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Where I have to marry him.
Because I made him break what he valued the most.
His oath.
“Please don’t make me do this,” I whisper, our eyes meeting, and a tear slides down my cheek. “Please don’t take me to the church. I can’t do it.”
He studies my face for several beats, his thumb wiping the tear away, and somehow, his warmth serves as a protective cocoon around me, as insane as it sounds in the current circumstances. “Is this why you ran?”
“Yes.” I swallow and take a deep breath. “The idea of going to a church kills me. I don’t want to relive that day. Please.”
His hold on me tightens, and he shouts, “Father Paul.” I blink at the priest hastily moving toward us, breathing heavily when he reaches us and glances at Octavius. “Start the ceremony now.”
Relief washes over me, and my knees wobble, but Octavius’s strong hold keeps me upward as more tears form in my eyes that he wipes away as well.
At this moment, he offers me kindness, showing me that deep down in all that darkness, there is still a heart and a soul.
“Here?” the priest asks in bewilderment as he scans me from head to toe. “The bride is barefoot.”
“Start. The. Ceremony.” Octavius’s voice leaves no room for argument, and the priest mutters something under his breath, and flips the Bible open while the guys gather behind us. I see the girls coming closer as well.
“Dearly beloved—”
“Get to the point, Father. We don’t have time for all this.”
Father Paul sighs and closes his eyes as if praying for patience. Then he snaps them open, focusing on me. “Do you, Isla Evans, take Octavius Reed as—”
“I do,” I reply quickly, staring right into Octavius’s eyes, and I don’t miss how pleasure lights them up at my answer.
“Do you, Octavius Reed—”
“I do.”
I’ve never thought about my wedding in my revenge-filled life. However, I never imagined this comical ceremony even in the worst-case scenarios.
I’m a mess, both emotionally and physically, while the groom wears jeans and the priest clearly wishes to be anywhere else but here surrounded by people who dislike me.
Life truly sucks sometimes.
“You may kiss the bride now,” Father Paul announces quickly, and I still when Octavius tips my chin up, leaning forward, and presses his lips against my forehead, lingering a bit there. Somehow, his touch calms down the chaos, hitting me in waves. And then his mouth moves lower until it reaches mine, connecting us in a fast kiss that I barely feel before he scoops me up in his arms, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “Octavius.” The priest gasps.
“I’m going to take my wife home.” He looks at his friends. “A bride. She’s a bride.” They smirk and solute him while he spins around on his heel and marches toward the awaiting black car while I’m confused and lost.
One thing is clear, though.
I’m officially married to Octavius Reed.
And only time will tell if it’s a blessing or a curse.
Octavius
Tonight, she became mine.
God helps us all.
Because I’ve never claimed anything for myself.
My desire, though, just might burn us both.
