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The front door opens, then bangs shut. A moment later, Emery sprints into my office. She's breathing hard, her cheeks pink from exertion.
I leap out of my chair, rushing to her. "What's wrong?"
She takes a few slow, deep breaths until she's calmed herself. "Graham. I bumped into him outside his office, and he said…things."
I grasp her shoulders. "What things?"
"He mentioned 'those pictures' and said you—Well, that's about it. How can he know about the photos Sebastian took? That must be what he meant."
Aye, she changed the subject deftly, but it's clear Graham must've said something about me. Emery doesn't want to tell me about it, though. "I don't know how Graham found out about the pictures, but I will contact my investigator to ask him."
"Okay."
I study her for a moment, then decide to just ask. "What did Graham say about me?"
She hunches her shoulders, turning her face away from me. "He said my past will be too much for you once you see it splashed across the newspapers for everyone to gawp at."
That bloody ersehole.
I resist the impulse to clench my fists and instead cradle her face in my hands. "Ignore the goddamn scunner. He wants to start trouble, that's all."
She nods, though she seems unconvinced.
Maybe I should've told her nothing will make me think any less of her, not even seeing her nude body displayed on the front page of The Loch Fairbairn World News. But I can't summon the words.
I hustle her out to the Mercedes.
For the rest of the week, we don't discuss Graham or that bastard who humiliated Emery. The wedding rubbish occupies all our time, and the days rush past in a blur until The Day arrives.
I'm about to swear I love my wife, in front of everyone I know.
*****
I wait at the edge of the lawn, near the castle wall, and watch the guests file past me to take their seats in the chairs set up on the grass. Most of the guests are MacTaggarts—my immediate family as well as my cousins, uncles, and aunts. Emery's family sits in the first row with my parents and siblings. My wife and I had agreed not to have groomsmen or bridesmaids, just the two of us standing at the altar with the minister. No one minded.
Though I should make my way to the altar, I can't move from this spot. I'm about to vow I love Emery. My chest feels tight, as if a lead weight is settling onto my ribs little by little, compressing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. That pang has returned too, stronger and sharper than ever, no longer a vaguely pleasant sensation but more like a knife stabbing into me.
What have I done?
I'd spoken those words aloud on our first wedding night, when I'd suffered from a wee problem related to my cock. The anxiety I'd experienced then seems like a trifle compared to what I'm feeling now. Can't catch my breath. Can't move a muscle. My ears have started to ring, and a coldness sifts through my body, infiltrating every cell.
What have I done? Emery deserves better than this, better than me. I had no right to drag her into my life and treat her like my sex slave. I should march up to the altar and announce the wedding is off. But we're already married. It won't do any good unless I shout that I don't love my wife and never will, that she married me because I'm paying her to do it.
Except Emery swears she didn't marry me for the money. She sees my potential.
The pressure has mutated into an itch deep under my skin, in a part of myself I can never reach. I scratch my neck, my cheek, then push a hand inside my shirt to scratch my chest.
"Got fleas?" Lachlan says as he comes up beside me.
"No, I do not have bloody fleas."
"Ah, then it's wedding jitters. Erica told me this would happen, but I couldn't believe it. The Steely Solicitor never gets nervous."
"Why must everyone invent ridiculous nicknames for me?"
"To fash you, of course." Lachlan winks. "Relax, Rory. This is a happy day."
He heads into the crowd, taking a seat beside his wife.
