Her father gives me her hand, and I try to ignore the jolt of electricity coursing through me at the touch of her creamyskin. Locking my eyes with hers, I find nothing but pure anger in them. A sight I’m all used to seeing by years of being the head of the Raven Sons. Letting his daughter go without a damn word to her, we both turn to the Priest, and I can’t even fucking remember what he said ‘cause I’m too damn focused on the woman standing next to me. Her scent hits me with spice and cinnamon, unusually warm and addictive.
The Priest shifts to me, nodding slowly. That’s my cue. I grab her wrist, forcing her to face me, careful not to take her hand because this isn’t fucking sweet or real. Looking at her endless lashes from above her, I repeat the words after him, trying as hard as I can to remind myself that those words aren’t true.
“I, Ares Jake Malone, take you, Mia Elisabeth O’brian, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” My voice is low and raspy as I look at her, her heartbeat quickening under my fingers.
“I, Mia Elisabeth O’brian, take you…” My jaw clenches at the sound of her voice, deep and sultry. It has a distinctive, almost raspy quality. Her tone is smooth, confident, and for some reason I like knowing how pissed she is. “Ares Jake Malone, to be my husband.” Her face turns a light shade of blush when she ends the vows that are supposed to bind us for eternity.
The Priest clears his throat and murmurs to me, “The rings, sir.” I don’t let her put mine on my finger and just do it myself; no time for this lovebird bullshit. Then I take her wrist again, feeling a bit of resistance, and slowly put the emerald ring I had made for her on her ring finger. She’s staring at it, looking at the massive rock I chose for everyone to know who she belongs to.
Arranged marriage or not. A wife needs a ring.
“You may now kiss the bride,” The Priest declares, way too fucking cheerful for my taste. The silence around us is heavy; everybody knows why we're here and that there’s nothing genuine about her and I standing here spilling love vows to each other when it’s the first time we’ve met.
I could have refused her as payment, and still, I agreed to the deal.
Cracking my neck on both sides, I clench my jaw from wanting to indulge in her and push her away at the same time. I could skip that part, probably, but I’m intrigued by the small, fiery creature in front of me. This girl holds herself like a queen, not something I’m used to seeing around. That’s rare. Her wrist still in my hand, I pull her closer to me, smelling her like a lion would smell its prey before deciding if it’s ready to be captured. Her honey-brown eyes drift from my eyes to my lips, her chest heaving under the silk. She’s not backing down, and neither am I.
One damn kiss won’t change anything.
I crush my lips on her for a few seconds, our eyes staying locked and angry the whole time. When I let her go, she steps back, panting while the cheers and whistles of my brothers echo in the chapel. My gaze stays on her, giving her my hand to walk out of here. She clenches her jaw before putting her wrist in it, avoiding our hands touching like newlyweds would. Rice and flower petals hit us as we get out of the church. Once the photographer took enough pictures of us with our stern faces, I walk toward my bike parked in front of the church.
“I’m not getting on this,” a soft, sultry voice states behind my back, her beige high heels hitting the ground behind me. Turning to her, I lean on my black Harley, gawking at her silhouette.
"Yes, you are," I order, putting on my helmet before straddling my ride and tilting my head toward her. She huffs, her eyes flashing with that fiery defiance that made me forget how to breathe just minutes ago.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. I let out a low chuckle, the sound almost lost in the rumble of the bike. She glares at me for a moment longer, then reluctantly lifts her dress, revealing those long, smooth legs that would make any man fall on their knees. Putting on the helmet I've let on the backseat, she mutters something else resembling cursing. Swinging a leg across the bike and settling behind me, her body tenses. Looks like the little Irish Mafia Princess isn't used to the MC club way of life. She'll have a lot to learn.
“Hold on,” I say, sensing the stiffness of her body. She awkwardly places her hands on my sides, barely touching me. I rev the engine, the powerful roar echoing through the parking lot.
“I said, hold on,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Or you’ll fall off, and I ain’t stopping to pick you up.” I’m an asshole, I know, but I gotta be careful. The last woman who sat on this bike took my hopes and crushed them until I didn’t even know my own name. Getting her as payment was smart to assert power over the other motorcycle clubs of the country. It made O’brian seem weak, giving me his little girl to fix his mistakes. It settled his debts, gave me a way to secure my line, and perpetuated the legacy my father had started.
With a frustrated sigh, she wraps her arms around my waist, her grip tight and wary. I can feel her body pressed against mine, the warmth of her touch cutting through the tension. We take off, the bike roaring down the road, leaving the church and the staring crowd behind. Her breath is warm against my back, each exhale syncing with the rumble of the bike. After a while,we finally reach the outskirts of the city, the familiar sight of my house coming into view.
Well, technicallyoursnow.
The massive structure looms ahead. A huge wood cabin, made of pins and metal from building it with my own hands. It took me years to forge it until it finally was done. Figured I couldn’t live in my father’s house when he passed away so I made my own, deep into the forest, away from our enemies and prying eyes. This house was the result of blood and sweat and my chest always rose a bit taller each time I saw it.
I slow down, pulling into the driveway and coming to a stop in front of the garage. She releases her hold on me as if I had burned her, sliding off the bike with as much grace as she can muster in that dress. I watch her, the defiance still burning in her eyes, mixed with a hint of something else as she’s taking in her new home—curiosity, maybe? I had seen her house, big, fancy, over-the-top new money crap.
Would she like it there?
Why did it matter if she didn't?
I dismount and lead her toward the house, the gravel crunching under our feet. If she struggles to walk on the stones with her heels, she doesn’t show it: chin up, hands slightly trembling.
"Maria will show you around, your stuff has been brought this morning," I say blankly, opening the front door and nodding for her to enter. I never needed staff, but those folks used to work for my father, and there was no way I'd leave them without a job so I took them in. One cook. One housekeeper. It wasn't too bad actually, it made the house feel less empty when I got home after a long day. And it was convenient to have everything always ready, made it easier for me to focus on the club and spend less time managing the house. I know it's not in the typical MC club way of life to have staff but I had found thisbalance and it worked well for me. Other than that, my house was simple but sleek, robust and warm. Wood and metal were everywhere, furniture I had made myself when I took some time to do something else than work, which didn't happen often. I had enough money to buy myself a mansion but I couldn't care less. My house was a reflection of me and I was old enough to know there was no point trying to fool folks into portraying myself as a sophisticated man. I was rough and strong, and so was my home.
Despite being rustic, it had all the appliances needed for comfort, and even if it had nothing to do with her home in Chicago, she wouldn't lack anything here. I had made sure of that.
She steps inside, her eyes scanning the vast interior. “Okay” she says, entering the pin hallway like she owns the place. A large mirror stands on her left, the wood frame matching the tone of the rest of the house. Pictures of my brothers were displayed on the opposite wall, adding character to the house.
“Guests will be there in an hour for dinner. I want you in the living room before they arrive to welcome them,” I say, removing my jacket. The house only had one floor above with four bedrooms. I thought they'd be full with kids by that time but there were just empty rooms waiting to be filled.
One day, maybe…
“Is it how it's gonna be now? You ordering me around like a domestic?” She rests a hand on her hip.
“My house, my rules. You follow them or you get out,” I say in a harsher tone than I should have taken.
