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I snatched my garment bag and went into the bathroom. Through the closed door, I heard the chink of ice in his glass. Adrian was making himself another vodka. He was already quenched in that department; I would have to watch him tonight.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, feeling the growth of stubble. Reaching up, I yanked at my tie, then proceeded to strip. Once in my boxer briefs, I ran the water hot while I prepared my shaving equipment.
The one thing I already had in common with my bride was presenting an implacable front. As I groomed myself to perfection, absent thoughts about what she’d wear tonight floated through my head. No doubt it would be a delicacy that would tempt me. But I would resist her charms. I would be self-controlled and disciplined, two skills I’d honed since returning to America at a young age. Talia Beaumont would find her husband unyielding and his life impenetrable. Meanwhile, she would become my captive. A piece of her family’s legacy to be kept in a gilded cage as my hostage—till death do us part.
In thirty minutes, I was meticulously dressed, with not a hair out of place as I left the bathroom.
“Spick and span,” Adrian observed, eyes cool as they raked over me.
“Let’s go.” I took my guns from the drawer in my desk, placing one in the holster attached to my calf, and the other under my jacket.
“They’ll check for those,” Adrian observed.
“And I’ll break their wrists.”
My cousin laughed. “Oh, so it’s going to be one of those nights? Bring it on!”
Chapter 9 – Talia
My father glanced athis watch. Again. The mocktail in my hand was fresh, and the tips of my fingers were turning numb. If only the rest of me could escape that way. Getting drunk had been a mistake I’d only made once. I shuddered at the memory as I took a sip of the mint-infused lemonade, before switching my clutch and drink to the opposite hand.
The country club was decorated with gauzy cream fabrics, twinkling lights, and greenery. The wedding planner insisted we use one of the trendier themes, and this was the one the groom’s family had selected. While I was indifferent, I had to admit the ambiance was enchanting. This wasn’t a real wedding, and truth be told, I’d never spent much time dreaming up the perfect wedding day. I was too obsessed with ruling beside my father and brother to care about romance. And while men could have relationships with outsiders, female members of the underworld prized their virtue. Or so I was told.
Everyone here had dirty hands and deep pockets, and although I recognized many faces, I didn’t know these people personally. Some were here as friends to my father, others to see the momentous chapter in the feud between the Beaumont and the Drakos families come to an end. But it was clear everyone was here to see me. I was the prized possession on display, the one whom my father usually kept sequestered away. How little they truly knew about this war between our families. This event did not represent the forging of peace, but the domination of the enemy; a power grab in its extreme.
I stayed close to my father, watching my brother flit all over the reception room. This was the sum of our wedding rehearsal. It was customary that the groom’s family see to the rehearsal dinner, and they hadn’t skimped on that score, but the butcher and his kin had refused to run a practice session at the church, so we were to mix and mingle at the country club tonight. I wasn’t worried, though; our wedding planner was efficient enough that I knew everything would go off without a hitch tomorrow.
No expense had been spared on this lavish party. While the hosting family was fashionably late, the guests were well sated with their every need met. And the dinner promised to be a sumptuous affair. Through the closed partition, I could see the tables were already set for an elegant feast.
I stole another longing glance to the open French doors. They led out to a lounging area on the patio and looked incredibly inviting. It was a lovely evening out there. If only I could slip outside and take a break walking around the manicured patios or even onto the quiet golf course.
It was at that moment a hush fell through the crowd. As one, all eyes swiveled to the door. Two men simultaneously stepped into the room. Everyone knew who they were: the shipping kings of the Pacific, or in other words, the Drakos family.
Their twin black gazes were cruel. While a smirk graced the face of the cousin, it was more twisted than gleeful. That was the smile of a man who could slit a victim open and have them begging for the next cut. It was horrifying. And yet, my soon-to-be husband was far worse. There was no emotion on his face. It was a hard mask of pure ice. If I hadn’t spent my whole life training for a moment like this, I might have withered under his gaze. Because after he considered the room, those harsh ebony eyes fell on me.
I dipped my chin in a gesture of acknowledgment and curved my lips into a smile I didn’t feel. But hell, he was beautiful. There was no denying that fact. With his piercing and intense gaze, he threatened to overwhelm me. My emotions were in danger of being swept away in the awe of his presence, but I quickly got a grip. This was the enemy, I reminded myself. I stoked the flames of hate in my chest, forcing them to burn away the desire springing up in my blood.
