Fantastic.
I force myself upright on unsteady legs and turn toward the full-length mirror. The breath catches in my throat.
I look… bridal.
The dress is strapless satin, hugging every curve before flaring gently at the calves. No lace, no glitter, just clean lines and quiet elegance. My lips are painted a deep berry. My curls have been twisted into an updo with a few artfully placed tendrils around my face. I look glamorous. Beautiful, even. Just not for the man I thought I’d marry.
The attendant hands me a bouquet of white lilies and adjusts the veil over my face like this is some kind of fairy tale.
“She’s ready!” she calls cheerily to one of Marcus’s guys.
I’ve already combed this room for exits. There’s nothing. No windows. One guarded door. I even asked to use the bathroom earlier, and Marcus’s guy followed me inside… and listened to me pee through the stall. So, yeah. We’re working with zero options.
I swallow hard and will myself to stop shaking as I walk the hallway that connects the back of the cathedral to the front, flanked by two of Marcus’s meatheads. My dress swishes with every step. The veil itches against my face. This is happening.
We round the corner, and I spot Sean by the double doors to the sanctuary. Jesus, he looks good dressed in a tux. When he sees me, his mouth parts slightly, and awe flickers across his face. Under any other circumstances, I would love to have him look at me like that.
“Aro,” he breathes. “You… you look…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes rake over me like I’m the only thing that exists. If I didn’t know he was gay, I wouldn’t believe it. He looks hungry. Licks his lips like I’m something he’s not supposed to want.
“You’re a vision,” he murmurs.
I blush, despite everything. “Thank you.”
“I’m supposed to walk you down the aisle,” he says, stepping beside me. I pull my arm from beneath the veil and link it with his. He leans down, breath brushing my ear.
“I’m sorry. I’ve gone over every scenario. I can’t find a way out.”
The soft skim of his lips on my skin sends goosebumps rippling across my arms.
“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” I whisper, voice lower than I intend. I clear my throat, straighten my spine. “Let’s just get it over with.”
Sean nods and signals to the guard that we’re ready. I fumble my grip on the satin-wrapped bouquet, palms sweating, just as the first haunting notes ofHere Comes the Brideecho from the organ. He pats my arm gently, and I know what he’s really saying: I might not get out of this now, but I will sure as hell finda way out later.
The double doors swing open. Showtime. I paste on a smile like it’s part of my makeup and begin the march toward the altar. Marcus is waiting there, beaming like a groom who believes he earned me. I channel every ounce of fake joy I can conjure, but inside, I feel like I’m walking to my grave.
When we reach the altar, Sean hesitates before releasing my arm. Just a beat. Just long enough to make my knees weak. Then he moves to stand behind Marcus, leaving me alone on my side of the aisle.
The priest begins to speak. I catch fragments. Stuff about God, unity, love. But it all sounds like static until Marcus says his part loud and proud.
“I do.”
Fuck.
My heart lodges somewhere in my throat. It’s my turn now.
The priest turns to me, solemn and expectant. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I blink. The air feels thinner suddenly.
“I… I…” The words won’t come. They feel like poison in my mouth.
Marcus shoots me a warning look that says,get your shit together, and I almost do, but then, gunshots crack the silence like a whip.
Marcus’s head jerks toward the front doors, which are now closed again.
“Let me handle this real quick,” he says to the priest, like this is just another Monday. “Then we’ll continue.”
