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Chapter 32
Carson
“Ido,”leftmymouth without a moment’s thought.
Captivating and beautiful, Savanah looked like an exotic creature in her pink ruffled gown. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
We kissed, and a tantalising rose perfume wafted over me.
I fell into her deep blue eyes, knowing with all my heart and soul that I would love this woman forever and beyond.
In husky, honeyed tones, Mirabel sang about love taking us to paradise as I held Savanah close to my heart. Her soft hair was under my fingers, and her warm cheek pressed against my lips.
Her hand trembled as I slid the gold ring on her finger. Gazing into her shining eyes, I returned a supportive smile, determined to make her feel secure, loved, and protected.
At the “you may kiss the bride” I took Savanah into my arms, and as our lips touched, I had to control the urge to involve my tongue, reminding myself to keep it nice and clean for London’s elite. The more raucous roars came from our lot, and it was Savvie that pressed herself tightly against me.
She whispered, “Mm… What’s that I feel? One night without, and you’re ready to pop.”
I laughed.
I could never have imagined this. Me in a designer tuxedo with my fingers buried in the silk of a gown that cost the equivalent of my former annual army pay.
None of that mattered.
Only Savanah mattered.
I would have loved her if she was the poorest woman on the planet.
In many ways, I wish she was because I wanted to give her everything.
My love.
My devotion.
My fidelity.
My soul.
EPILOGUE
Manon
Likealways,Reynardfollowedme around like a hungry dog. His smell sickened me. As if heaping expensive cologne hid sex smells. He smelt like my mother’s third husband, another slippery character who possessed the same snaky eyes as Crisp. But he never came near me. I was always in control, and besides, my mother had other plans for me.
According to her, having a bum that poked out and large boobs was a commodity. At thirteen, I didn’t understand that word. My mother had insisted that the best education for women like us was to learn how to take advantage of our physical assets.
She always harped on about my looks being my only value, like I was incapable of anything but being fondled for money.
I planned to change that by showing her and the world that I was more than just tits and a vagina.
My beautician's work proved that. Clients at the Pond still asked for me. Nice as it was being recognized for my makeup skills, I had bigger plans than just making women look beautiful. Plans that didn’t involve fucking old men like Reynard Crisp.
My grandmother hated the thought of Crisp fucking me. Not that she used those words. She was too posh for gutter language, which I liked because I wanted to be her one day—wear designer, speak with big words in a posh accent, and give orders.
Having listened to my mother’s bitter rants about how her biological mum had abandoned her, all of my life, I thought I’d hate Caroline Lovechilde, but I didn’t. I’d come to not only admire her but also grow a little attached. I hid that, though.
That would make me look weak, and the last thing I wanted was for the world to see me as one of those girls who cried at the drop of a hat.
