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Taking her hands, tears filling my eyes like a little pansy, I swallowed down the emotion that wanted to come out. “It was worth the wait, baby. You are the most beautiful bride.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Hale,” she whispered, still grinning.
I get to spend my life with her. How the fuck did I get this lucky?
The pastor needed to hurry up and marry us before she changed her mind.
When someone opens the door, making a small bell ring, I’m startled and brought back to the present. My chest feels tight, but I force myself to pull in a few deep breaths and get my shit together. Today isn’t the day to go down memory lane and end up going off the deep end.
I try my best to keep my eyes away from her, but I can’t. I tell myself it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with a ghost from my past. And maybe … that makes it okay.
She looks sad as she stares at herself, mindlessly dragging her fingertips over the delicate white fabric. Even though I hate to admit it—because I fucking hate that she has to marry that lowlife—the gown itself looks like it was made for her body. It hugs her chest—a chest that sure as fuck does not need to be modified the way her uncle said it was going to be. The gown is tight on the bodice and down to her ass, giving me a perfect sight of what a nice ass she has. White silk buttons line her back, and her honey-blonde hair floats down her shoulders and over her back in long, silky, luscious waves. I imagine reaching out and running my hands through it. Maybe even gripping it a bit.
Cut the fucking shit, dumbass, I silently tell myself, pulling in a deep breath and looking down at the ground for a second, hoping that tearing my eyes from her will smarten me the hell up. It doesn’t work though. And it’s no time before I’m staring at her again.
Natasha walks behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think, Briar?” she asks her sweetly. “Do you love it? Does it feel … right?”
For a beat, it almost seems like she’s offended or maybe annoyed by her aunt’s words. But she quickly snaps herself out of it. Tilting her head to the side, she continues to stare at herself, appearing like a broken little dove with its wings clipped, keeping it grounded. Making it dependent on everyone else to keep it safe. Not knowing that the majority of the people around her want to do more harm than good.
“I, uh …” She stops, shaking her head. “I don’t know. It’s fine, I guess. I mean, it’ll do.” She pushes her shoulders back and straightens her spine. “If I say yes, can dress shopping be over?”
There’s a particular emotion on Natasha’s face. Sympathy maybe? Whatever it is, she looks a little unsure of how to respond. But eventually, she gives her a tiny smile.
“I can have them hold it if you’d like?” She speaks gently, and it’s almost as though she actually cares how Briar feels about the entire situation. “And then if you find something else, we can get that instead.” She says the words so sweetly, like she’s not talking about a dress her niece is going to wear while she gets forced to marry a Mafia leader.
“Okay,” Briar mutters, agreeing to whatever is thrown her way. She’s weak. And pathetic.
So, why can’t I fucking look away?
And why am I holding on to every word that comes from her lips, waiting for the next one to float out? Why am I watching her in awe when she’s nothing but a pawn in her uncle’s game? All because she was too frail to stand up for herself and tell him no.
When her eyes lift to mine, I quickly shift to look somewhere else. The man she is marrying is a bad, bad dude. I’m not about to come off as a creep. Besides, if I make her uncomfortable, they might pull me from this job. We’re so close to catching Enzo and his father for their involvement in crimes on US soil. I can’t fuck it up now. And not over some random girl.
“I’m going to change,” she grumbles.
“Of course.” Natasha nods eagerly. “Go on. I’ll let them know to hold it.”
I feel her eyes once more, burning into my skin like a fucking heat gun. I fight the urge to gaze back, but instead, I continue staring straight ahead. I’m not sure if she’s suspicious of me or if she’s going to try to silently beg me for help. Either way, I’m avoiding it at all costs. If she looked at me with those sad, broken eyes and told me she needed help getting out of here … I’d fucking do it. And I’d ruin everything I’d worked so hard for.
I’m sure she’s put two and two together, so she has to understand that she requires a guard to go with her when she tries on wedding dresses, which is bad news.
From what I’ve gathered from her file, she grew up very poor. Her parents were hard on drugs until they finally overdosed years back. Though I’m not all that surprised that her mother went down a wrong path, seeing’s her own family had been running drugs in and out of the country her entire childhood. A lot of which were coming from Italy and supplied by the Romano family themselves. Proving that the ties between the Bensons and the Romanos go back well before Beckett.
I also learned that Briar graduated high school, but didn’t attend any further schooling. I already know she has a younger brother, Walker James, because I’ve met him before, when Beckett insisted that we travel somewhere with him.
He’s the opposite of his sister. He’d never agree to marry someone just because his uncle Beckett pushed it on him. He’s a hotshot hockey player at Brooks University, likely headed to the NHL in the next few years.
The few times I’ve been around him, he made it clear with his words that he couldn’t stand his uncle. Briar is different. She tries to fake that she’s comfortable here. And that this shit is all normal.
Knowing she can fake this well? That’s fucking terrifying. That means she’s dangerous.
“Is there anything I can get you, sir?” a brunette coos, walking beside me and batting her long, thick lashes. “A water perhaps?”
I look away from her. “All set, thanks,” I mutter before pressing my back to the wall as I wait for her to leave.
Eventually, she does, and I silently stand there while Natasha gets everything with the dress squared away and Briar walks out from the dressing room.
Threading her fingers through her hair, she pulls her hair into a ponytail.
