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Ollie scans the restaurant and walks straight to the desk. "Which waiter came into this room?" he asks.
"Sir, the wait staff serving your room is all female."
Of course. Someone’s in disguise.
To his credit, Ollie doesn't seem very ruffled. He takes me by the hand and walks to the door. As we head back to the car, I can't shake the feeling of dread settling in my stomach, Carlos’s threat echoing in my mind. This is far from over. But for now, I have to keep up the façade and pretend that everything is just fine.
When we get to the door, he reaches for me, wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, and squeezes. My heart hammers in my chest as his mouth descends on mine.
His kiss steals my breath—and for that fleeting moment, nothing else matters. Part of me hates that he does this to me. He doesn't love me.
When he pulls away, his eyes flare with something I can't quite identify.
"Let him see that, Renata."
The door shuts behind us.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ollie
Our home buzzes with excitement,cameras flashing. Staff walk about quickly, readying everything and everyone for the big event. If this were thirty years ago, we’d have newspaper staff with wide, flashing bulbs and microphones shoved under our noses. Instead, we’ve got well-dressed influencers with impeccable hair and perfectly white teeth snapping photos and taking selfies on our lawn.
This is what we want. What we need. The more attention we get, the better.
I hate every second of this show, every empty smile and flashing camera.
Renata stands radiant, her lace gown clinging to her every curve, a queen in her own right, commanding the room without a word. Her dark skin contrasts with the stark white of the gown, lending an exotic air to her beauty. A sparkling tiara twinkles under the overhead lighting, like an elegant halo crowning her head. She smiles for the photographers, her makeup perfect thanks toHarper, hiding the exhaustion and stress of the past few days gracefully.
I stand next to her, pride swelling in my chest, even as I grit my teeth. We wanted this wedding to be a public spectacle, to draw the attention of dignitaries and leaders from everywhere. We scrutinized every detail, every move watched, and intentionally put out feelers for everyone, but we did it quickly.
It worked. So many people are here, I can't name them all. Social media is buzzing with the news, again thanks to Harper.
Renata’s personal guard, a new guy, leans in close to adjust her train. Heat pulses in my veins.
"Get your fucking hands off of her before I break them. Don't touch her."
He has the audacity to give me a dirty look. Pursing his lips, he mutters something under his breath to Renata. She pales.
"Want to repeat that again in front of me?" I ask him.
“Ollie,” she says. "It's nothing. Don’t cause a scene. If we didn’t have a billion people in front of us with cameras, I’d slap him myself.”
I reach for the guard and grab him by the collar. “What the fuck did you just say to her?"
“Ugh, predictable,” Renata mumbles under her breath, but her voice trembles and her eyes are wide.
I don’t give a shit.
I shake him. “Tell me what you said before I cut your fucking tongue out and make that thelastthing you ever said.”
"I told her to enjoy it while it lasts," he grits out.
"Watch your fucking mouth," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. I shake him. "Show some respect for my wife. You’re dismissed as her guard. Report to Mikhail immediately.”
I shove him toward the door, take his picture, and text it to Mikhail.
If he comes near my wife again, I’ll kill him
