Page 49 of The Unwanted Wife

"But you are a good man."

"Definitely not. I’ve killed men."

"To defend our country, so people like me are safe."

"I’ve also… lied," he says this in a tone that seems exploratory. If he thinks that’s going to shock me, he’s sooo mistaken.

"I’m sure you had good reason."

"I did… I do."

I blink. "Are you lying to me? Is that what you’re trying to say?"

He nods. "Remember how I said we were getting married in a week?"

I nod slowly.

"I lied. We’re getting married tomorrow."

26

Nathan

"I suppose I should be grateful you invited me to the wedding," Arthur growls. I lead him to a seat in the front row. It’s a good thing the relationship between the wives and girlfriends is strong enough that my fiancée’s wish to be married on a beach found its way back to me, the same way I found out about her trip to that hotel room.

She almost went to bed with another man, and all because I felt guilty about fucking her. A mistake I’m not going to commit again. Not after how I almost took her in the bakery yesterday. I managed to stop myself, but only because her queries about my BDSM proclivities took me by surprise. She's well-read enough to have recognized what I want. Whether she can withstand the rigors of the lifestyle is something I'm looking forward to finding out.

At some point, when I was on my knees with my face pushed into her sweet pussy, when I licked at her slit and found myself craving to be inside of her hot, throbbing, channel, when I wanted to ravage her every hole, I realized I was fighting a losing battle.

From the moment I saw her all grown up on the eighteenth birthday, I fell for her. Every step in my life since has brought me closer to her. I might have tried to run away from her, but really, I was always finding my way back to her.

And Ben asked me to look after her, after all. And this is me, keeping my promise to him. I'm ensuring she'll land on her feet and be looked after for the rest of her life. He’d want that.

As for my marrying her and bedding her… I don't think it’s something he'll accept that easily, but hopefully, he’ll come around. Hopefully, he’ll find it in him to forgive me for taking advantage of his sister. I'm using her situation against her. Of course, she's helping me, too… We're helping each other. I cross my fingers. I can only pray that Ben will see it that way. I’m sorry, Ben, you couldn’t be here, but I hope when we finally meet again, you’ll find it in your heart to understand why I did what I did.

"You okay, grandson?"

I tug at the collar of my shirt. "Of course I am." I'm only getting married. It’s a walk in the park, compared to tracking down enemies of the country via drones, and deciding to take the hit, only to find a group of children walking into the frame and having to make a split-second decision whether to go ahead with the mission or not.

It doesn’t explain why I’ve been sweating like a whore in church all morning, considering we're not even in a church. A gust of wind raises the hair from my forehead, and I turn my face toward it. I managed to secure the only natural beach in this area, which happens to be a few miles from London. It's not normally available to be rented, but thanks to my contacts, I managed. As I keep discovering, it pays to be CEO of the Davenport Group sometimes. There was never a question of whether to make it happen, considering my fiancée secretly wanted a beach wedding.

"You’re nervous," Arthur says with something like satisfaction.

You would be, too, if you knew what I have in store for you and your 'legitimate' grandsons.

When I don’t reply, Arthur tips up his chin in my direction. "It’s a good sign."

I grunt.

"I’d have been worried if you weren’t."

What-fucking-ever. I resist the urge to scratch my chin, knowing that’s my tell. I am not nervous. I am not.

Arthur tugs at my sleeve, and when I look down, he beams at me. "I’m glad you decided to invite your family to the ceremony. I’m guessing it’s what your fiancée wanted, and a happy wife is a happy life. You couldn’t have found a better way to start your marriage."

"That’s not the reason I opted for this ceremony," I say through gritted teeth.

"Of course it was." He waves a hand in the air. The sound of bottles being clanked as the caterers set the buckets of Champagne down on the long table at the side of the massive tent I asked to be erected reaches us.

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