“This…” I pull my hand free to wave at my dress and then in some random, circular way, “Was all put together by someone else.”
“You must feel very betrayed.” His voice is kind.
I’m suddenly aware that I’m spilling my guts to a Scottish gangster who’s a stranger, even if we did just get married. “It’s- you know, it’s fine,” I babble. “This life. I’m assuming you had a bit more warning?”
Mason gives a polite chuckle, and it rasps along my skin. It’s deep and alarmingly sexy. “About a week.”
“I’m assuming you got to choose?” It comes out more bitter than I mean it.
Nodding, he says, “You must have known your father intended to use you as an asset.”
Asset…
He says it in a matter-of-fact way, likeof courseI knew that at some point that heartless bastard was going to use me as collateral for some deal.
“Is it worth it?” The words burst from me as I cringe, I usually have better self-control. “Whatever this deal is with your family, is it worth marrying the two of us off?”
His head tilts as he examines me and I realize that it’s the first time he’s moved since I pulled my hands away. His are folded in his lap, one leg crossed, his ankle resting on his knee. It’s a little unsettling, as is his examination of me.
I’m used to men looking at me. I’m not vain, heavens no. Dad would have knocked that fledgling self-esteem right out of the nest. But yes, I know I’m pretty, sometimes beautiful in the right light. I have more curves than most of the “pretty” girls, but it never seemed to deter men from trying to talk to me before Wyatt shut them down.
“So, the deal?” I prompt, trying to break up his thorough visual appraisal.
“Yes.”
“That’s it? Just yes.”
“Mm-hmm. Let’s talk about what comes next, since it appears it will be a surprise,” he says wryly. “The reception is indeed at your father’s country club. We will eat, cut the cake, dance a bit and then we’ll leave. Your mother…” Mason takes my hand again. “Your mother is handling packing up your belongings and sending them to my place.”
My hand curls into a fist and he calmly straightens my fingers out, resting my hand on his thigh. It’s very intimate and I don’t know why I don’t pull away. His thigh is thick with muscle, I can feel it flex as he moves slightly.
“This has been handled even more badly than I’d expected, Afton darling. Let’s get through the rest of the day and we’ll talk again. Do you feel ready?”
Looking up, I see the iron gates at the entrance of the country club swinging open for us.
“Not really,” I admit, “but I can smile and nod for as long as I have to.”
He leans closer, his breath on my cheek. “Such a good girl,” Mason murmurs in my ear, then kisses my temple.
My nipples are suddenly aching, diamond-pointed and I’m praying they’re not showing through the wedding dress.
***
Seanair agus Seanmhair - Scots Gaelic for Grandfather and Grandmother
Chapter Four
In which we endure interminable wedding speeches.
Mason…
William Cavendish is a bastard, that is a given. But tricking his daughter into showing up to her own wedding notches him to a level of callousness that I would ordinarily appreciate. Not, however, when it comes to my wife. Afton might think she’s disguised the two marks on her cheeks with makeup, but they’re bruising and I’m going to have to spend some time thinking about the appropriate way to fuck up Cavendish for hitting my wife.
Opening her car door, I offer her what I have been told is a reassuring smile and my hand. When she takes it, I can feel her shaking.
“Take a deep breath,” I lean in close, murmuring in her ear. It looks like a tender moment between the bride and groom. She does as I say, her pretty breasts rising and falling under the thin silk of her dress. “Good girl.” Afton’s eyes widen and she looks up at me.
My wife has a praise kink, I suspect.
