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I blink in surprise since I don’t see any reporters. Maxwell turned this engagement into such a social affair that I expected them all here. However, most of these people are in his close circle and some of our own.
No strangers.
This marriage will be my ruin, breaking the remaining pieces of my soul and coating me in darkness and dirt so strong, nothing and no one will be able to wash it away.
Authentic or fake, it’s going to be a marriage.
Slowly, we start to walk down the aisle while I focus on the groom waiting for me in the distance, looking handsome and dashing in his suit, and even through the veil, I can see satisfaction on his face that my nails itch to scratch.
Despicable, despicable man belonging in hell, yet he is acting like a saint needing God’s blessing for this union he practically blackmailed me into.
Another truth I can’t share for now, but everyone suspects it.
I halt my movements when I feel a flutter in my stomach, making me gasp, and my eyes close because my little one reminds me that he doesn’t agree with my decisions either.
Even though I’m doing all this to protect his father and uncles. Men in this family don’t appreciate any sacrifices.
“Jimena?” Dad whispers, and I look at him, swallowing. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” We resume our walk, although I notice several people shooting me questioning glances. Some men among them even share a drink, seemingly bored with the whole thing.
Five more steps and we pause in front of Maxwell, who extends his hand to me. “Jimena.” Disgusting shivers rush down my spine as his presence alone makes me nauseous. “I’ll take good care of her, Lucian,” he addresses my father, who tenses beside me, and I have to pull at my arm to finally free myself from his hold. His brown eyes scan the groom from head to toe, and he probably wishes to punch him and wrap me in a protective cocoon so I won’t have to go through with this.
Sometimes I do wonder why my dad allowed me to go this far when the whole family urged me to reconsider. It’s almost as if he is waiting for someone to prove something to him.
If I only knew who and what it was.
“If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll kill you.” Coldness seeps from his words as he utters them and finally steps back. “Remember that, Maxwell.” He sits next to my mom on the pew, who conveys all her love for me with one stare alone. I quickly turn all my attention back to the groom.
I won’t withstand seeing her disappointment yet again.
The tension permeates the air as it grows thick and heavy, serving as an invisible weight on us all because one wrong move may signal our downfall.
Father Paul, who’s wearing a colorful mantle, flips open the Bible but not before his eyes linger on me while devastation etches on his features. He shakes his head, probably hating all this as much as I do.
Marrying anyone but Florian feels wrong.
So, so wrong.
He clears his throat as Maxwell grips my cold fingers, his touch sending repulsion through my system, and I barely hold back the need to snatch my hand away. “Dearly beloved…” His voice becomes muted in my head while the groom continues to grin because we are closer to him finally getting what he wants.
Revenge on his cousin. And I’m the perfect weapon, right?
I feel something and catch my brother’s blue pools, but compared to everyone else…they have no emotions.
Nothing, just endless hollowness while he fixes his stare on me, and I hate it. Why the hell is he so hard to read?
“Any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Father Paul takes a long pause, longer than necessary, judging by how everyone shifts in their seats impatiently, and he sighs heavily, ready to continue the ceremony when everyone remains silent.
What did he expect? A divine intervention?
One would have to be completely insane to interrupt…
I hear heavy footsteps rocking off the walls and alerting us to someone’s presence right before the husky and deep voice straight from my dreams and nightmares alike booms through the space. “I do.” Scorching heat travels through my system, powerful relief slamming into me, and the baby kicks several times as if greeting his father.
“Oh, thank God,” Father Paul mutters, shutting the Bible while I gasp in shock at the sight of the handsome blond man entering the church. His green eyes scan the crowd until they land on me, and internally, something inside me snaps when possessiveness and complete ownership coat them.
His three-piece suit only accentuates his features that are so haunting one might think he isn’t real as his handsomeness can rival those of gods.
