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Chapter One
Hallie
“What’s more importantthan family, Hallie?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Nothing is more important than family. Family is everything.”
I knew my lines well. I’d been saying them since I’d been able to talk.
Marlon Wynter, my father and head of the Wynter Syndicate, put both hands on my shoulders. He pulled me towards him and placed a kiss to my brow. I wished the kiss contained some warmth, some tenderness, but it was cool and perfunctory.
“Good girl. I knew you wouldn’t let us down. This alliance with the Cornell Firm is necessary. You understand that, don’t you? And Harvey is a good man, for a Cornell, anyway. I wouldn’t be considering this otherwise.”
“Yes, Dad. I know all of that.”
He let out a sigh, and I suddenly saw the years in my father’s face. He was only in his mid-fifties, but these past few years had been hard on him. Turf wars over who controlled which parts of the city had grown rife, and with three families all fighting over various boroughs of London, they’d been even harder. We had some of the police in our pockets, but so did the other families. It had become a case of whoever could pay more were the ones who bought their loyalty, and there was always the chance that loyalty would change. Who did we trust?
“Of course you do. It’s just hard for me, trying to make the right choices for you on my own. I wish your mother was still around. She should have been here, today of all days.”
Yes, my mother would have loved to have seen me in my wedding dress. I imagined her standing behind me, rearranging my hair and placing my veil on my head. But it wasn’t to be. She’d died thirteen years ago, when I was eight, and I still missed her every day.
“Is Jayden coming?” I asked.
I wanted my younger brother in the church with me. If anything had happened to Dad, he would have been the one to give me away. I’d kind of hoped he’d have swung by this morning, if only to wish me luck, but I hadn’t seen him. If he didn’t turn up at the church, I’d kill him.
“Yes, he’s at the church already, making sure everything runs smoothly on our side.”
My shoulders slumped with relief. “Good. I was worried he’d been out partying all night and was still sleeping off a hangover.”
“I can’t promise that he doesn’t have a hangover, but he’s definitely not sleeping.”
I smoothed down the front of the designer wedding dress and sucked in a breath to quell my nerves. I shouldn’t be nervous. I was about to marry one of the sons of a powerful family, tying our two families together. It was no hardship. Harvey and I had spent time together over the past couple of months, and we got along well enough. In time, I thought I could come to love him.
I’d gone for a cream dress instead of the traditional white, and lace sleeves encased my arms. A beaded bodice sheathed my torso, and layers of silk and more lace fell to the floor. A pair of cream Jimmy Choo sandals cradled my feet, and my curly red hair was piled up on top of my head, tendrils carefully teased loose, and fresh flowers woven within the tresses.
I felt beautiful, and I hoped Harvey would think the same when he saw me. I pictured him becoming overwhelmed with emotion and maybe even shedding a tear, but then I pushed that image from my head. That was never going to happen. Harvey wasn’t marrying me because of any feelings he might have for me. This was happening out of loyalty to our respective families, nothing else.
I didn’t want to feel that dip of disappointment in my stomach, but I did. I would have liked to fall into the arms of my husband, to have him say he couldn’t live without me, for our nights to be filled with passion, instead of this being an arrangement.
Passion would come later. There was plenty of time for that.
My best friend, Layla, burst into the room.
“Oh my God, Hallie. You’re beautiful.”
She gave me a hug, and tears welled in my eyes. “Thanks, Lay.”
“You can’t cry,” she admonished me. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
I flapped my hand in front of my face, hoping to keep my mascara in place. “I won’t. I’m okay. You look gorgeous, too.”
I hadn’t wanted to be one of those brides who put their friend in some hideous dress to make themselves feel prettier. Layla was my only bridesmaid and technically my maid of honour as well, so I’d let her choose whatever dress she wanted. She’d gone for an A-line blush-pink strappy number, and it showed off her curves and olive skin to perfection. Her dark hair fell in waves across one shoulder, and small diamonds glinted on her earlobes.
My dad’s gaze darted between us. “I’ll give you girls a moment,” he said, before exiting the room.
I got the impression he was relieved to get out of here.
Layla dropped onto the edge of my bed. “Are you excited? I can’t believe you’re going to be a married woman in a few hours.”
