Page 24

But when my mother had come down the stairs, glowing and happy, I’d been forced to admit I had made an error in judgment. Again.

I pull one of my cuffs down over my wrist with a hard enough yank it’s a miracle I don’t tear the fabric. I don’t want to trust Alessandra. Yet every time I’ve assumed the worst, she’s proved me wrong.

Am I looking for reasons not to trust her? Trying to keep her at arm’s length even as I fight to keep her and my son in my life? The thought that I’m not giving her a fair chance, that I’m acting in the manner of the same man who made me feel like dirt as a child, makes my chest tight.

I glance over at Rafe and Gavriil, who are talking with my mother. When Lucifer told me I had two half-brothers, I hatedthem almost as much as I’d hated him. Reading up on their successes had deepened that hatred until it became a deep wound that constantly tested my control. I’d assumed the worst of them, that their fortunes had been made by Lucifer simply passing the reins.

When Gavriil had invited me to his wedding, I’d thrown the invitation in the trash. An hour later I’d dug it out. Morbid curiosity had sent me to California. The sheer luxury of Gavriil’s wedding had confirmed my suspicions.

Until a conversation with Rafe’s wife, Tessa, had taken some of the fight out of me. Her vague references to what life had been like for Rafael growing up in Lucifer’s household had altered my views. Gavriil’s reaching out for help a few weeks later, trusting me to assist him with the company he obviously cared about, had forged a tentative bond between us. A bond deepened a month later when Gavriil roped me into helping Rafe reunite with Tessa. I’d gone, grudgingly and with numerous protests. Deep down, though, helping my brothers had started to fill a void I hadn’t even been aware of. One I had thought fulfilled by my relationship with my mother and my work. But being a son of Lucifer is a unique club that, as far we know, only the three of us belong to. We may have known the bastard for varying lengths of time. But he left his mark on all of us.

I hadn’t realized how apprehensive I had been at the thought of Mom meeting Rafe and Gavriil. I’d noticed her subtle flinch when she’d met Rafe. But my older brother had put her at ease with a surprisingly warm smile. Gavriil, of course, had swept her into a hug and complimented everything from her dress to her fortitude and raising “a lumberjack.” A sentiment that had startled a genuine laugh out of my mother and wiped away any possible tension.

My brothers of course know about the will and its ties to my impending marriage. They also know to keep their mouthsshut. As much as I want my mother here, want her to finally have her moment as the mother of the groom, guilt haunts my every interaction with her. If she knew that I was getting married to satisfy a clause of Lucifer’s will, one that primarily benefited her, she would demand we stop the whole wedding. Yet the alternative, her earliest life’s works destroyed, can’t come to pass.

“You look awful gloomy for someone who’s about to get married.”

I smile as Rafe’s wife, Tessa, stops her wheelchair next to me.

“Just thinking.” I nod at the terrace. “Everything looks wonderful.”

Tessa’s smile is infectious as she gazes around at her handiwork. Cane-backed gold chairs with ivory seats are lined up in a row, separated in the middle to create an aisle. The inner seats are marked by low vases overflowing with scarlet flowers. Café lights crisscross above the patio for the small reception we’ll host after. A simple arch decorated with white gauze and wrapped with vines of vivid red flowers marks the spot where I’ll become a husband.

“Thanks. I didn’t really get to plan much of my own wedding, so this was fun.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

Tessa nods. “My mother took care of a lot of it. I wasn’t nearly as confident as I am now.” She turns her head and I follow her gaze to Rafe, who’s looking at her with such adoration I feel like I’m intruding.

The first time I met my older brother, he reminded me of a block of ice. But now, when his face softens as he gazes at his wife, an uncomfortable sensation flickers through me.

Envy.

I brush it aside. Yes, Rafe and Tessa found happiness, as did Gavriil with his wife, Juliette. It’s possible for people to be happyin their relationships. But I know myself, and I know my limits. Not only do I have zero interest in opening my heart up to a woman, but I’m not capable of trusting her enough for us to have a successful relationship.

The last time I trusted someone carved scars into my heart that will never heal. I won’t let them. They’re a reminder of what happens when you let down your walls. When you allow yourself to hope that maybe you’ll finally meet the person you’ve dreamt of for years, the person you imagined as the hero of your story…until you finally accept he’s not only not coming, but he didn’t care enough to tell you.

The officiant walks up the aisle, thankfully stopping my trip down the memory lane from hell.

“If everyone could take their places, please.”

I stand by the arch draped in gauze and flowers. My mother sits in the front row, beaming proudly as music filters from speakers hidden around the terrace. Gavriil sits in the chair next to her, an empty seat next to him as Juliette lingers in the background with her camera in her hands. I doubt Alessandra will care if we have pictures of the ceremony, but it adds a touch of authenticity to the proceedings. Rafe and Tessa sit on the other side.

“Please rise,” the officiant intones.

My brothers and Mom stand. Tessa angles her wheelchair slightly toward the makeshift aisle. I look up toward the door.

And freeze.

Alessandra stands framed in the doorway, auburn hair flowing over her bare shoulders. The dress clings to every curve, from the long, see-through sleeves to the lace that hugs her pregnant belly before cascading into a waterfall of some silky material that rustles as she walks. The bouquet of red roses in her hands matches the vivid scarlet painted on her lips.

My heart thunders against my ribs. Raw need curls through me, an almost feral desire to go to her, take her hands in mine, dare anyone to take away what’s mine. I manage to stand my ground, but barely, as she moves down the aisle with a seductive grace that has alarm bells clanging even as I devour her with my eyes.

Alessandra glances at my mother and gives her a small smile. My mother nods as she presses a handkerchief to her lips, tears glimmering in her eyes. The sight of that moment, that connection, punches through me. When Alessandra looks back at me, I know.

One year is not going to be enough.

No, it’s not love. But I like Alessandra, respect her. She agreed to let me be a part of the baby’s life because she thought it was the best thing for the baby, even though she wanted nothing to do with me. She will be a great mother to our child.