“One day, the Crowncrest will be yours. A king needs his queen, son.”
God, every time someone says that, my jaw clenches. Sylvie would not have been the first choice to be my queen.
“I love her, Dad.”
And that isn’t a lie. I love Sylvie in a way—I do. Just not in a way a man should care about the woman he’s about to marry.
He gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. “That’s my boy.”
With a sudden burst of the door, my head whips around to find Shawn, looking more put together than I’ve ever seen him. He had his red hair perfectly slicked and swooped, and he’d also gotten rid of the caveman beard he’d previously sported. Mateostands behind him, tall and lanky, with large black curls resting on his head. The men are both in the same pink shirts Sylvie’s mom chose, and their stiff, unnatural postures show how much they’d like to rip them off and continue shirtless.
“If I have to listen to Mrs. Crenshaw talk about how the florist brought the wrong flowers, I’ll shoot myself in the head. That woman can yap her head off,” Shawn complains, pausing when he gets a good look at me. “Wow, King. I didn’t know you could clean up that nicely.”
“Fuck off.” I roll my eyes as my friends snicker.
“Anyway, the guests are getting antsy, and Mrs. Crenshaw told me to tell you that Sylvie said to hurry up because she’s ready to walk down the aisle,” Mateo explains.
My fiancée—always impatient. But God forbid I tell her spending an hour fixing her hair for our dinner date is too much time.
My cousin wraps an arm around my shoulder and speaks with a hidden sense of pity. “Let’s get you to the altar and marry you off to your prissy queen.”
It’s time to give my life away.
Our crime families mean that Sylvie and I have big, close-knit clans, so every seat is taken by guests, along with the guards we have posted. And that’s without mentioning the paparazzi lurking by the gates, eager to photograph my wife and me as we step out together.
We—I mean, Sylvie, chose a beautiful fifty-acre garden with large, colorful trees and blooming floral bushes as our wedding venue. She hoped for something that felt connected to nature, like herself, and possessed a gentle elegance. Now that we’re here, I’m happy with what she picked.
Strutting down the aisle, I pass several of my father’s men. They are on duty and armed, with serious expressions as they survey the vicinity. If Shawn and Ryland weren’t mygroomsmen, they’d be part of that lineup, but they still have their guns on them. We all do, but they’re concealed as always.
I catch Sylvie’s mom’s eye as I wait at the altar. She gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen, which I manage to return. Even though Sylvie’s a pain in my ass sometimes, I can’t help but sympathize because of her mom. That woman is the definition of evil—and trust me, I’ve encountered a lot of evil.
While her father is terrible to her as well, at least he doesn’t show favoritism. Mrs. Crenshaw doesn’t hide that she favors her sons over her only daughter. It’s been apparent since we were kids, and it’s no wonder Sylvie grew up into the feisty woman she is now. Sylvie’s mom’s only proud moment of her daughter is her saying yes to marrying me.
If she weren’t her son’s mother, she’d want to be married to one of them. That’s not me guessing—she straight up said it.
Suddenly, everything quiets. Soldiers stand up straight, guests collect themselves, and the bridal chorus begins.
My eyes fall on my fiancée at the end of the aisle. Her white floral gown sweeps the floor as she approaches. Her typically loose brown hair is styled in an updo, and her professional makeup is noticeable even from a distance down the aisle.
Her father’s muscular arm almost engulfs his petite daughter as he escorts her down the aisle. They both walk with determined expressions. Buster always looks like that, and often Sylvie too, but I thought she’d at least crack a smile on her wedding day.
“You look gorgeous,” I whisper as she steps in front of me.
Her teeth glisten as she smiles. “You aren’t looking so bad yourself, King.”
Despite her neutral expression earlier, I can sense her genuine excitement. Sylvie isn’t one to dish out compliments; she’s truly in a good mood. Is it too much to ask for her to be this delighted throughout our entire marriage?
The officiant begins the ceremony, which, like all weddings, is lengthy and protracted. Right now, my chest should tingle, as it surely does when you wed the person you love. A wide, uncontrollable, goofy grin should spread across my face, but I can only manage a half-smile.
This doesn’t feel the way I know it should—like I’m about to spend the rest of my life with my person.
It’s sappy of me, I know. Shawn says I sound like a girl when I go on and on about finding true love and happiness, but in our line of business, having at least one pure thing to look forward to gives me the push I need to keep going. That last motivation is diminishing right before my eyes.
Maybe I’ll learn to love Sylvie in the way I’m supposed to, and not as a girl I’d like to protect.
A disturbance at the garden’s front gate catches my attention. The paparazzi are swarming and trying to crash the ceremony, and our security is working overtime to keep them out. When the son of the biggest hotel chain and the daughter of the largest investment firm in Louisiana—meaning the children of some of the wealthiest people around—get married, everyone wants in.
“Kingsley.” The officiant catches my attention.
