Page 17 of The Devil's Pawn

“There you are. We wondered where you’d gotten to. Are you enjoying yourself?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask them whether they’re being purposely obtuse. Am I enjoying myself? What kind of question is that?

“Oh, I’m having a ball, Mom.”

“I’m so glad,” she replies, oblivious to the undertone of sarcasm. “Darling, I wonder if I might have a word. In private.”

She tucks her hand into the crook of my arm and leads me to a quiet corner of the ballroom, farthest away from the speakers blasting out music.

“This is a bit cloak and dagger, Mom. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I… wanted to say that… well… I probably should have talked to you about this before now, but…” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Mom. Spit it out before I turn gray and spout facial hair.”

She chuckles. “Ah, there’s my girl. So spirited. So like your father.” Her cheeks pink up, and she blinks several times in succession. “It’s… well, tonight is your wedding night, and I wanted to make sure you had the information you needed.”

Oh. My. God. My mother wants to give me the birds and the bees talk. Please ground, open up and swallow me whole.

“Mom. Stop. We did sex ed in school, and I have girlfriends who weren’t sold before they were born and made to keep themselves intact to satisfy the traditions of a thousand-year-old English family. I know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night. I know what’s expected of me.”

I don’t want to do it, but you’ve given me no choice.

I’ve always known my destiny and never questioned it, but since Alexander sprung this wedding on us eight short days ago, a trickle of resentment for my parents has sprung up. Just what did my father get out of the deal he struck with Charles De Vil that was worth selling his only child for?

“Mom, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“If I can, darling.”

“Why did you and Dad agree to this arrangement? What did you get out of it?”

Her eyes shift to the left, and the flush to her cheeks deepens. “The De Vils are a powerful family, Imogen. We knew merging our families would be good for all of us.”

“All? Including me?”

“Yes, including you.” She sweeps a hand down my arm. “My baby girl, do you think your father and I would ever allow any harm to come to you? Marrying into this family will open incredible doors, not just for you, but for your children.” Pulling me into a hug, she kisses my forehead. “Please trust your father and me to do the right thing by you. An arranged marriage has a far greater chance of success than the more conventional methods Western society prefers. And in large parts of the world, this is the norm. I know the two of you will be happy, given time.”

No, we won’t. Not if I have anything to do with it. As for opening doors? I’m perfectly capable of opening my own, except no one gave me the opportunity to try.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll give it a shot,” I lie.

“Good girl. I know you won’t let us down.”

No. I won’t. I’ll leave that to Alexander. All he needs is a shove, or more likely several shoves, in the right direction.

Chapter Seven

IMOGEN

Maisie flits about, ensuring the bathroom towels are lined up—like it matters—and turning down the lights on either side of the king-sized bed. She folds the covers over on one side, then pours me a glass of water.

Since she sidled up to me in the ballroom ten minutes ago and told me she was to take me to my rooms, I’ve been standing in one spot like a statue. This isn’t the same suite I stayed in with my parents, but it doesn’t look masculine enough to be Alexander’s room, either. There’s something about that bed, though, and the silk nightgown draped over the covers that’s brought all this to the forefront of my mind.

And I’m terrified.

If Alexander had been even a touch kinder, it would make what’s expected of me that much easier, and Mom’s so-called pep talk hasn’t done anything to help. It’s only made my anxiety spike and my anger flare. I shouldn’t be here in this strange house in a foreign country, far away from my friends and, soon enough, my family, too. I shouldn’t bemarried to a man I don’t know and have no desire to get to know. I should be looking forward to starting work for Zenith and putting my degree to good use.

At least my things have arrived far earlier than I thought they would. Someone has thoughtfully placed the book I was reading before I left America on the nightstand, and plugged my cell in to charge.

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