Page 8 of His Last Will

“Then maybe the king should get on his knees and worship his future queen.”

Rounding the corner, I brush off the memory of the last Valentine’s Day we spent together. Now is certainly not the time. I see people milling about with champagne glasses, chatting in small groups as they try to gather gossip to spread later. The last thing I need is to give them more than they already have, which is what would happen if I suddenly burst into tears.

Expensive perfume lingers in the air from when the guests were brought through the house and ushered to the patio out back. It’s a wonder no one has suffocated on their own Chanel. One woman throws her head back as she laughs. Vivian. The old shrew. She’s on the council of The Order, directly under Anthony, Brodie’s dad. Other members of the council surround her: Adrian, Cole, Ryder, and Ashton. Even Sarah has shown up to this event. I’m not sure I have even seen her since Brodie’s mom, Elena, died. She didn’t even come to the funeral.

That was only a few months before Anthony married Isabelle, Aiden’s widowed mother. Nothing like mourning the loss of your wife by remarrying before her body is cold in the ground.

We were in middle school when Aiden and Isabelle moved in. Brodie had already been shipped off to Haversham, an elite boarding school for the ultra-wealthy. Brodie and I weren’t particularly close at the time, but our mutual dislike of our new housemate bonded us.

Goosebumps form along my arms, and without even seeing him, I know he’s here. His presence lurks in the darkest parts of the shadows, his goal to go unnoticed. To watch people expose their secrets unknowingly. And if they eventually end up on his table, well, he can wield blackmail almost as well as he can wield a knife. With deadly precision. It’s how he became known as the reaper for The Order.

I try to ignore the prickly sensation beneath my skin that flares up whenever he is near. The need to crawl out of my body just to get rid of the feeling is so strong, I barely suppress my need to run away from it. How am I expected to maintain my composure by his side for the rest of my life?

Marriage. A fucking marriage.

How could Brodie have wanted a marriage for me if it didn’t include him?

I blink away the tears trying to form in my eyes and let my mask fall into place. Nothing. They will see nothing. Just a blank face. No heartbreak or sadness. Utter apathy.

If I break now, they will know how far I have fallen and try to take away everything I fought for. Dismantling my entire life until there is no trace of me left. That’s what The Order does to those who don’t fall into line. They erase you.

A large hand settles on my lower back and guides me to the French doors. I attempt to shake off his touch, but he pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist.

“Let the games begin,” Aiden utters the words under his breath so that no one else can hear. His voice scrapes against my already too-tight skin. As if I could forget this is all just a game to him.

As the doors open, I fortify my armor. Heads turn, and conversations slow as they take in the two of us together. Aiden, in an all-black suit, and I, in bridal white, painting the perfect picture as heads of The Order.

Two opposites forced together through a tragic turn of events.

The silence is overpowering as they watch us, waiting. Heat blooms on my face, and I curse myself for giving them that. All eyes are on us, and they almost all narrow in synchronicity, searching, hoping to find fractures in the tale they were told. Searching out an untold truth.

But we hold firm.

Anthony clears his throat and raises his champagne glass, “To the future Mr. and Mrs. Araneae!” Two glasses are produced and given to Aiden and me. We clink them against each other, and each take a sip. The champagne cools my throat as I take a moment to eye everyone over the glass.

Every bit of energy I have is being used to hold me upright. His hand has not left my waist, and I can’t tell if I am thankful. His touch feels like it is searing my skin, even through the fabric. I want to throw up. But at the same time, I catch myself leaning into him. Like my subconscious knows that deep down, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. Not for me, that’s for damn sure, but for Brodie. Giving him some more of my weight, I anchor myself to his strength and hold on. Just this once.

Congratulations and well wishes are being sent our way. Questions about save-the-dates and locations. Dresses, flowers, and a honeymoon.

A honeymoon. For fuck’s sake.

I don’t have any answers to give, but Aiden’s mom jumps in and takes over for me.

I am surrounded by people planning my future while I drown in my grief.

How can these people even stand here and pretend that nothing has changed? Their fake sincerity makes me want to pick up the crystal centerpiece on the table next to me and throw it at the damn wall. Shattering this illusion of happiness and plummeting everyone into the darkness with me.

Vivian walks over with her husband to express her congratulations personally. “We could not be happier for you.”

I scoff at that one. Happy. As if happiness exists anymore. As if there is even one goddamn thing on this earth that could make me smile anymore. No, that feeling was ripped away from me when he died.

When Brodie died.

And in his last will, he gave me to Aiden.

To be his lawfully wedded wife.

And now I find myself at my own engagement party. Not the one I ever thought I would have. Not the one I had ever dreamed of, no, because now I was engaged to his stepbrother.