Page 14 of Whispers of My Skin

The judge begins speaking, his words practiced and rehearsed—we’re just another couple, another wedding to him.

But for us, the rest of the world has disappeared. There is only Joel, and there is only me. No one else exists in our shrouded sphere.

When the moment comes for us to exchange rings, my hands are trembling so much that I can hardly put the ring on his finger.

And when it’s his turn Joel has a surprise for me.

“I never had a chance to give you an engagement ring,” he whispers, placing a beautiful cushion cut, solitaire diamond ring on my finger, as well as the plain band we agreed on. I gasp and grin up at him like an idiot.

As agreed, the ceremony is kept to just the bare minimum, no long speeches or forced sentiment, so in just a few short minutes the judge is declaring us husband and wife—Mr. and Mrs. Joel Sadger—and proclaiming in the time-honored manner that the groom may kiss the bride.

As Joel leans down to lightly brush his lips against mine, a jolt of electricity surges through me. The deed is done, I’ve signed myself over to this man, and despite all my misgivings, a shiver of delicious anticipation runs through me thinking of how he’s going to make good on his claim.

Joel places my hand through his arm and leads me back down the short aisle. We walk past my mom, stepdad, my sister Camille and a few other people that I barely notice, although I do spot Connor Fisher, the man who greeted me when I turned up at the Dale Ranch looking for Joel. I’ve since found out they’ve worked together for quite a few years, and seem pretty close.

We head to the reception area, where Connor comes over and introduces the redhead by his side. This, it transpires, is Cassandra, the name I’ve heard mentioned a couple of times, and I instantly don’t like or trust her. Maybe it’s the way she keeps smiling at Joel while totally blanking me, or the fact that she keeps touching him and putting her hand on his arm, but I really don’t take to Cassandra, not one bit. And for the record, it’s not jealously, it’s that I consider her disrespectful to be acting this way with my husband on our wedding day. In the eyes of the law and everyone else out there, he’s taken. I’m his wife, not you, so hands off, bitch.

Thankfully, Joel seems as keen as I am to cut short this circus of a wedding.

“Go and grab your things. We’re leaving,” my new husband whispers in my ear commandingly, once he deems we’ve done our duty in mingling with our guests sufficiently. The unmistakable gleam in his eye has my lady parts nearly combusting spontaneously, so I obediently head to the bedroom to hastily collect the few possessions I left there.

“You’ve hit rock bottom, you know.” I startle at my stepfather’s words as he enters the room.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, ignoring his poisonous barb.

He’s carrying two glasses of champagne, but I pointedly ignore the one he holds out to me.

“Can’t a man share a toast with his most beloved stepdaughter before she leaves?” Oscar asks disingenuously.

A sarcastic laugh escapes my throat.

“Oh, come on!” I snort. “Forgive me, stepfather dearest, if I struggle to believe the sincerity of any toast you’d make.”

“You’ve ruined yourself by becoming nothing better than a whore, Tara,” he pronounces, dropping his pretense of civility. “And now, not only will you lose the ranch, but also whatever dignity you had left. I can’t believe you actually went ahead with this charade and married that worthless cowboy.”

“I really don’t care what you think, Oscar. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m of age, so I don’t need anyone’s permission or approval to marry whomever I choose, and most certainly not yours,” I growl.

I’m done. All I want is to get away from this evil man who’s hell-bent on ruining my wedding day with his poisonous words.

But Oscar’s not done.

“So, tell me, Tara, if as you say, you could marry whomever you chose, why pick the worst possible contender? Even a stupid girl like you could’ve snared herself a wealthy man, one who wasn’t too fussy just as long as you opened your legs for him. If you were going to whore yourself anyway, you should’ve at least ensured you were gaining a comfortable lifestyle as part of the deal.”

He wants to get nasty, fine. Two can play that game. Bring it on.

“What does it matter to you who I marry?” I reply furiously. “Worried there’ll be nobody left to provide for you? Is that it? Wanted me to get a rich husband to continue funding your parasitic lifestyle?”

“Your husband is nothing but an uneducated cowboy. He’ll never amount to anything, all he’ll do is drag you down into the gutter with him,” he sneers.

“Joel is much more of a man than you’ll ever be. I’m proud of the fact that he’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty, and that he knows the meaning of hard work.”

“Hard manual labor you mean? He’s no better than a pack mule, yet you seriously believe that’s something to be proud of?” Oscars retorts.

Why am I wasting my time with this asshole? He’s not my father, and none of this is any of his concern.

“You know what?” I yell, not caring if anyone hears. “Yes, I am proud.”

“Poor Tara, you married a donkey,” he mocks.

“What if I did?” I shout back. “So I married a donkey—that’s my problem, not yours.”

Our slanging match is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, followed by Joel’s looming presence entering the room.

His amber eyes are icy cold as they bore into me, and I suddenly wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

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