Page 58 of Sinful Bride

… Right?

“Do you have the rings?”

Mak steps forward with the official set of wedding bands. The crowd of guests chuckle at Gentry’s sudden outburst of complaint when he realizes the rings on the pillow he’s holding on his lap were just for show. It’s a welcome reprieve from all the tension, and even Daphne smiles.

It’s not for me, but I’ll take it.

I say, “I do.”

She says, “I do.”

Then we exchange the bands, and just like that…

She’s mine.

The sealing kiss doesn’t come soon enough. I sweep her into my arms and pour every ounce of my love for her into this kiss. Our first kiss as husband and wife.

I feel her kiss me back, and finally, it feels like she’s here with me. Her fingers curl around my arms, her sweet lips part, and it’s all I can do not to throw her down and take her right here in front of God and everyone.

But when we pull apart, tears stream down her face.

“What’s wrong?” I reach up to wipe them away.

“I’m just… so happy.”

The rest of the room may buy her explanation, but I don’t. I know her too well by now. The way she smiles for everyone but herself. The way her voice lilts into some socialite bullshit as we make our way down the aisle together and go through the motions of thanking each guest as they leave for the reception.

She’s got them fooled, but not me.

The night’s just begun, however.

And I am determined to figure this shit out.

23

PASHA

I have not, in fact, figured this shit out.

It’s been five hours since the ceremony. Five long hours of guests toasting our good health and new life together. Of nibbling at gourmet seafood platters, of champagne toasts, of endless bullshit.

Not for a single second of it has Daphne been honest about her feelings.

She’s all smiles and laughter for our guests. When I formally introduce her to professional acquaintances, she’s polite and demure.

But I see that mask drop whenever we turn away from anyone who might be watching.

I see the way she just pushes the food around on her plate instead of actually eating it.

When I raise a glass to her, she just sits there. Limp and emotionless.

Now, we’re on the dance floor, swaying and spinning in circles to some cheesy love song I don’t recognize. This is our first dance together and husband and wife, and I don’t even know the song we’re dancing to.

I’m about to ask her if she does, when I notice the way her eyes are just drifting off into the distance. Not focusing on anything, least of all me.

That’s it. Time for a change of plans.

The song finishes—and so does my patience for her limp-wristed efforts to make a happy night of this. I wrap my arm around her waist and signal to Makari that we’re heading out.

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