Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t a requirement.”
The priest is becoming louder, and I sense that we’re getting close to our vows. Close to the moment when the plain gold band slides on to my finger, joining the five-carat diamond that was delivered by armed couriers six weeks ago. “What are the requirements then?”
“Honor and obey me.” There’s challenge in his eyes. He expects me to balk.
I’m considering it. His lineage may go back centuries, but I live in the twenty-first century. Women expect independence and autonomy. I expect those things, too.
Then again, I can hardly feign surprise. A man who wanted a modern marriage wouldn’t approach a woman with an offer that included a dollar amount.
No, I knew he’d be traditional.
And I was groomed to be the perfect society wife.
Francisco's expression turns intent. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”
Do I? I thought so, but I have no time to ask. No voice left.
The priest’s voice booms between us. “Francisco Absolon Castille, will you have this woman to be your wife in holy matrimony? Will you comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he says, loud enough that his voice carries to the rafters.
“And you, Isabella Marie Bradley, will you have this man to be your husband in holy matrimony? Will you honor him, obey him, and keep him in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”
Blood thunders through my veins. This one moment will change my life forever. I will honor him. I will obey him. That’s what my family needs, even if my knees feel like jelly under my dress. He waits for me with the patience of the moon. “I do.”
Triumph shines in his dark gaze.
The priest says a few more words before pronouncing us man and wife. “You may kiss the bride,” he says.
“Marie?” Francisco murmurs. My middle name.
I feel lightheaded. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Or maybe it’s the corset. Or maybe it’s the fact that he touches his knuckles to my chin, lifting my face to his. “My grandmother’s name.”
His head descends.
My eyes flutter closed. In the darkness, I can pretend that no one else is in the room. There’s only empty space—him and me, alone.
His lips brush mine. Heat licks through my body. His mouth glances over mine, again and again. It’s not perfunctory, this kiss. Not a form of punctuation or even a command.
It’s a conversation, much like the murmured one we had before our vows. He asks questions in this kiss and receives answers. My breath stutters. If the kiss in the boardroom was a greeting, this one is an intimate conversation over candlelight.
Light presses between my eyelids. We’re not really alone. Everyone’s watching us. Everyone’s waiting. It feels like the entire cathedral holds its breath. We should stop. I can hear my mother’s voice in the back of my mind. There’s probably some arcane etiquette rule for how long a couple can kiss at the altar. Whatever it is, we’ve already gone over the limit.
Francisco is in no hurry. One hand holds me at my waist, keeping me steady on my heels. The other cradles my jaw. I am both cherished and dominated in this moment. I both honor and obey as he coaxes my lips apart. His tongue presses inside for a small, possessive lick. I gasp, and he relents as if he was waiting for my true acquiescence.
Then he leads me down the aisle. I’m blind to the faces on either side. Somehow I manage a bright smile. It’s his arm that supports me all the way down.
CHAPTER 4
Francisco
A virgin. How the hell did I end up married to a virgin?
“Leave us,” I mutter to the wedding planner. She’s been hovering around Isabella like a bee to a flower. Doing what, I don’t know. My bride looks perfect. A perfect doll that I have had dressed to my exacting specifications. It’s proof of my perversity that the idea makes me hot. I can move her arms and legs as if she’s made of plastic.
I can dress her. And undress her.
The doll in question circles the small room. We’re in a private lounge as we wait for the reception to be ready. The crowd sent us away from the church after the ceremony. A photographer rode with us in the limo, snapping away.
This is the first time we’ve been alone.
“What happens next?” she says, not quite meeting my eyes.
The wedding ceremony was well attended with five hundred people in the cathedral. The reception will be even larger. Almost eight hundred people are pouring into the Bradley Hotel Paris’s ballroom right now. They’re wearing their best clothes, their finest jewels. Drinking the best champagne as they wait for us to make our debut. “When everyone’s arrived, we’ll be formally presented to the room. Then dinner. Dancing.”