Chapter 9 #2
“A good breakfast will hold you till dinner,” I say in tandem with my sister, and we dissolve in laughter.
“Eggs and bacon good?” She links arms with me, leading me to the kitchen.
“Perfect. I’ll make the coffee.” My voice is thin and scratchy from not sleeping.
Or maybe it’s from knowing my life is about to be bulldozed by a powerful mafia lawyer.
“Chin up, sis. You’re about to wow all of Glasgow with your glamorous dress and magnetic presence. And the two of you together”—she makes a chef’s kiss gesture—“magnifique.”
She makes us a delicious fry-up, and though I have little appetite, I force myself to eat, suspecting this will be my last food for a while.
The dress shop women will bring the wedding dress to the hall at 11, so we have another two and a half hours alone together.
“Run?” I suggest, hoping to take the edge off.
“Sure. Let me get dressed.”
As we run a circuit around Queen’s Park a few times, I ply Skye with questions about her and Lachlan and their upcoming wedding. Unlike me and Leith, the two are head over heels in love and can’t wait to exchange vows.
“Vows!” I stop dead in the middle of the path, causing other runners to dodge us at the last minute. “I didn’t write any vows.”
Skye’s brows hit her hairline, but she recovers fast. “It’s okay, sis. The officiant will feed you words.”
Yet she’s clearly thrown for a loop by my oversight. It was the last thing on my mind, what with all the Instagram posts for my job and for Leith.
So be it. I’ll look a proper tool on my own wedding day, but I’ll recite back what the officiant tells me to say.
We start jogging again. “I can feel it in my bones. This wedding will be a disaster.”
* * *
The whole time the boutique women fuss over me while dressing me I strategically eye the exits.
We’re at Broom Hall, a stately seventeenth-century manor in Finnieston, where the wedding will take place in an hour.
Maw, Skye, Moyra, Reyne, and Isolde stand about taking pictures, sipping champagne, and oohing and ahhing over the dress.
Moyra has taken enough photos for a Vogue spread, and Maw has cried her way through three handkerchiefs.
Skye holds my hand, chattering about places Leith and I should visit in London and keeping me distracted from the inevitable.
My stomach feels made of quicksand, and my heart has permanently lodged in my throat.
What am I doing?
Reyne periodically goes out and returns to report how many guests there are and who has recently arrived. Isolde describes the hens’ getaway house Reyne’s fiancé Zander is designing for the five of us in the mountains.
“It’ll have a jacuzzi, sauna, gym, bar, dance floor, and indoor pool,” Isolde details. “A skylight ceiling will cover the loft half, and there’ll be a screened-off upper level where we can sleep under the stars on clear nights without getting eaten by midges.”
“We’ll call it Playgirl Mansion.” Moyra throws me a saucy wink.
“God no! If we’re to convince the men to let us stay there, we’ll have to play down the sex element.” Isolde argues. “We should call it something banal like Heather House.”
“Leather Lodge,” Reyne counters with a mischievous grin. “Let them imagine the worst.”
Skye shudders. “Like as not you’ll give them ideas.”
Since Leith probably won’t even let me join the other women for a getaway, I keep mum. The prospect of a bleak, isolated marriage spreads before me like a wasteland. Skye interprets the tears sliding down my cheeks as me mourning my maidenhood.
She comes around and dabs at my face with a handkerchief. “No more tears, sis. You’re marrying one of the hottest men in Scotland, and if he doesn’t treat you like a princess, we’ll all come after him with picks and axes.”
“And shovels to bury him,” Moyra cements.
If they only knew how much he holds over me.
“Thanks.” I sniffle, trying to collect myself. “I’m just a bit nervous.”
Reyne slips out and returns a minute later. “Everyone’s waiting for you, hen.”
Shit. There’s no turning back. I’m really giving my life to a Syndicate lawyer I just met who loves nothing more than torturing me. As everyone but Maw leaves to take their seats, I cast one last longing look at the window. It’s a fifteen-foot drop down, but if I roll, I could survive. I think.
But then what? Leith will hunt me down and force me to marry him. However many resources I have to hide myself, he has a hundred times that number to find me.
“Ready, darling?” Maw takes my hand. “You look heartbreakingly beautiful.”
Apart from the fact that my knees wobble and I can’t speak, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
I silently trail down the stairs behind her to the head of the aisle.
As the wedding march starts, I finally dare to look up through my veil.
At the bottom of the aisle, perilously handsome in a plum tux and black bowtie with a pink pocket square, Leith stands, raking his smoldering gaze over me with undisguised approval.
His broad shoulders, V back, and powerful thighs seem carved from granite, and his smooth-shaven face is a thing of beauty.
Even from a distance his authoritative air and consummate masculinity command the room and everyone in it, myself included.
I hold my breath, my vision blurring with each step Maw and I take toward the altar.
Don’t have an anxiety attack now. Breathe, focus, and relax.
I zero in on the organ notes, the lavender orchid in Leith’s buttonhole, and the smell of varnished wood suffusing the hall.
Forcing myself to breathe and slow my steps, I manage to get it under control by the time Maw and I reach the altar.
She kisses my cheek and takes a seat in the front row of chairs.
I don’t realize I’m shaking like a jelly fluff until Leith wraps a steadying hand around my midriff.
Only once my quaking has subsided does he remove his hand, and I instantly miss its warmth.
The officiant, a small, spry bald man with wire-rimmed glasses, describes the occasion, announces our union, and asks me if I take Leith to love, honor, and obey, etcetera, etcetera, till death do you part.
My heart knocks against my ribcage as I swallow, trying to speak. Several times I open my lips, only to meet with a cotton ball that clogs my throat and prevents me from so much as squeaking.
The sinister arch of Leith’s brow breaks me out of my muteness loop. His expression threatens, I’ll ruin you and your family without batting an eye. And this unspoken message frightens me all the more for his calm, commanding aura.
I have no choice but to overcome my barriers.
“I—do,” I stutter like one whose tongue is frostbitten.
Relieved, the officiant turns to Leith and asks him something similar, minus the obey part.
Leith’s gaze straps me in place and strips me bare, reminding me of my dream.
“I do,” he replies in molten chocolate tones.
Someone hands me a ring, the officiant tells me what to say, and I repeat the words, holding the ring up for Leith to slip his finger into.
“With this ring I thee wed.” Leith slides a ring onto my finger.
That’s it. I’m no longer free. I’ve signed my life over to the enemy. Vertigo makes me sway, and dread turns my belly leaden.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the officiant declares.
Leith reaches a hand up, removes my veil, and trails a finger from my ear along my jaw, cupping my chin.
Snatching me close by the waist with his other arm, he slams me against his hard body.
He thumbs my lower lip, dipping his gaze to my mouth.
Breathless, my chest heaving, I part my lips, fixating on his own pillowy lips.
I’ve never kissed a man. The feather-light wings fluttering in my lower belly must be nerves or excitement.
Leaning in, he rolls his tongue along my lower lip and nudges it through the seam of my lips to meet my eager tongue.
He bandies strokes with me before slanting my face to devour me whole.
Suddenly there’s no place to hide from his forceful attack as he claims every corner of me.
I’m his prisoner, his subject, and a delicious thrill zings through my blood as I realize how thoroughly he’s conquered me.
Swirling my tongue with his, he pulls away to the burst of applause.
He grazes his lips to the shell of my ear. “My wife.”
At those two words my channel floods.
Confident, victorious, and possessive, he hooks my waist and leads me down the aisle as guests cheer and whistle, throwing confetti and rice.
At the top of the aisle he wraps a hand about my nape, pulling me into him. “You dance only with me. Understood?”
“Aye,” I murmur, giddy from being the center of his attention.
He gives the back of my neck a light squeeze, enough to show he now owns me. “Good girl.”
Somehow my changing takes place. I’m in a daze as the women from Laverne’s help me don a more dance-worthy white dress that carries the same themes as my wedding dress—figure-hugging satin, pearls, and embroidery.
Truth be told, I’m even more in love with this dress than my wedding gown, as I can be more active in it and it’s more low-key.
I also adore the subtle flare at the hem.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” Isolde admires, snapping photos. “That arse and those chebs!”
Moyra chuckles. “You sound like you’re at the butcher’s.”
“Isn’t that how men think?” Isolde canvasses.
“By now, I’m sure Leith sees Iona for her intellect and spirit.” Moyra’s tone is indignant.
“Mm-hmm, and meanwhile he plans to gouge the eyes out of every male who looks at her arse and chebs.” Isolde brushes an invisible piece of lint off my shoulder.
A mirthful laugh rumbles in Reyne’s chest. “Spoken like one whose husband tortures people for a living.”
Isolde scans her index finger over the lot of us. “It’s true for all of you, and you know it.”
No one has a word of retort, their silence admitting their partners are unhinged and ridiculously possessive.
“Awright, let’s go party.” Skye links arms with me. “We’ll follow the queen of the evening into the hall.”
Below, I gasp at the romantically low-lit hall, the elegantly turned-out guests, and the lilac-and-rose garlands cascading from the crown molding. So many people crush against one another the large space feels almost intimate.
Who are these strangers?
Sam Tinnesz’ Legends Are Made fills the room. Petrified of entering my own wedding reception, I’m about to meander off to the side, when a strong arm bands my waist and yanks me into an even stronger body.
All the air leaves my lungs in a swoosh.
Hooking me tightly in his grasp, Leith propels us forward into the crowd. Cheers, whistles, and hoots litter the room, and applause thunders through the guests.
“Who are they?” I hazard a look at Leith, who nods and smiles at the crowd like a king surveying his dominions.
Without a word he sweeps us over to a podium, and suddenly I have the sickening feeling we’re expected to speechify.
He slides his hand up my bare back and grips my nape, claiming and soothing me at once.
As everyone quiets down, Leith clears his throat.
“Friends, family, colleagues, clients, this is my wife, Iona.” Hearty cries erupt through our audience.
“Disrespect her, you disrespect me.” He narrows his eyes.
“And I think you all know what happens when you disrespect me.”
“We hear you, squire!” a man hollers from the back.
“It won’t happen on my watch,” a man boasts from the other side of the room in a jaunty tone.
A tremor steals through me, though I’m mellowed when Leith’s thumb brushes back and forth at the base of my skull.
“Before you take her as my weakness, remember, I know all your secrets and could destroy you with a single breath.” Glancing up, I see his expression is solemn as a priest’s.
To my shock, the room erupts in applause, which Leith quiets with a sovereign look.
“To minimize the carnage at my own wedding, I warn you not to look at my wife the wrong way. Not to talk, dance, or flirt with her.” He gives my neck a squeeze. “But then, you all know that.”
Jovial laughter and more applause greet his threat.
“Apart from that, eat, drink, and be merry.” Leith turns my face to his and holds me in place, diving on my lips.
If there was ever any question who’s in charge, who dominates my universe, his tongue answers it here and now.
This kiss is primal, savage, ruining me for all other kisses.
From my lips to my core melts like wax, and I press my palms to his chest for balance.
A subtle, barely audible growl rises in his throat, and he sucks on my lower lip, giving it a pull with his teeth.
I feel his masterful smile against my lips as he dips his tongue in for one more sensual swipe before disjoining our lips.
I’m panting as if I’ve run a marathon. Vaguely aware of more applause crashing around us, I hear only Leith’s sultry command. “Go greet your family and friends. I’ll rejoin you at the first toasts.”
Heat rushes through my cheeks at his dismissal. Though I shouldn’t want to stick close to him, he does protect me from worse company. I’ve no doubt the crowd teems with captains, soldiers, and fixers, all of them carrying, all of them murderers many times over.
He cups my chin, his lips twitching. “Already bonded at the hip to me, Flame?” Damn him for reading my mind. “If you’re a good girl, I may give you a reward later.”
As a steady pulse thrums in my hot center, conflicting emotions flood me. Fear. Desire. Pride. Defiance.
I swallow my fears and ignore my arousal, my pride surging to the fore. “I don’t need your reward.”
He presses his thumb into my lower lip, his eyes darkening. “I’ll have you begging me for it before the evening is through. Now run along, wife. Your lord and master has business to attend to.”
Feeling more foolish than ever, I have no choice but to obey him.
I let him steal my soul away for the last hour, melt my insides, and wrap my thoughts in nothing but him.
And my body is ridiculously responsive to him.
Even now, my erect nipples chafe against the fabric of my dress, and wetness coats the folds of my pussy. I’m confused, angry, and hurt.
I turn and stumble away, determined to keep the tears at bay. I’ll find Skye and the others and salvage what I can of the evening. Maybe with enough champagne I can even forget my new husband exists.
1?fed up, put-out
2?attractive woman
3?swim trunks
4?bastard
5?bold, cheeky, mischievous