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Bryant stares at us for long seconds, emotions I don’t recognize moving over his features until he finally sticks his hand into the space between us. “Congratulations, you’ve snagged a good one.”
Doc gives him a curt nod before turning us back toward my father. He’s standing by the doors, and my stomach drops. I know he said we’d be leaving after the wedding, I just didn’t realize he meant the second it was over.
Regret fills my dad’s eyes, and my stomach sinks lower than I thought possible. I have no idea when I’ll see him again. Chicago isn’t exactly close, and given Spade’s threats, I doubt I’ll be allowed to come on my own.
He tugs me from under Doc’s arm and wraps me up in the arms I thought would always catch me, but all they’ve done is give me away. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers against my ear. “I know you don’t understand why I’ve done this and why it’s necessary, but I promise he’ll keep you safe.”
I press my eyes closed, warning away the unshed tears for my loss of freedom, and for everything I’ve ever known. “What’s the point of being alive if I’m not really living, Dad?” I choke on the words. I thought things like this only ever happened in books and movies, but here I am, married to a man I not only don’tknow but who I’ve hated for almost as long as I can remember, all in the name of being safe.
“Don’t say that,” he scolds.
I pull back and stare up into his brown eyes. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
Without another word, I turn toward my husband. God, even thinking that word makes my stomach churn uncomfortably, but it’s my reality and until I can find a way out of it, it’s one I have to get used to.
“I’m ready.”
Doc gives me a nod and wraps his arm around my waist, steering me toward the door.
I don’t look back because I know if I do, I’ll fall apart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOC
Married.
I’m fucking married.
Again.
I stare down at the ring adorning my finger and nausea rolls over me.
I didn’t want this the first time, and I certainly don’t want it now. Isla hasn’t looked at me since we landed in Chicago. Hell, I don’t think she’s looked at me since the church. But the question is, why the hell have I noticed?
This is a marriage of convenience at best. There are no feelings between us other than hatred on her part and obligation on mine.
I shove my—our, I guess—apartment door open and hold it for her to pass. She only has a suitcase with her now, the rest of her shit will be here next week.
Her eyes flit around the scarcely decorated bachelor pad, taking in each surface with a deepening line between her brows.
When I got this place, I did so intending for it to only ever be me. And while it’s modern and clean, a far cry from the last shithole I lived in when I first moved to the city, it’s not exactly the kind of apartment you share with someone.
There’s only one bedroom, which I’ve been trying real fucking hard not to think too hard about, and the kitchen has rarely, if ever, been used. In fact, I’m pretty sure half the shit in the cupboards probably still has the price tags attached. The room I use as an office is considered an extra bedroom, but I’d like to see anyone shove a bed into the tiny, windowless space.
The living room is nothing but a large sofa and TV that takes up the entire back wall of the apartment, and the dining table in the corner only has two chairs because I never bothered putting the others together.
The only redeeming feature of this place is the view of Millennium Park along one side of the apartment, spanning the living room, kitchen, and bedroom.
She gravitates toward the view, and I follow after her, dragging her suitcase behind me, pretending to be the gentleman I’ve never claimed to be. So why am I starting now?
“This is a beautiful view,” Isla says quietly, staring down at the spanning green below.
I nod but don’t bother responding as I watch her.
We haven’t spent enough time together for me to have worked her out just yet, but that will come. I’ve always been good at reading people. Except Clarissa. I never thought she was capable of the things she did. The way she cheated without hesitation and how she was led down the garden path to a world she thought was so much brighter than the one she shared with me.
Isla is staring at me when I tear myself from my spiral. She changed out of her wedding dress before we got on our flight, thank God, because even as uncaring as I am, I’ll never get the sight of her walking toward me, a vision in white, out of my head.
