Page 21 of Bad Little Bride

Not thirty seconds after I walked off with the girl who might be my new sister-wife, Clair clinked off in her heels, tears streaming down her pretty face. The fairytale-esque setup I walked out to was packed and carried away before I had a chance to pretend to inspect all the diamonds laid out before me.

I’m getting sick of hearing her voice now, though, and even more tired of the damn history lesson about each one I pause too long on. I don’t care where the diamond was born or the million reasons why one is rarer than another and so on, so I finally point at one.

“Ah,” she muses. “The Quad Queen. Shocker.”

I ignore her dig, being it’s well deserved considering. “What now?”

“Now we show the groom. Enzo!” She spins, calling Enzo from where he leans against the stone railing.

He kicks off immediately, heading this way, and when she eagerly intercepts his advance, I could kiss the bitch for her obvious enjoyment of having his attention. I take advantage of the moment, rushing away.

I hurry into the house, not caring what he thinks about my wedding ring of choice. Or is he calling it an engagement ring?

I should probably ask at some point.

Either way, I chose the largest diamond on the gaudiest setting for a band she had to offer—and there were plenty to pick from. The entire display just went to show my fiancé—no, myhusband, if he’s telling the truth—knows nothing about me. He sees a pretty face and privileged past and assumes I’m like every other daughter sold off to the man he or her daddy can benefit from most.

Except, according to him, this marriage is of no benefit to anyone, not anymore.

Bastian Bishop, my sister’s man, is the head of my family.

I would say it’s ironic, but it isn’t.

I go after the man closest to my father in power, and then my sister’s new toy rises above him in name.

Fuckingfigures.

Even as I think the words, they feel shitty.

It’s not that I went out with the goal of competing with Rocklin. I love her, but I wanted something of my own. I have no place in the Revenaw world, but being born into it means I can’t leave it either, so a life onstage was out. I’m not a Greyson girl, an heiress chosen to represent the union of the underground world. I’m just a girl from Greyson Elite, a daughter like any other.

Being with Enzo was supposed to separate me from the northern district and pull me from the prison of my father’sreigning territory, thrusting me into something entirely new. Here, with a man—theonlyman—who has ever earned the right to employ those across all four districts without pledging loyalty to one over the others, while taking up residence in what’s been left unclaimed without permission—the abandoned sections of the east. I was supposed to thrive in a life of my own with a man of power atmyside.

And all that makes this sound so much worse. Fantastic.

“Jesus, Boston, what did you do?” I cover my face with my hands, sighing into them.

Why the hell I thought tying myself to someone like Enzo Fikile was a good idea, I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think my sister was right to want to murder me for it.

Slipping into my room, I lean my head against the door and pull in a long, full breath. My muscles tense, and I take another, slowly turning, my eyes instantly locking on what wasn’t there this morning.

My pulse jumps in my chest as I move toward the bay window and the small cabinet now sitting below it. A shiny silver espresso machine rests on top, an array of small bottles of caramel beside it, and when I open the little cabinet door, I find it’s no cabinet at all, but a mini fridge with two canisters of whipped cream.

With shaky fingers I turn it on, smiling to myself when the little photos of different types of drinks it can make light up.

The wind blows hair into my face, and I push it away.

Wait, wind?

My head snaps left, and I gasp.

The balcony doors are not only unlocked, but wide open, and it’s not just that.

It’s been wiped clean and fully decorated.

Rushing over, I kick my flats off, gliding my hands along the frame.

Rather than a small table and chairs, the floor is made up of cushions no less than fifteen inches thick, my feet sinking in perfectly. Pillows are piled high on the left, and on the right is a small boxlike tabletop with a candle, a few mini succulents sitting on top. That’s not even the best part.

---