“Stop. Stop, lass before ya hurt yourself.” His huge arms wrap around me like a muscular straitjacket, holding me down on the pew. “Aye,” he whispers, “I know Nate is still alive. I know ya sent him away with Carmella, his nurse. I know your stepfather hurt him and ya entered that auction to send money for their care. I know ya dinna want to trust me. But I swear to you on my family’s name that I will never let harm come to ya. I will protect Carmella and your brother like my own family. Because once we’re married, lass, theyaremy family.”
“I can’t trust you.” I’m still mindlessly pushing him away and not budging an inch. “I can’t trust anyone, I can’t-” My eyes well up, and I fight down a humiliating sob.
He starts rocking me and with my head pressed against his enormous chest, his voice rumbles through me. “You’re only twenty-three and you managed to fake your brother’s death well enough that even your piece of shite stepfather canna find him. I’m thinking he’s the only one who knows Nate is alive, aye?”
Panic claws at my throat with razor-sharp claws, making me raw and terrified. “Nate’s dead. My mother is dead. And I’m not marrying you.”
“Stop,” he says gruffly. “We will be married. I will protect you and Nate. Ya don’t have to do it alone anymore, aye?”
The panic is still biting at me, making it hard to think, every nerve strumming and telling merun away run away…
“Tell me we can get a divorce when my stepfather is gone,” I force out between numb lips.
He’s silent for a moment, his arms tightening slightly. “Aye.”
Going limp, I wait for him to release me. “Okay.”
Now that I know what this treacherous son of a bitch dragged me here for, it looks obvious. There are three beautiful flower arrangements lining the altar, pale pink peonies and long springs of lavender and purple thistle. Someone - Father Hamilton probably -has lit several tall candles and the sweet smell of the flowers mixes with the beeswax. Patrick stands at the altar by the priest, hands folded and wearing an actual smile. As if this is normal.
The dress Ethan laid out for me earlier is white, a simple sleeveless one that ends just above the knee. The cleavage is just barely appropriate for a church setting.
As we’re walking toward the tensely smiling priest, Ethan murmurs, “Would ya like a bouquet?”
Would I? What I would like is my brother here, smiling at me and irritably adjusting his tux. I want Gabby from Milan, my friend who can make anything seem normal, no matter how weird it is. I want Carmella here. I want my mom.
Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, I try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. That’s what I did when Mom died and I found out about Gavin’s plans for my brother. One foot in front of the other until I figured out where I was going.
This is for Nate.
I’m not Catholic, but this is a very lovely service, the old words taking on a special meaning, coming from Father Hamilton. I jump when Ethan gently squeezes my hands and turns me to face him.
“Sloan Lauren Masters,” the priest intones, “do you take Beathan Cameron MacTavish as your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health until death do you part?”
“Uh-huh,” I agree numbly. “I mean, yes, I do.”
Ethan slides a ring on my finger. It’s heavy, but I can’t look down at it, it will make this real. He easily answers the same words spoken to him, his “I do,” coming out before Father Hamilton finishes the sentence. He pulls out another ring and gives it to me. My hands are shaking enough that it takes three tries to slip it on his finger.
“Bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder.” The priest shuts his Bible, beaming at us.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
My new husband’s arms slide around me, lifting me to meet his lips and kissing me with a flattering level of savagery. If it were any other time, I would enjoy the feel of his plush lips and his sly tongue in my mouth. But right now, when I hate him with a white-hot intensity? I’m just numb.
But when he deepens the kiss and I can feel the spark in my center, warming my whole body, I lean into it. When we finish and he pushes the loose strands of hair off my face, I have a terrible feeling that I’m not just doing this for Nate after all.
Chapter Thirty-One
In which this is not the wedding night of anyone's dreams.
Sloan…
What have I done?
Ethan and Patrick are talking quietly as I stare unseeingly out the window. I still can’t bring myself to look down at the ring, it will make this real and I’m not prepared to face it.
Patrick accompanies us up to the apartment, insisting on running a security check before bidding us goodnight.
Ethan’s standing by one of the huge, stained-glass windows in the living room, light from the street lamps sending blue and red shadows across his sculpted cheekbones. He raises his glass and I see his wedding band. It’s black, utilitarian and it suits him.
