Page 72 of The Betrothal

My stomach turned. Liar.

“All we ask is that she is returned safely to us. She was so hopelessly excited for our wedding day. We all were. And for the picture of a future we had painted together over the last fifteen years.” The assembled news teams muttered sympathetically. “Our time together, truly together, was just beginning, and I beg anyone who knows where she is. Please, help to return her to me.” He paused. “Return her to us.”

His eyes were watering. I hated it. The snort of outright derision was out of my mouth before I could choke on it.

The reporter on the TV had resumed their report, noting the obvious distress of an adoring husband, and fawning over the fairytale couple.

I was unable to watch him anymore, dropping my attention to my hands.

The volume clicked off and I resisted the lead heaviness of my body, forcing myself to turn to the men loitering around me.

Alex held the remote, his ‘see?’ expression seeking exoneration as he looked to Seb and then Ben.

The ending of my time with these men was coming sooner than I’d allowed myself to hope. Something I would never have imagined having had in a million lifetimes. But I could manage the loss, providing that it wasn’t steeped in hatred.

I glanced to Seb, his face an impassive mask. Then to Ben, whose attention remained only on Alex.

“See?” Alex asked, waiting on their agreement with his shock and horror.

“Yes?” Seb’s question had Alex recoiling like he’d been struck and I didn’t feel too dissimilar. “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?” Alex pointed the remote to the TV then to me. “That’s her.”

“Obviously.” Ben lowered himself onto a sofa and Alex watched him like a cornered animal.

“Obviously she’s the daughter of the goddamned Secretary of State for Social Order and Families!”

“Yes, we know who Edmund Blackthorne is.” Seb finally moved, taking a hold of me and pushing me backwards until I fell onto the other sofa. He then pointed at me sternly before disappearing into the kitchen and snagging a bottle, which turned out to be vodka.

“She’s his goddamned daughter. She’s been moulded in his image; she’s spent ten fucking years studying his policy, if the reports are to be believed. She’s a feather in his political cap! And everything we fucking despise,” Alex roared.

Now it was my turn to feel as though I’d been slapped.

The carefully constructed image that perpetuated my freedom would be a hard one to explain away, if they even let me.

“Is that so?” Seb passed the bottle to me and I took several large swigs.

“Is that so?” If I thought Alex couldn’t get louder, I was wrong.

“The woman who was clearly running from something that terrified her enough to trudge through one of the worst storms on record? The woman who looks like she’s either going to pass out or throw up after seeing her doting fiancé on the TV? We’re talking about the same woman?” Seb clarified.

Alex swallowed, finally looking at me but I avoided his gaze. Seb was right. I was barrelling towards either unconsciousness or vomit. I drank again, relieved that Seb hadn’t taken back the bottle. I hoped for unconsciousness, but if that was not to be, I could add fuel to the nausea fire.

“You knew it was something of that ilk, Alex, don’t play dumb.” Seb’s accusation landed and Alex paled, his rage shrinking somewhat. “Yes, her family is pretty much one of the worst ones for our little runaway to be associated with. Yes, it would be much easier if she was just a small-town girl from the north. But does it change anything, really?”

Alex opened his mouth to speak before clamping it shut, but Seb was quiet now, forcing Alex to fill the silence and reply.

Instead of formulating an actual argument, he turned his attention on his brother.

“Ben?” he pleaded.

Ben didn’t look at me; he didn’t look at Seb either. Slowly he exhaled a deep breath. “Seb’s right. She was running from something big. The only thing that has changed between her arrival and now is that we know what.” His brows bunched in a deep frown and my stomach turned. Here comes the vomit. But then, to my surprise, he broke into a huge smile, then a light blush. “Well, that’s not quite the only thing that’s changed.”

“Holy shit.” Alex scrubbed his hand over his stubble, the fight draining from his features. “You’ll both look past this, won’t you?”

Ben nodded and the numbness that I realised had overtaken some of my body retreated. “There’s nothing really to overlook. She’s the victim here, Alex. Not us.”

Alex stood so suddenly I recoiled, the other men didn’t.