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“My father treated me like his thing. I was nothing more than the heir to his fortune. He did not love me. He loved nothing but himself. And that would’ve been fine if he had the decency to have someone in my life who did love me.” And he ignored the parallels between himself and his father right then. Ignored the reality of his relationship—or lack thereof—with his daughter.
He did not hold her. He had not. But he was doing the right thing. His father had wrenched him from the arms of someone who had loved him and brought him to a place where he had felt like nothing more than an obligation.
He would not do the same.
Her face was close to his, and it would be the easiest thing to grip her chin and hold her steady while he tasted her.
But if he kissed her once, he would not stop there.
He did not understand how to do a slow seduction. Not with her.
It was the softening that seemed to be required, that was what was so difficult. He wanted to drag her into the sitting room and have her. Show her why they had made this child. Why she was here. Why he could not forget her.
But she had forgotten him.
It struck him then, the hilarity of it.
For he had forgotten any number of women to pass through his bed, and they were always trying to win him back.
But this one. The biggest regret of his life. The one who had taken everything and turned it on its head, she had gone and forgotten him.
He supposed it was poetic justice in a way.
He would laugh, if it did not make his insides feel like they had been lit on fire.
She separated herself from him when the designer walked into the room. And she wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he wished that he would’ve done that instead.
It was a strange desire. One he barely recognized.
Soriya slept while Riot tried on different gowns, her beautiful figure swathed in silks and satins. And he simply sat and watched, the fire that had been banked for weeks now beginning to flare bright inside of him.
“I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding,” she said.
“I think we had our share of bad luck already, don’t you?”
She smiled. And then disappeared into the changing room again.
The problem with every dress that she tried on was that all he wanted to do was take them off of her. He had never imagined having a wife. And now... He was being bombarded with imagery that made it extremely clear that he was going to have a wife.
He already had a child.
He clenched his teeth together, tight.
“We will take three,” he said. “The first, the fourth, and the last one.”
“I don’t get to choose?”
“Did you want to?”
“I’m... Somewhat angry that you chose my three favorites.”
“Good,” he said. “We have proven as compatible as ever. Memories or not.”
“Why three?”
“You can choose whatever feels right on the day.”
“That seems extreme. Maybe we should have gotten the spaceship.”
