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This could ruin it all.
“Me.” Phoenix snapped. “And my dead son, the former boss of the De Lange Family, bless this marriage. Blood in…” He dropped my arm and seethed at Ivan. “…No out.”
“Get in alive,” Ivan whispered. “You’ll have to get out dead.”
Phoenix gave him his back and sat down next to his wife Bee who was looking down at her lap, she was still in mourning too. I didn’t blame any of them for feeling this way.
It was time to seal my fate as my dad leaned down and pressed a kiss to my left cheek, then my right and gripped my hand, placing it over Ivan’s.
My body trembled as Ivan pulled me against him, nodding to my dad as if he respected him.
Dad didn’t move for at least a minute before he finally turned on his heel and joined my mom, who was watching the exchange with worry etched all over her face. I could tell she wanted to jump up and say I object.
But objecting would only lead to more blood.
And enough had already been spilled.
Numb, I stood by Ivan’s side, ignoring the fact that he looked like a beautiful predator in his black tux.
The priest spoke.
I barely listened.
My fingers sweat beneath Ivan’s hand.
Nobody cried tears of joy over our blessing.
Nobody smiled at me.
I felt like I was going to pass out when we finally got to the vows. I repeated what I was supposed to repeat.
What felt like hours later, the priest said, “You may now kiss your bride.”
The part I dreaded.
Ivan leaned in with a cruel smile, his head descended, but he missed my mouth, only pressing a lingering kiss on my cheek as if to start a precedence over the fact that he would never touch me, never find me attractive, never love me.
The kiss was cold.
My heart cracked, but in my defense, I was weak.
I didn’t want his kiss, right?
So why did a solitary tear run down my cheek, a tear of embarrassment and loss that even on my wedding day, my own husband didn’t claim my mouth, as evil as he was.
It was one more thing he stole.
And it split me into more pieces than I’d like to admit.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Always bring more wine to a wedding—it could end up being your funeral.” —King Campisi
King
“So…” Ash plopped down next to me. He’d already pulled off his black jacket and opened up his shirt, and by the looks of it, was clearly drunk. “How does this happen? We just send them off to the hotel and he—he—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I snapped. “He won’t. He swore.”
