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“Evie,” he says, his hold on my hand turning painful.
Play the part.
It’s who I am.
It’s what I’ve become.
“Evie,” he says again, this time with a warning in his tone.
My chest burns. My throat is thick with tears. I don’t want to play this role, any longer. I can’t do it, anymore.
He wipes a thumb over my cheek, catching something wet. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.”
No.
Either way, I’m dead.
I know it, but I’m also strangely numb about that. What hits me the hardest isn’t dying. It’s wasted time. A wasted life.
No.
Stop it, Christina.
It’s not wasted. I wipe the back of my hand over my cheek. It can’t be. It has to be for Eden. She won’t live my life. She won’t be a shadow. She’ll be happy. She’ll be free.
“Evie,” Roman says again, gripping my upper arms and stroking his thumbs over my shoulders. “Look into my eyes. Stay here with me.”
Play the part.
Just one more time.
“I do,” I say, the world falling away from under me.
Roman presses a ring in my palm.
Mateo curses. I look at him. Why does he look so furious? So unhappy? Did I do something, again?
“Here, sweetheart,” Roman says. “Keep your eyes here.”
I turn my gaze back to his face.
“That’s better,” he says, his tone appraising.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Loud clapping echoes in the room. The sound draws my attention. Andrew. He looks over my head at Roman, and then the clapping dies as his face drops.
I sway on my feet, feeling dizzy.
Someone says, “You may kiss the bride.”
Roman turns me toward him. He lowers his head.
I think I may be sick.
He presses his lips on mine, warm and dry, and whispers in my ear, “This doesn’t have to be bad for you. If you let me, I can make you happy.”
I lean away. “I need a drink.”
His beautiful eyes harden, but he sets me free and flicks his fingers.
While Roman shakes the officer’s hand, Mateo pours a glass of champagne and hands it to me. I down the liquor in one go. The yeasty taste of the bubbles burns in my empty stomach, but it settles the nausea.
When I hold out my glass for a refill, Roman says, “She’s had enough.”
Mateo gives his brother a hard look.
Taking the empty glass from my hand, Roman says, “You better eat something.”
Or else I’ll get drunk, and he wants me lucid. He wants my consent. He won’t allow me to hide behind the courage of alcohol or in the skin of someone else. He won’t even let me hide in my head. A crucial insight hits me. He doesn’t simply want my body. He wants everything. The money and the diamond aren’t enough. He also wants my thoughts, my heart, and my soul. He wants Evie. And I’m not her.
I should tell him, but I don’t have a plan. I can’t let him kill me until I’ve ensured my sister’s safety. The only problem is that I have nothing to trade. Or maybe I do. I have knowledge. I know Warren. I know how he operates. During the nine years I practically lived in his house, I paid attention. I looked and listened while blending in with the furniture.
The thought calms me. It gives me power. That was Warren’s mistake. He underestimated me. I know how he thinks. He thinks I don’t know he betrayed me. He thinks I’ll play for time, just like he drilled into me, believing he’ll rescue me and take care of Eden when in reality, whether I survive or not is of no importance to him. He’s bargaining on Roman not finding out the truth, not before Bell has set a trap.
That’s my bargaining chip. That’s what I’ll trade.
Roman carries a plate of food to me. “It’s almost noon. Eat something.” Taking my bouquet, he leaves it on the table.
The plate shakes in my hand. “Because I’ll need the energy?”
He lowers his voice. “I don’t want you to faint in my bed.”
My smile is wry. “How considerate.”
“You’re my wife. It’s my job to take care of you.”
Only, I’m not. The marriage is void. It will be annulled before the day is out. I don’t even know where Roman got all the legal documents required for a marriage license. Then again, he’s Roman Malan. Is there anything he can’t get his hands on?
Roman takes a bite-sized quiche from the plate and brings it to my mouth. I part my lips reflexively, letting him feed me. He hands me a glass of water. I take it, grateful if only for something to occupy my hands.
Mateo and Andrew walk over. They congratulate us, kissing my cheek and shaking Roman’s hand. A man wearing a black suit arrives with a camera to take photos. We pose in front of the arrangement of white lilies on the mantelpiece.
