Heat blooms where his fingers meet my skin. My breath catches. My pulse does something complicated that definitely isn't fear, or at least isn'tonlyfear.
His golden eyes drop to my mouth for just a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
And when his gaze comes back up to meet mine, there's something new in it. Something knowing. Something that says he felt that too, and he's very aware that I'm trying to pretend I didn't.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
"My bride ran away." His thumb traces along my jaw. Slow. Unhurried. "You will take her place."
My heart stops.
Starts again.
Starts pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, my temples, my fingertips.
No.
No.
This is the one route I didn't read. The one hero I avoided. The one story I refused to let myself fall into.
And now I'm trapped in it.
"Bienvenue à ta nouvelle vie," Devyn says softly.Welcome to your new life.His golden eyes hold mine, and there's something in them I can't read. Something that lives in the shadows his perfect composure can't quite hide. "Bailey."
He knows my name.
How does he know my name?
But of course he does.
I'm the heroine of this story.
I just have no idea how it ends.
Chapter Two
THEY DON'T LET ME WALK.
Well. They try to let me walk. Two of Devyn's men flank me the moment we leave the chapel, their hands hovering near my arms in that universal gesture ofmove along now, and I do move. I'm moving. My legs are working, technically, even if they feel like they're made of something unreliable. Jello. Wet cement. Overcooked pasta.
But apparently I'm not moving fast enough.
I hear footsteps behind me. Quick. Decisive. And then the world tilts sideways, and I'm suddenly up.
Up, as in off my feet.
Up, as in cradled against a broad chest that smells like expensive cologne and something warmer underneath.
Up, as in Devyn Chaleur has just scooped me into his arms like I weigh nothing, and he's carrying me out of his own wedding chapel without breaking stride.
"What are you—put me down—"
"You were too slow."
That's it. That's his entire explanation. Four words, delivered in a tone so matter-of-fact you'd think he was explaining why the sky is blue. I was too slow, so obviously the only logical solution was to pick me up and carry me like a—like a—
"I can walk!"
