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FIERCE KING
ALANA
I stood at the front of the small chapel and took a deep breath. My heart fluttered in my chest like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar.
I turned and looked at my husband to be, Alejandro Montoya, the heir to the Montoya Corporation and the legitimate face of the family business. And he looked every inch the respectable businessman standing there in his exquisitely tailored suit, which was perfectly fitted to the contours of his body.
There was no doubt that he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen in my life. A fine dusting of stubble covered his strong jawline and his thick dark hair was the perfect length — not too short, but not long enough to reach his collar. In fact, it was just long enough to grab a handful of.
I looked down at my own dress. It was understated and elegant. Made of the finest Chinese silk and the color of white lilies — my favorite flowers. I had dreamed about this day since I was a little girl. I had been saving myself for this day since I was old enough to date boys.
Now, I was standing in this beautiful little chapel. Twenty-five years old and about to say I do to a man that most women would give everything they owned to spend even a night with. Wherever he went, women flocked to him like moths to a flame.
To the few people who were witness to this union, it must have looked like a fairy-tale.
But it was far from it.
This was no dream come true.
This was my nightmare.
Alejandro Montoya was no Prince Charming. He was the king of the LA underworld and he was making me his bride because it was good for business, and because he wanted me to give him an heir. And if I wanted to stop my father from going to prison for the rest of his life, I had no choice but to go along with the whole charade.
We had barely said ‘I do’ when I was being escorted out of the chapel by a team of armed guards. There was no cheer of congratulations. No kissing the bride — not that I’d have allowed him to.
I’d just about had enough time to kiss my parents goodbye before I was shepherded outside to the fleet of waiting cars. My father had hugged me tightly with a solemn look on his face, while my mother had smiled widely. As far as she was concerned, this was my big shot at happiness. Marrying me off to some handsome billionaire was beyond her wildest dreams. She had told me once she was worried I’d end up a spinster in an apartment full of cats.
My father and I had decided not to tell her the truth about my hasty marriage. She was far too delicate a creature to be burdened with such knowledge.
Alejandro loosened his tie and walked to the car at the front of the convoy. ‘Take her to the house,’ he barked to one of his minions without giving me even a cursory glance.
I blinked in the heat of the midday sun as I felt the sob welling in my throat. I swallowed it down and took a deep breath. None of these men would ever have the pleasure of seeing me cry.
I felt a strong hand grasp my elbow as I was frog-marched to another car. The door was opened for me and I climbed inside before two giant bodyguards got in behind me. They sat either side of me so I was sandwiched uncomfortably between them.
‘The Boss says to take her home,’ the biggest one said to the driver who simply nodded in response and started the engine.
Home? That would be laughable if it wasn’t so depressing. The place we were driving to wasn’t my home and it never would be. My home was my tiny little apartment back in New York, close to my parents and my best friend.
I choked down another sob as it threatened to escape my throat. I consoled myself with the fact that at least Alejandro wasn’t coming back to the house with me. His reputation as a player was well documented. If reports were to be believed, he had a different woman for every night of the week.
Our marriage was one of convenience and business, and I hoped that he would continue to fulfill any of his carnal needs with his mistresses rather than with me — at least until he wanted his heir.
An hour later, the car pulled up outside a beautiful gated mansion deep in the hills of Bel Air. The Spanish influence was obvious from the minute we drove through the gates and despite not wanting to be there, I had to admit it was a beautiful property.
But its beauty brought me little comfort.
A gilded cage was still a cage.
ALANA
I wandered around the huge house wondering how the hell I would ever learn to treat this place like a home. It was certainly beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Beautifully manicured, sprawling gardens full of brightly colored flowers, and with a huge pool at its center.
Inside was just as dazzling. Tastefully decorated in palettes of cream, grey and gold. A huge sweeping marble staircase dominated the entrance hallway leading up to seven bedrooms and six bathrooms. It also boasted a games room, a gym and the biggest kitchen I had ever seen in my life.
But the place was so quiet — soulless even. There were staff in the house. Magda, the housekeeper and cook, and Jacob, the man who operated the gate and was also a driver, not to mention dozens of armed guards. But they all seemed to live in the shadows, and every time I walked by they avoided my gaze or slipped into another room.
It was as far removed from my tiny apartment back in New York as a place could be.
