Lorenzo’s eyes flash, dark amusement sparking. “Impatient, Little Bird? Can’t wait to sign your soul away?”
I keep my gaze on the priest. “I’d like to be done before the Stockholm syndrome kicks in,” I reply, sweet and deadly.
A huff of laughter catches in his chest. “You always were impatient.”
The priest flounders for a moment, then stumbles forward. “And . . . and you, Lorenzo Amante,” he tries again, “do you take Victoria Danforth to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health—”
“I do,” Lorenzo answers, eyes never leaving my face. “Obviously.”
The word wraps around me like a noose.
The priest’s gaze flicks between us, sweaty and panicked. “Do you have vows prepared?” he asks hopefully, like maybe someone will start talking about love and save him from this nightmare.
“I think we’ve said enough,” Lorenzo deadpans.
“Yes,” I add, pressing a smile that shows too many teeth. “I wouldn’t want to lie in front of a priest. Something tells me that won’t help my bid to get into heaven.”
My father winces.
The priest swallows hard. “Then . . . umm . . . we will proceed with the rings.”
Rafe steps forward, pulling a small velvet box from his jacket with a resigned little shrug, like even he can’t believe he’s playing ring bearer in this particular tragedy.
He flips it open and offers it to Lorenzo.
Lorenzo takes the first band, cool metal glinting between his fingers. He grasps my hand, turning it palm down, his thumbstroking along my knuckles once in a touch that doesn’t match his eyes at all.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I don’t want to, but I do anyway.Show no fear.
He slides the ring onto my finger slowly, deliberately, like he’s carving his name into my bones.
“This belongs to me now,” he says, voice low.
“My hand?” I whisper, throat tight.
His gaze doesn’t flicker. “We both know the answer.”
My lungs forget how to function for a beat.
I pick up his ring from the box. My fingers don’t feel like they’re attached to my body. I feel like I’m stuck in a nightmare, and I can’t shake myself awake.
I grab his left hand and shove the ring down his finger with a little more force than necessary.
It still slides on smoothly.
He smirks. “Easy, Little Bird,” he drawls. “I know you want to maim me, but we haven’t taken pictures yet.”
“I thought you said there are no pictures,” I bite out.
“You’re right.” He smirks. “We’ll have memories. Those last longer.”
The priest’s voice drones on. I can’t even hear the words. All I hear ishusband and wife.
That’s all I need to hear for my knees to buckle. Lorenzo doesn’t wait for me to right myself before he tugs me toward him, one hand clamping around my waist, the other curling possessively at the back of my neck.
His mouth crashes onto mine.
