Silas turns his gaze on me.
The air in the room instantly becomes too thin.
He doesn't smile. He doesn't look happy. He looks... hungry. His blue eyes sweep over me, devouring every inch of the silk, thelace, the exposed skin of my neck. He lingers on the diamond choker, which I’m still wearing. It sits above the lace neckline of the dress, a double claim.
I stop walking. My feet feel like they are encased in concrete.
Silas steps forward. He crosses the room in three long strides, ignoring everyone else. He stops in front of me, invading my space, his scent of sandalwood and winter enveloping me.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. It’s not a compliment. It’s an appraisal.
He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush the sensitive skin of my neck, and a jolt of electricity shoots down my spine.
"You’re shaking," he notes softly.
"I’m terrified," I whisper back.
"Good. Fear means you’re paying attention."
He offers me his arm.
I look at it. The fabric of his tuxedo jacket is fine wool. Underneath is the muscle that pinned me to the wall last night. Underneath is the man who carved an eye out of a Russian mobster.
I have no choice.
I place my hand on his arm. His muscles bunch beneath my touch, hard and unyielding.
He leads me to the fireplace. The judge clears his throat, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Luca stands to the side, acting as a witness. He’s wearing a gun in a shoulder holster over his dress shirt.
A wedding with guns. How fitting.
"We are gathered here today," the judge begins, his voice shaking slightly, "to join Silas Vane and Ivy Ross in holy matrimony."
Holy. The word feels like a blasphemy in this room.
I tune out the words. I focus on the flickering gas flames in the fireplace. I focus on the reflection of myself in the glass. I look like a ghost in that dress. A shadow caught in a spiderweb.
I feel Silas’s gaze on the side of my face. It’s heavy, physical. He isn't looking at the judge. He’s watching me breathe.
"Do you, Silas Vane, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part?"
"To have and to hold," Silas repeats. His voice is deep, resonating through my chest. He emphasizes the wordshaveandhold. "I do."
The judge turns to me. "And do you, Ivy Ross..."
He recites the vows. They sound like a sentence.To love, cherish, and obey.Did he say obey? Or did my mind just fill that in?
"Ivy?" Silas prompts. His hand tightens over mine. A warning.Say it.
I look up at him. The scar through his eyebrow is stark in the firelight.
"I..." My voice cracks. I swallow, trying to wet my dry throat. "I do."
"Then, by the power vested in me by the State of New York..." The judge speeds up, eager to be done, eager to get away from the predator in the tuxedo. "I pronounce you husband and wife."
He looks at Silas. "You may kiss the bride."
Silas turns to me fully. He releases my arm and brings both hands up to cup my face. His thumbs trace my cheekbones. His palms are warm, rough, possessive.
