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The fire in his brown eyes is no less fierce, but it’s burning colder. Those eyes are the color of chocolate, not the sweet kind, but dark and bitter. The stark lines of his face are harder. High cheekbones, sharp nose, and square jaw, there’s nothing compassionate about his features. His handsomeness is unconventional, and the cruelty of that beauty lies shallow under his skin. It’s there in the storm that brews in his eyes, letting anyone brave enough to look deep know disobedience isn’t an option. He’s a man who gets his way, and who’ll do unspeakable things to make it happen. What makes grown men’s stomachs turn won’t elicit as much as a blink from him. He’s too used to getting his hands dirty. He’s fought too hard to survive.
Only the way his thick eyebrows lift marginally in an expression of self-assured arrogance gives away his vulnerability. In our world, people who don’t come from money hide behind arrogance. This is his only weakness. The rest of him screams danger. Dominance. This is the man who takes my hand with possessive ownership, placing it on his arm as if it belongs there even before I’ve promised to become his in law and faith in front of God and our audience. Covering my fingers with his palm, he locks it in place on the flexing muscles of his forearm. The fabric of his jacket sleeve is scratchy—expensive wool. He gives me a smile, one that heats me from the inside out. While it promises nothing good, he disarms me with his masculine power and fake charm, letting me know he’ll come at me in ways that will leave me utterly defenseless. Our gazes remain locked for another second, knowledge and understanding passing between us in the primitive way of hunter and prey, and then the priest speaks. I’m mercifully released from the draining hold of his eyes as we both face forward while the charade begins.
I hear the priest’s voice, but nothing he says. Even if he doesn’t look at me, Damian’s presence is overwhelming. A head taller than every other male in the church, his physique screams virility and strength. He’s broader and more muscled than when I first met him, a change that can only be contributed to long hours in the gym. He smells of winter, of a citrus forest against a stark sky. The scent is subtle, but the haunting perfume of trees stripped of their leaves and a sky missing a sun invades my senses until it’s all I smell. He shifts his weight, and our arms touch. It’s as if his very male, very bossy energy wraps around me and squeezes until I can’t breathe.
It’s a summer’s day, but it’s too cold inside. Goosebumps break out over my arms despite the long sleeves of my dress. I feel the effect of no food in my stomach, my head starting to spin as my blood sugar level drops. A warm, strong hand presses firmly on my lower back, supporting my weight when I sway on my feet. I’m tempted to give in to its comfort, until I tune back into the moment and register to who it belongs. My body grows stiff. My legs turn wooden.
I regain my composure just as the priest starts with, “Do you, Angelina Clarke, promise…”
The rest is white noise. There’s a ringing in my ears. The warmth leaves my back and settles on my shoulder. I’m turned to face the man blackmailing me into this. My captor stares down at me, urging me on with a smile that doesn’t warm his eyes or fit the situation. His fingers dig into my flesh when I don’t answer. I can do this. I’ve done it before.
I open my mouth, forcing the words from my parched lips. “I do.”
His hold on me loosens, but he doesn’t let me go. He keeps my eyes prisoner, his dark gaze drilling into mine as he says, “I most certainly do.”
He slips a simple, platinum band onto my finger. When his right-hand man hands me a similar band for Damian, my hand shakes so much Damian has to steady it with his strong grip to aid my action. I stare at our hands clasped together, the matching rings symbolizing our union.
It’s done.
We’re husband and wife.
Now comes the worst.
The rest passes in a blur. We sign the register. Our witnesses are men I don’t know. Harold comes up to congratulate us. He makes a big show of shaking Damian’s hand and even manages to wipe away a tear as he, for a second time, literally gives me away. Bobby hands me my clutch bag. People queue outside with wishes of long lives and blissful happiness. Most of them I recognize from Harold’s business dealings. All the influential players in the diamond industry are here.
