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If I had to marry an insipid debutante, I might as well fuck over the former friend who was trying to steal my family business out from under me in the process.
Of course, no one could know that.
As far as any of these horrible guests would be concerned, they had witnessed a tragically romantic moment.
Amelia looked between the two of us.
Before she could respond, her mother stormed the altar.
I was ready for this. Never go into a boardroom or battle without knowing your enemy.
Mary Astrid was infamous, for so many reasons.
She had the personality of a sucked lemon and resembled a plastic Barbie funhouse-mirror version of her daughter. The only outward indication of her rage was the way the ample strands of pearls heavily draped around her throat trembled and rattled. Otherwise, Botox and various fillers had frozen her face into suspended shock.
She lifted her bulbous lips in what I could only assume was a smile which she directed at the guests, not at me. Keeping her voice low, she hissed, “I know who you are, Mr. Lucian Manwarring.”
I smirked. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
She snorted through her surgically pinched and pruned nose, then pushed the words out through her painfully plumped and pursed lips. “If you don’t leave immediately, there will be severe consequences.”
I leaned in close and whispered for her ears only. “Funny, I don’t see your son’s real father here.”
Her pearls rattled.
I cleared my throat. “Right now, you’re wondering how much I know and are trying to calculate if you can take the risk and still have me thrown out. The answer is… I know it all…and I wouldn’t if I were you.”
The true foundation of power was knowing your enemy’s secrets… and making damn sure they never learned yours.
She grabbed the pearls at her throat. “You’re blackmailing me? What do you want? Money?”
“Don’t be so middle class. I don’t need your money. I want your daughter.”
The wedding guests murmured and shifted in their seats.
Marksen interrupted. “I am out of patience.”
I regarded the mother of the bride. “So am I.”
In order for my plan to work, I would need her to play along.
She swallowed, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “The wedding is off.”
Marksen ground out, “Now see here?—”
She whipped her head to face him. “I said it’s off!”
I slapped Marksen on the back. “I’ll let you two talk. Excuse me for a moment…”
I pushed him aside and ascended the altar steps to where Amelia stood watching the proceedings curiously, as if she were observing a dramatic play and not her own life. Once again, I had this passionate urge to shake her out of her calm complacency.
I snaked my hand around her waist and pulled her against me.
Before Amelia could fight me off, I wrapped my other hand around her neck and leaned down to claim her mouth.
Her lips were soft and sweet, and she tasted of spearmint and honey tea. Where I’d expected her to smell of some cloying, rose-scented perfume, she carried instead the fresh trace of lemongrass shampoo in her hair. Whereas everything about her mother and her world was fake, preening, and pretentious, holding her, tasting her, felt clean and innocent.
The wedding guests erupted in shocked gasps and exclamations.
