"Mine," he whispers, so low only I can hear.
He lowers his head.
I close my eyes. I brace myself for violence. I expect him to crush my mouth, to hurt me, to prove his dominance.
But the kiss is... soft.
His lips brush mine, tasting, testing. He is gentle, terrifyingly so. It’s a slow, languid exploration, a savoring of the moment. He tastes like scotch and mint. He kisses me like I am something precious. Like I am something he has waited a lifetime to touch.
For a second—just a split second—my body betrays me. I lean into him. I soften against his chest. The warmth of him is a lifeline in the freezing cold of my fear.
Then he pulls back.
His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated, swallowing the blue. He looks triumphant.
"Mrs. Vane," he says, testing the name.
He turns to Luca. "Pay the judge. Get everyone out."
"Yes, Boss."
"Wait," I say, panic flaring again as the reality sets in. The ceremony is over. The buffer of the strangers is leaving. "Where... where are they going?"
"They’re leaving, Ivy," Silas says, taking my hand again. He runs his thumb over the black diamond ring on my finger. "The show is over."
"But dinner..." I stammer. "You said there was dinner."
"I lied."
He pulls me closer, his arm wrapping around my waist, his fingers splaying over the exposed skin of my back. His touch burns.
"I’m not hungry for food."
The judge scuttles out of the room like a frightened rat. Chloe the stylist is already gone. Luca nods once and disappears into the elevator.
The doors slide shut.
We are alone.
The penthouse is silent, save for the hum of the city below and the crackle of the fire.
Silas looks down at me. The mask of civility he wore for the judge drops completely. The look on his face now is raw, primal, and utterly terrifying.
"You look breathtaking in this dress," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "But it has served its purpose."
He takes a step toward the hallway leading to the master bedroom. He pulls me with him.
"Where are we going?" I ask, digging my heels into the rug, though I know it’s futile.
"To consummate our marriage, wife."
He stops and scoops me up into his arms, bridal style. The bouquet of black lilies falls from my hand, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
I wrap my arms around his neck instinctively to keep from falling. I can feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart against my ribs.
"Silas, please," I whisper, burying my face in his tuxedo jacket. "I’m not ready."
He carries me down the hall, his strides long and purposeful.
