, though… I’d almost swallowed my fucking tongue. She’d looked like a goddamn wet dream, the figure-hugging, ivory silk dress the perfect attire for her pint-sized stature.
Elizabeth had an innocence about her—an almost frail quality. It was exactly what drew me to her, knowing she’d be easy to subjugate, that she’d never challenge me. That, with her as my wife, I’d get an easy life.
Victoria is the complete opposite, and that’s understating it. A speck of honesty worms into my mind, a flicker of excitement at what being married to her will bring. The chance to spar with her but eventually emerge the victor is too good a chance to pass up.
Dad wanders off, joining a group of guests a few feet away. Uncle George prods my ribs.
“Well, boy, off you go. What are you waiting for? Talk to the guests. Don’t leave all the work to Victoria.”
Across the room, I spot Donovan Sinner, the heir to the Sinner Dynasty, standing with one of his brothers, Gray. The two of them are chatting to my sister, Saskia. I pan the room searching for Xan once more. He can’t stand it when Donovan gets within ten feet of Saskia—an irritation I’ve never understood. She’s not interested in him, and he’s not interested in her other than as a way to wind Xan up. Every time Xan's temper flares, Donovan doubles down on flirting with our sister.
I cross the room and join the small group. “You do know Xan will probably shoot you if he glances over here and sees the two of you with your heads together.” Throwing an arm around Saskia’s shoulder, I maneuver her until her back is facing the room. This way we might stand a chance of escaping Xan’s wrath.
“I can take him.” Donovan chuckles. “Another wedding. You De Vils are falling like dominos.”
“While the Sinners are growing old and crusty, and their balls are drying up,” I say.
Gray laughs. “I can assure you my balls are in full working order.”
“Mine, too,” Donovan chips in.
“Good God, here we go again.” Saskia rolls her eyes. “What is it with men? It’s like every time you gather together, you’re all ‘Hey, let’s all get out our dicks and windmill them to prove how manly we are’.”
Donovan leans down and kisses her cheek. “You’re my favorite, Saskia, and this is why.” He scuffs a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “You know, maybe we should consider a match up. We’d have beautiful children, what with my insanely good looks and your stunning beauty.”
I automatically glance over my shoulder in case I need to run interference with Xan. I can’t see him anywhere. Let’s hope it stays that way.
“Saskia Sinner?” She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m a modern man,” Donovan says. “Maybe I could be Donovan De Vil.”
“That’s worse.”
“Fine, then we’ll double-barrel it. Donovan Sinner De Vil and his gorgeous wife Saskia De Vil Sinner.”
“Do you want our children to be bullied at school?”
“Children,” a low, gravelly voice behind me bites out. A groan lodges in my throat. I don’t need to look behind me to know who’s heard the tail end of the conversation without the preceding context. “What fucking children?”
I shift my weight a little, turning my shoulder in readiness to body block him, but before I can attempt to calm the flames, Saskia fans them.
“The ones I’m planning to have with Donovan.” She runs a hand over her flat stomach.
Xan’s eyes bulge. “You fucking what?” he roars, drawing the attention of several groups of weddings guests who decide there’s an unfolding drama worth paying attention to and openly gawk at us.
“She’s messing with you.” I glare at my sister, who’s got a gleam in her eye and a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Relax. The only pregnant woman around here is your wife.”
“For now.” Saskia rubs her belly again, then blows Donovan a kiss.
Xan tenses, his entire body shaking. I don’t get his beef with Donovan. I like the guy, although I’m with Xan on what a fucking awful match he’d make for my sister. Then again, I’m not sure we could agree on a man who is good enough for her other than the Prince of Wales, and I can’t see him dropping by to sweep Saskia off her feet.
“Saskia, stop it. This is my wedding day. The last thing I need is to have to break up a fight between this pair of dickheads.”
“Fine.” She pouts, and in the next breath, she’s laughing. “You are such an uptight arse, Xan. So easy to wind up. I pity poor Imogen.”
At that exact moment, Imogen sidles up to Xan and instantly picks up on the tension crackling through the air. She takes one look at the vein bulging in his forehead and his clenched jaw and matching fists, then slides her arm around his waist. “You owe me a dance, Mr. De Vil.”
His features momentarily soften as he glances down at her, love glittering in his amber eyes. Then he looks up, and they’re punishingly hard again. He jabs a finger in Donovan’s direction. “Last warning. Keep away from my sister.”
Donovan, in typical Donovan fashion, throws out a beaming grin, all white teeth and dimples, but before he can say something controversial and risk escalating the tension further, Gray grips his arm and steers him away. Imogen does the same with Xan—in the opposite direction.
“Well done, Saskia,” I snap. “Bloody marvelous.”
“Oh, don’t you start. I’m not the slightest bit interested in Donovan, but teasing Xan is too easy. I’m having a little fun, that’s all.”
“Choose better pursuits.” I pivot, scanning the sea of faces for one in particular. I find her chatting to Christian. Whatever he says makes her laugh, her head tilting back slightly, revealing the elegant slope of her neck. My belly flips. Who is this woman? It’s no one I’ve ever had privy to before.
Christian clasps Victoria’s upper arm, leaning in close to her ear. The butterflies in my stomach are incinerated by a raging blaze as a torrent of jealousy blasts through me.
Jealous? Me? It’s my first experience of the emotion, and I can’t say I’m a fan.
It’s a possessiveness thing, that’s all. We De Vils are a proprietorial bunch, and from the moment she said, “I do”, I owned her, which means no one else can put their fucking hands on her, including my brothers.
I stride over and barge my shoulder into his, shoving him out of the way. “What are you doing?”
Christian’s temperament is pretty similar to mine. He’s chill and in control until he’s not.
His eyes flare, and he stares me down. “Making sure your wife is okay since you haven’t bothered to check on her.”
I level him with an icy glare. “I’ve been busy entertaining the guests and stopping Xan from decking Donovan.”
Christian’s attention momentarily shifts, his eyes rolling. “Not again.”
“Yes, again. Make yourself useful. Glue yourself to Saskia’s side and run interference if Donovan comes anywhere near her.”
Christian’s gaze switches from me to Victoria and back again. Then he pops a shoulder and spins on his heel, disappearing into the crowds.
“That was rude.”
“It was necessary.” I grasp her elbow and steer her onto the dance floor. Once there, I pull her into my arms, my grip bordering on brutal as I clasp her right hip.
“You know, it’s customary for a man to ask a woman to dance.”
“You’re not a woman. You’re my wife.”
She chokes a laugh. “Excuse me? I’m not a woman because I’m wearing a wedding ring?”
I heave a sigh. That came out all wrong. “I mean you’re not just a woman. Of course, I’m going to dance with my fucking wife on our wedding day.”
“It’s still nice to be asked, Nicholas.”
Groups of swaying bodies around us part, giving us room to take up our position as the guests of honor. I stare down at Victoria, more than a foot smaller than me, her hazel eyes accentuated by gold and bronze makeup, and something shifts in my chest. It’s more than possessiveness. An urge to protect, maybe? It’s the same feeling I had the night she ended up in the hospital. The same feeling as when I planted my fist in that bastard’s face.
And it’s here now, flaming my skin like I’m a juicy steak thrown on the barbeque.
I’ve never thought of Victoria as anything more than Elizabeth’s irritating, older sister.
That’s not entirely true, a voice whispers in my ear.
Okay, fine. One memory in particular comes to mind from a few months ago. Imogen had invited Victoria to join us at our regular monthly family dinner, and she’d inadvertently sat in Christian’s chair. He’d shared a joke with her and rested his hand on her shoulder, and I’d had the same feeling then as I did a few minutes ago when he laid his hands on her again.
At the time, I’d put my feelings down to her soon-to-be status as my sister-in-law and, knowing what a player Christian could be, I’d anticipated trouble ahead if he made a move. But now… I’m starting to think it might be something else.
“Fine. Would you like to dance?”
She laughs, like she had with Christian, but there’s a brittle note to it, and her eyes don’t sparkle like they did for him.
I don’t fucking like it one bit.
“We’ve been dancing for more than a minute. I think you’ve left it a little too late for chivalry.”
Her retort stings. I’m not sure why I care what she thinks, but I do—I fucking care.
She’s too small for us to dance cheek-to-cheek, so I do the next best thing. I cradle the back of her head and press her cheek to my chest, and we sway on the spot.
“I’m sorry. This is all strange to me. New.”
She arches back, both eyebrows elevated. “What, politeness? Or being a normal human being in general?”
My chest shakes with suppressed laughter. Victoria has always been snarky and quick-witted, and it’s always grated on me. Until today. “Valid point.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “How are you doing?”
I feel her stiffen, her spine elongating. For the second time, she leans away, hazel eyes seeking the truth in my brown ones. Or an explanation, maybe.
“I’m… confused.”
“How so?”
“You don’t like me, yet you’re being nice. It makes me uncomfortable, as though you’re setting me up for a fall I won’t see coming.”
“Who said I don’t like you?” I ignore the rest of what she said, but it’s telling. She doesn’t trust me. We’ve never seen eye to eye, it’s true, but I’m starting to wonder if there was more to our mutual ire than either of us were aware of.
“You did.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever used those words.”
“You told me you pity the man I end up with. That’s as good as.”
“And you told me you pity the woman I end up with.”
She expels a heavy breath. “And here we are, married to one another. It’s a cruel twist of fate.”
“Is it? Or is it the universe righting a wrong?”
Her forehead crinkles. “You’re making no sense.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then retake her hip. “You look so fucking beautiful, I’m having trouble saying anything, let alone forming words that make sense.”
As the words leave my lips, Victoria’s eyes widen, her pupils dilating in an instant. I can almost hear the gears in her mind stutter and jar, her gaze searching again, waiting for me to land the fatal blow.
Time stands still, the music fading, the noise from the wedding guests fading to a faint hum. The silence between us grows thick and heavy, broken only by the rushing of blood through my ears. When Dad told me we were to marry, I may have accepted it, but I was far from thrilled at being attached to the antagonistic Victoria Montague for the rest of my days. Today, though, it’s as if I’m seeing her in a different light. Or maybe I never properly looked before.
I’m fucking looking at her now, and I like what I see.
“Nicholas, I—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s a first.”
For a second, outrage flares in her eyes. Then she reads the teasing in mine and shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I return her head to my chest and bury my nose in her hair. We sway in time to the music, each lost in our own private thoughts.
We finish the rest of the dance in silence. As we’re leaving the dance floor, the music stops, and my father taps a microphone set up at the far end of the ballroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment.”
The noise of hundreds of guests lowers to a faint buzz as everyone focuses on my father.
“A few short months ago, many of you attended the wedding of my eldest son, Alexander, to his beautiful bride, Imogen.” Dad’s gaze sweeps to the right, where I presume Xan and Imogen are, although I can’t see them from this vantage point. “And now, here we all are again, celebrating the wedding of my second son, Nicholas. I’m sure you’ll all agree that Victoria makes a most stunning bride.” Dad pauses to settle his gaze on Victoria, and he smiles fondly at her. “But before we urge the happy couple to cut the cake, I’d like us to take a moment to remember one of our own who’s not here with us. Victoria’s sister, Elizabeth.”
Dad raises a glass in the air. “To Elizabeth.”
Victoria freezes, her spine straight as a pencil. I slide my arm around her waist and give her hip a squeeze. “You okay?” I murmur.
She clasps a thin silver chain hanging around her neck and scissors the attached pendant back and forth. “She should be here.”
If she were, she’d be my wife now, and intuition tells me I wouldn’t have the same feelings about Elizabeth as I’m having about Victoria.
Elizabeth and I got close plenty of times, even kissed, yet on those occasions there wasn’t a flicker of attraction. Since Victoria walked down the aisle, I’ve had to will my dick to deflate—and it hasn’t listened.
“Come on. Let’s cut the cake.” I take her hand. The crowd parts as we make our way to the four-tiered wedding cake sitting on top of one of Dad’s antique tables. Rather than stand to the side of Victoria, as tradition dictates, I move behind her, encircling her waist. I hear the catch of her breath as she inhales.
“What are you doing?”
“Cutting the cake.”
She shifts her weight, and her arse brushes my groin. I move closer. If she notices I’m hard, she makes no comment. When she picks up the knife, I cover her dainty hands with my large ones, and we slice through the bottom layer. A round of applause erupts. I scoop out a fingerful of the cake, making sure to get a decent dollop of cream and frosting. I turn her to face me and put my finger to her lips.
“Open up, beautiful.”
Her hazel eyes shimmer as she opens her mouth. I slip my finger inside. Her lips close around me, and I don’t even try to hide the groan that emerges.
“Say you want to leave. That you want to get out of here and go somewhere it’s just us.” I cup her face in my hands. “I want you. Tell me I can have you.”
She blinks, long, dark eyelashes brushing the apples of her cheeks which are paler than they were a few minutes ago.
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice.” Her voice is breathy, a slight tremble in her chin.
“You think I’d force you?” I’m not surprised that’s where her mind went. She’s never made any secret of what she thinks of my family. We’re far from perfect, and our choices may, at times, look to an outsider as morally deficient, but there isn’t a fucking chance in hell I’d force her into anything she wasn’t comfortable with.
I mean, Jesus Christ, my sister was raped and murdered. That horrific event left a scar on all our souls.
“Not force, exactly.” She bites her lip, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows.
I smooth it away. “If you say no, it’s no. That’s it.”
She juts out her chin, questions swirling in her eyes. I wonder how many of them she’ll voice.
“And if I do say no, what then? You take a mistress?”
“I don’t cheat, but nor do I expect to spend the rest of my life celibate.”
“If I refuse, that’s an oxymoron.”
I graze the back of my hand along her jaw, enjoying the way her skin flushes beneath my touch. She won’t say no. I’m no stranger to reading desire. Victoria wants this as much as I do. Unlike Elizabeth, I know Victoria isn’t a virgin, but she doesn’t strike me as a woman with much experience, either.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to persuade you.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes luminous in the muted lights affixed to the walls. She gets what I’m saying. In the end, she’ll capitulate, not because I’m forcing her to, but because she won’t be able to resist this pull that’s come out of nowhere. It isn’t only me who feels it. She’s right there with me, in the moment.
“Okay, wife of mine. What’s it to be? Yes… or no?”
Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.
Her chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and exhale, but when her eyes meet mine, they’re swimming with curiosity and determination.
“Yes,” she whispers. “It’s a yes.”