TWELVE

The morning of my college graduation ceremony, I had a nightmare. It was the worst possible kind, where nothing seemed wrong during the dream—not until I woke up, and horror descended on me.

I’d dreamt about Macalister.

My subconscious had placed us in the candlelit dining room the night of the initiation, where I was naked, and he was in his tuxedo . . . only it was just the two of us. I was flat on my back at the end of the long, elegant table. His cold hands were splayed on my spread thighs, and his tongue slipped inside me. My hands threaded into his hair, holding on while he tasted and feasted, dragging a moan from my lips.

When I woke, I was hot and uncomfortable all over, but the ache between my legs throbbed the worst.

Wrong.

Not that I had any control over my dreams, but I felt the shame regardless, and anger toward Macalister, like he’d put the thoughts in my brain.

I brushed my hair back off my heated face, rolled over in the bed, and my sleepy gaze found my fiancé who was already awake. Royce stared at the screen of his iPad, his blue eyes following intently whatever it was he was watching.

How did he always look so good? His brown hair was wild and his jaw dark with stubble, and it made the shadows of his high cheekbones more pronounced. The covers were mushed down around his waist, exposing the curves and ridges of his defined, bare chest. I licked my lips like he was a meal I wanted to devour.

It was then I noticed the rhythmic movement of his right hand under the sheets, centered between his legs. Oh, my God. Was he masturbating? My focus flew to his iPad and confirmed it. The couple on screen was seated on a gray couch, her tight black dress pulled up to her waist, showing off the gorgeous black thigh-high stockings she wore. The man had two fingers inside her, pulsing in and out as she squirmed.

My breath hitched.

Part of me was fascinated and enjoyed being a voyeur to this intimate act. But a much larger part of me, the insecure and inexperienced side, filled with worry. Had it begun to happen? Alice’s warning that he’d lose interest persisted in my mind.

Was Royce already bored with me?

It was like he could hear my thoughts because he turned his head and caught me watching him, but rather than stop or look embarrassed, he simply smiled. His eyes were warm, matching his word. “Hey.”

My mouth went dry. “Are you jerking off?”

“Yeah, I wanted to be ready to go when you woke up.” He gave himself another stroke beneath the covers. “You were moaning in your sleep.”

Oh, my God.

I swallowed so hard, it had to be audible, and I scrambled to deflect. “What are you watching?”

He turned on the volume and tilted the screen so I could better see.

The pretty brunette had pulled her dress up over her breasts and shifted onto her knees on the couch cushions. It was so she could pull open the man’s suit pants and slide his impressive cock into her mouth. There was something about the way she looked at him as she did it, and the way the handsome man gazed back at her . . . it felt authentic. As if they both were enjoying each other, rather than merely performing.

I clenched at such a sexy image and tried not to sound breathless. “They have good chemistry.”

“They’re married in real life.”

“Really?” My pulse pounded in my throat as the man held the girl’s long bangs out of her face and watched her take every inch of him between her rosy lips. Up and down she went in slow strokes, and when his eyes closed, he tipped his head back. Like the pleasure was too great.

Royce’s hand matched the girl’s steady tempo, and his voice was heavy with enjoyment. “I’ve probably seen every video they’ve shot together, which is a lot. They bring in friends sometimes.”

It was difficult to know where to focus. The video on screen was hot, but the sheets had shifted, and now I could watch the glide of my fiancé’s hand down his hard length. It was mesmerizing. I meant to tease and not accuse. “Watch a lot of porn, do you?”

“I’m a guy, so, yeah.” He laughed softly. “Plus, there was a while where this was all I had.”

I sucked in a breath. “The year you waited for me.”

“Yeah.” There was no hesitation from him, and the tightness in my chest dissipated.

Royce had a ‘tell’ when he lied. I’d discovered it after months of fundraising parties and social events where we’d played our roles of prince and soon-to-be princess of Cape Hill. He paused before saying something untrue. It was only a microsecond long—just the length of a single heartbeat, but I’d caught on. If there was a lag, he was going to tell a lie.

I wanted so badly for Royce to say he loved me, I’d made a point of telling him I loved him when other people were around, forcing him to deliver the same line back to me. That goddamn pause every time before he uttered what I longed to hear was a knife in my heart. But I told myself to keep doing it. If he said it enough, maybe the lie would become real, and one day there’d be no hesitation.

He wasn’t lying about waiting a year for me, though. Not only were we alone right now, but he hadn’t paused. He’d answered me quickly and convincingly.

On screen, the couple moved. As the man stood, she stretched out on the couch, lying down on her stomach, and clutched her hands on the cushion beneath her. Her husband sat beside her long, silk-wrapped legs, and let his hands wander appreciatively over her perfect body, before he placed one on her ass and slid two fingers of the other deep inside her pussy.

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and reached for Royce. When I clasped my hand over the base of his cock, he sighed with satisfaction and eagerly made room for me to work.

The girl arched and bowed as the man drove his fingers, and her hips lifted when she rose to meet him, adjusting the angle of his thrusts. My pulse kicked when the man leaned forward and buried his mouth between the cheeks of her ass.

“Dirty,” I whispered with excitement.

Royce jerked in my hand. “Yeah? You want me to do that to you?”

Yes.

The girl gasped and moaned. One hand flew back to her husband’s head, but not to push him away. It seemed reactive, like she was overwhelmed by the sensation. Her mouth rounded into a silent ‘oh’ of bliss.

“Maybe,” I said in a hush.

Royce chuckled sinfully and tossed the iPad aside, scooping a hand into my hair. “That’s a fucking yes if I ever heard one.”

His kiss was blistering. Addictive. His tongue pressed to the seam of my lips and demanded entry, and I gladly gave it. While he kissed me, he curled his fingers around the waistband of my shorts and began to stretch them down.

“You should know, this is my favorite part of the day,” he said. “Waking up next to you.” He grabbed my hip and pulled me toward himself, encouraging me to lie on my stomach. When I did, he got on his knees and pushed a finger inside me from behind. “I get to do it for the rest of my life, don’t I, Marist?”

“Yes,” I said mindlessly to both his question and his possession.

His voice was rich, like decadent chocolate. “Because you’re mine.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Because I was so very his.

My bridal bouquet was a hand-tied collection of white and blush pink roses, set against silvery green sprigs of eucalyptus. It perfectly matched the soft pink bridesmaid dresses Sophia and Emily wore, along with the crystal embellished Manolo Blahnik heels on my feet.

I’d told the florists I didn’t want to see a single stem of lily of the valley. I would have had the groundskeepers dig up Alice’s plants from the garden too, but Royce had beat me to it last October. It was one of the first things he’d done after I’d come home from the hospital.

For appearances’ sake, Alice had spent the last two nights in the main house, back in her old room. The staff was discreet, but people were coming and going as the wedding machine geared up. I’d forbidden her from entering my room as I got ready, but her hair and makeup team was here, texting her pictures and making adjustments based off her feedback.

“I can’t believe Sophia is a bridesmaid,” my sister whispered. “Why is that again?”

“She’s useful.” I used my thumb to turn the enormous engagement ring on my finger like a screw being tightened to hold down my anxiety. “I mean, look at how good she is with Selene.”

My sister turned her gaze across the room to Sophia, who sat on the floor with her pink dress flounced around her, cooing endlessly to my niece in her bouncy chair. In Sophia’s defense, six-month-old Selene was the most adorable flower girl ever. She’d charmed everyone, including the pair of photographers in the room who were furiously snapping pictures.

My parents sat on the couch nearby. My dad looked handsome but uncomfortable in his tuxedo, although I wondered if it were his surroundings that really bothered him. Did he feel like he was losing his little girl to the Hales?

A quiet but persistent stream of tears had been leaking from my mother’s eyes since I’d put on my great-grandmother’s Harry Winston necklace. It was my “something old” to satisfy the tradition. My “something new” was my dress.

The borrowed item was one of the cufflinks from the pair I’d given Royce for his twenty-sixth birthday last month. Ares, cast in white gold, that I hoped he’d wear the day he usurped his father. He rested in the tiny pocket I’d had Donna sew into my dress.

My sister had given me an ice blue handkerchief with the words keep your shit together embroidered on it, which tucked around my bouquet to serve as my “something blue.” So, I had all of the tradition satisfied, my dress and veil on, and my half of the bridal party at the ready. And while I didn’t have cold feet, I had nerves in spades. I was quaking inside the bodice of my dress. The world was spinning too fast.

Selene began to fuss, no longer satisfied with Sophia’s baby talk or the light-up stars dangling from the arch over her chair, and both my sister and my mother made a move for her.

“No, I’ve got her,” my mother said to Emily. “What if she spits up? You don’t have time to rinse it out before we head outside.”

“That means you won’t either,” my dad quipped. “Give her here.” He held out his hands enthusiastically.

“Oh, my God, Dad.” Emily laughed. “You are such a baby hog.”

He scowled. “I am not.”

But he successfully maneuvered his granddaughter out of his wife’s arms and into his own. My sister was right; he hogged the baby every chance he got. I didn’t think it was possible for my parents to love anyone more than my sister and me, but my niece was giving us a run for our money.

A short set of knocks came from the door, causing our conversation and my heart to stop. Was it time already? When the door opened, I expected it to be one of the wedding coordinators, dressed elegantly in black and wearing an earpiece, but it wasn’t.

A chill swept into the room with him.

“I need a minute alone with the bride,” Macalister said.

His voice had an edge of strain, like he’d held back the desire to demand everyone leave the room immediately. They got the message loud and clear, though. My mother exchanged a furtive glance with me, unsure if she should go, but I nodded. There was no point in fighting this. It was his house, and he was paying the entire astronomical bill for this wedding, so they needed to honor his simple request.

He kept his head turned away, watching the photographers, my family, and Sophia file out of the room, and didn’t look at me until the door was shut and we were alone. As if he didn’t want anyone else around while he looked upon me for the first time.

His gaze began at the hem of my white satin dress, trimmed delicately with lace and beading, and ever so slowly climbed upward. Donna Willow had given me elaborate, showstopping pieces to wear in the past, but my wedding dress showed off her more restrained side. I’d given her three requirements, and she’d nailed each one.

The first was that the dress be sophisticated. It was classically elegant with a long train and a simple neckline, which played into the second requirement. I wanted to wear my great-grandmother’s wreath necklace, and not have it compete with the garment.

My final requirement was that it show off Royce’s favorite place on my body.

So, it was backless. My dark hair had been twisted up and pinned away, and my cathedral-length veil unembellished, so as I walked down the aisle, our guests would catch a glimpse of my bare back, obscured only by a thin layer of tulle.

Macalister hadn’t seen that yet, though, since I was facing him, and I was glad. Him seeing me alone like this, before any other Hale, was a power move. It should have been Royce, standing at the end of the aisle, and I was angry his father had stolen that from him.

I also didn’t like how he was looking at me. It was the same way Royce had looked at me the first time I’d tried on the red dress nearly a year ago. The longing in Macalister’s eyes was downright terrifying and made my insides bubble.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Each time I think you couldn’t possibly look more beautiful, you prove me wrong.”

I swallowed painfully, struggling to get out my response. “Thank you.”

There wasn’t a wrinkle or speck of anything marring his black tux, and his white shirt was as pristine as his eyes. Everything was perfectly in place, from his dark brown hair to the white square peeking out of his pocket, and the white rose pinned to his lapel. Of course, it was. Today he was Zeus, the god all the other gods and goddesses looked up to.

My nerves obliterated whatever tiny filter I had on my mouth. “Every time I see you in a tuxedo, something bad happens.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Today, you take my name and fully become a Hale.”

“Royce’s name,” I corrected.

“Which I gave to him.” As if a thought had just occurred to him, he reached inside his tuxedo jacket and strode toward me. “I have something to give you.”

My heart lurched up into my throat. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it. Gifts from Macalister came with strings, and I’d only felt free the last few months. “No, thank you.”

He ignored me and produced a tiny black box, only big enough to hold something outrageously expensive. I shook my head, making my veil swish across my back. When I refused to accept the box, he opened it and thrust it forward.

The oval sapphire at the center of the ring was massive, and diamonds flanked it on either side, and it was so beautiful it stole my breath. My gaze fluttered from the ring up to his in disbelief. This ring was way, way too much. That size of it alone made me nervous, but for him to give me a ring—one that could have stood in as an engagement ring—it was wildly inappropriate.

“It’s beautiful, but I couldn’t.” I took a step back, retreating.

He pulled the ring from the box, and his face was full of determination. “It’s yours. You will wear this.”

“No, I won’t. Take it back.”

Confusion was something I rarely saw in him, and it played out on his face, creasing his forehead. His voice went uneven. “I can’t. I believe she would have wanted you to have it.”

I froze, allowing the meaning to sink in. He wasn’t talking about Alice because he’d used the past tense. “This was Royce’s mother’s?”

“It was an early wedding gift from me. She’d said she wanted something blue to wear.” His chest expanded on a heavy breath. “Now it will be my gift to you. I’m sure it comes as little surprise that I’m not a sentimental person, but . . . I don’t give this ring lightly. It’s one of the few things of hers I’d kept just for myself.” He glanced down, examining the stunning piece of jewelry in the light streaming from the nearby window, making it throw rainbows around. “But then I thought if I did this, perhaps a part of her could be with Royce today.”

This was the man I’d seen in the library, clutching a tumbler of scotch as he mourned the death of the woman he’d loved. I was all sorts of emotional today, and unexpected tears leapt into my eyes, but I blinked them back.

“I need you to wear this ring.” And then he said the word he’d probably only used genuinely a few times in his life. “Please.”

It came from me in a rush. “Yes, of course.”

When I took it from him, our fingers brushed and—had he just let out a sigh? I slipped the ring onto the third finger of my right hand, where it fit perfectly, although it was heavier than I had expected.

We admired it together for a long, quiet moment, and I found the courage to speak.

“You did a nice thing,” I whispered. He was at war with his son, but this felt like an overture toward a truce. It was encouraging to see him care about someone other than himself.

“Your influence, I’m sure.” His gaze locked onto me and refused to let go. “When I brought you into my home, the plan was to mold you into how I thought you should be. Instead, you’ve changed me.”

My heartbeat went into double-time, and trepidation inched up my spine. I sensed it before it happened but was unable to stop him. Macalister clamped a cold hand around mine and stepped into my space, taking all the air with it. His head was tipped down so he could peer into my eyes, searching them like a missing figure was hidden inside and he just had to look hard enough.

“I have tried harder than anything else in my life to keep my distance from you. I’ve told myself I don’t care, nor do I want to change the way you feel about me, but no amount of lies will drown out the truth.”

I tried to shake off his hold, but he responded by threading a hand between my back and the veil, and when his fingertips skimmed across my bare skin, lightning sparked, and his eyes clouded with dangerous, reckless desire.

“Macalister,” I whined in a sharp, low voice so no one in the hall would overhear and come in.

“At first, my attraction was purely sexual in nature. I was consumed by the desire to get what I was owed and what you had denied me.”

His hand on my back was a tool of torture. If I tried to move away, it forced me closer to him, putting us chest to chest. The full skirt of my wedding dress crushed between us.

“Say what you mean,” I hissed. “You just wanted to win.”

There wasn’t a drop of shame in him. “Yes. But as time went by, the way I longed for you shifted and grew deeper. We have a connection, Marist. You cannot deny it. Perhaps you think I’m not good enough for you, but I know with absolute certainty Royce isn’t.”

His thumb swept across the ridge of my spine, causing me to tremble. His lips hovered so close, it’d take no effort for him to close the space and press his mouth over mine. “I understand you think you love him, but I’m only trying to protect you.”

It was my wedding day, and I was only minutes from walking down the aisle. Anger erupted inside me and spilled out, making me spit each word as a bullet. “How dare you?”

My castigation glanced off him and fell harmlessly to our feet. He was immortal and impervious.

“You’ll marry him,” he decreed. “We’ve come too far for any other outcome, but you don’t have to love him. Behind closed doors, you can be with whomever you choose, such as a man who strives for perfection, who never gives up trying to be better.” His expression was resolute. “My persistence means you and I are inevitable. We are inevitable, because I love you.”