Page 54 of Blackmailed to the Altar

“As it’s going to be. What about the bride?”

I chuckled as we walked outside, around the property to the vineyard. In the clearing before it, my people were working fast to set up an outdoor, woodsy, mystical wedding experience.

Or at least that was what the wedding planner said, when I spoke to her on the phone. She was barking orders, and sending people in ten different directions. I stayed out of her way with Marcello.

We both leaned against a tree, watching the hustle and bustle of the wedding being prepared, while sharing a whisky flask between us.

“Why are you really marrying her?” Father Marcello blurted, the alcohol loosening his tongue.

“She’s different.” I entertained his question.

“So, love then?”

I scoffed. “Love isn’t accurate enough of a description. Her genius set my blood aflame. I can’t stop thinking about her. Obsession would be more precise.”

Father Marcello spat out some of his drink as he laughed. “I wouldn’t understand the word myself. She’s just a slip of a thing.”

I growled, “Watch how you speak about my wife.”

He held up his hands in front of him, a little off balance because he had the flask in one. He took a swig. “I meant no offense. I was just asking what makes her so special.”

I congratulated myself on my restraint. “She’s the light in the darkness, and when something is so bright, you want to hold on tight to it. No matter the cost.”

I could see he still didn’t understand me. but that was his loss. Maybe one day he would lock eyes with the woman that would knock him off his feet. I looked at his six-foot-four frame. When he fell, the Earth was going to move for sure.

Vito came out and stood on the sidelines. When I locked eyes on him, and he nodded, I knew it was taken care of. The Albanians weren’t going to sneak up on me. Once I locked down my bride, I would tell the men to prepare for war.

Father Marcello and I straightened up, as the few guests I invited trickled in. This was a small affair. My bride-to-be came stomping down the aisle, pure hatred flashing in her eyes.

I knew she would remember our deal, but I’d hoped that she would let go and be happy with me today. I sighed, maybe it would be better if I allowed her the softness of Sebastian.

I wanted her to look back on this day, and tell our children she was happy, if only a little. I closed my eyes and searched in the back of my mind. He slumbered, so I poked at him until he peeked an eye open, then I relinquished control back to him.

Fucking Sebastian.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sebastian

The ringing in my ears was the first thing I noticed, like a high-pitched hum that wouldn’t quit. My head pounded, and everything around me was a blur, colors and shapes bleeding together until they barely made sense. I blinked, trying to focus, but all I saw were faces, dozens of them, staring at me like I was some kind of exhibit behind glass. I felt the burn of their gazes, the silent judgment, the whispers that clawed at the edges of my mind.

Where the hell am I?

I tried to steady myself, my hands trembling as I clutched the cold marble of the altar beneath my fingers. My suit felt tight, suffocating, like it wasn’t made for me. There were flowers; roses, white and blood red, suffusing the air with their sickly sweet scent. The aisle stretched out in front of me, a sea of strangers and familiar faces twisted in concern, confusion, and something darker I couldn’t quite place. My gut churned, and panic spiked in my chest.

Then I saw her.

Dr. Mya Rivers stood before me in a beautiful white gown that showcased her luscious curves, her fiery-red hair cascadingdown her back, like a flame against snow. But it wasn’t the dress that caught me; it was her eyes. Dark, fierce, brimming with hatred. The kind of hatred that seared right through me, that twisted something deep inside. It was a look that told me I’d crossed some unforgivable line, that I was the villain in a story I didn’t remember writing. There was a veil pulled back from her face. How did I sleepwalk through part of our marriage ceremony?

She stared at me with those cold, unforgiving eyes. Her jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and she held herself like she was made of steel, unbreakable, untouchable. I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to feel that she was real, but my hands stayed at my sides, clenched into fists. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

This wasn’t right. None of this felt right.

The officiant’s voice droned on, something about love, commitment, forever, words that felt hollow and distant. My head spun, and I tried to piece together how I got here. The last thing I remembered clearly was the villa, my office, the phone… But this? A wedding?

I glanced around to see if any of my men were suspicious. None looked anything but happy for the couple. I was a part of that. My wife. Vito handed me a ring, and I looked at him in surprise, but now wasn’t the time to find out why he was prepared.

I slid the ring on her finger, my hands shaking as I tried to control my emotions. I said the perfunctory words, and kissed her on the lips while our guests cheered, but it didn’t feel like my wedding.

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