AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s nothing like what I expected. It's not like the ones we've previously shared that were filled with passion, need, longing, and desire.
This kiss is empty.
Sure, she's kissing me back, and we must look as real to everyone as I want us to, but something’s off, and it feels fake.
There's no emotion, no feeling, no River.
A pang of desperation surges through me, and I try once more to feel her as I deepen the kiss, but I’m only met with emptiness.
The same type of hollowness I've experienced over the last eight years of being without her.
She's gone, and just like before, I can't blame her.
The lack of emotion and coldness toward me suggest she understood my message.
She quite rightly understood my complete absence and lack of communication to mean that we couldn't have more than that one night.
I became the asshole again the moment I woke up the morning after the wild night we shared. I took one look at her and wanted her again, then I remembered my solid reasons for staying within the boundaries I placed up between us.
I’m no saint, so I won’t think of myself as the kind of man who sacrificed what he wanted for her sake, but at that moment, I had to remember she didn’t deserve that trip down memory lane with me.
That’s why I left and stayed away.
We pull apart, and our guests applaud loudly and cheerfully. There are people here who I see all the time and those I haven’t seen in years.
To all of them, that kiss of mine must have made me look like the eager, doting husband, but I was just searching for my girl.
The priest says something more, but I can't hear him over the battle of thoughts in my mind, each one warring with the other over what I should have done and what I shouldn't.
Gathering my composure, I link River’s arm with mine and resume the show, smiling for the crowd as we make our procession down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Grayson.
Among our esteemed guests are my mother and stepfather, Maurice. They are sitting in the front row opposite to my father, Sloane, and Bastian. They aren't here out of the goodness of their heart or to support me as family members. They're here at my grandfather's demand.
Neither of them attended Knight's wedding last year, and it didn't go unnoticed with the press. My grandfather didn't want that to happen again.
I find Grandfather next standing tall and proud with his arm around Grandma. When I meet his proud stare, something that feels like shame fills me.
I've stood by my end of our agreement and got married like he wanted me to, but like the ruthless conqueror I am, I did it my way. Time will give me my share of the empire.
This should be my moment of triumph because I did it. I outsmarted my grandfather’s rules. I found a woman who is able to adhere to our contract of silence, but I don’t feel the euphoria I imagined I would.
The sour thought pushes me into a trance where the next few moments go by in a daze that sees me on autopilot doing what I rehearsed. River and I speak when we're spoken to, smile when we're supposed to, and move around when need to.
There’s an hour of nothing but pictures and congratulations from our guests.
The only lucid moments I have are when I speak to River’s father and when I'm talking to Gina as she thanks me from the bottom of her heart for my help in saving her, then proceeds to congratulate River and me on our union.
As we speak to Gina, I get glimpses of the River I know. The warmth returns for those precious minutes, but she’s gone again the moment we finish talking to Gina, and I go right back to the block in my mind.
I don’t get her to myself again until the reception starts, and we walk out to the center of the hall for our first dance as husband and wife.
I hate the song that’s playing. I don’t even remember the name of it, but I recognize it as a classic forties Jazz song most people love. It’s just been used too much.
“Who the hell chose this song?” I mutter under my breath, low enough for her ears only.
“I did,” River responds with a seething glare. “What thehellis wrong with this song?” She borrows my tone and continues giving me her death glare.
“It’s overused.”
