Page 26 of The Devil's Torment

There were many occasions when, bolstered by a glass of wine or two, I’ve been tempted to ask my parents what I did that was so terrible. When push came to shove, though, I never quite found the courage. It’s one of those “do you really want to know?” questions, and evidently, the answer is no, I don’t.

“Well?” I prompt when neither of my parents say a word. Most girls would’ve had their mum helping them get ready, but mine hadn’t even asked to be a part of the preparations. If it weren’t for my friends, I’d have had no one with me other than the hired help the De Vils insisted upon.

“You look wonderful.” Dad steps forward and kisses my cheek, then stands back and smiles. “Nicholas is a lucky man.”

Tell that to my betrothed.

“Gorgeous,” Mum says, giving me a brief hug. She’s never been one for over-exuberant shows of affection. “Beth would’ve loved to see you like this.”

A dagger impales itself in my chest. “If Beth were here, I wouldn’t be doing this, now, would I?”

Mum recoils as though I’ve slapped her. She dips her chin and steps back, taking her place beside Dad.

“Well, not to Nicholas, no, but eventually, to someone, you would have.”

Regret washes over me, and I touch her arm. “I’m sorry, Mum. It’s just nerves.”

“It’s okay, darling.” She musters a small smile. “It’s a big day.”

“The cars are here,” Eloise announces.

Taking a deep breath, I nod at Dad. My friends rush forward to give me one last hug, taking care not to wrinkle my dress or muss up my hair. Mum squeezes my hand, then follows Eloise and Briony outside. We wait until their car sets off, then Dad sticks out his arm.

“Ready, love?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I trot out the expected response, the maelstrom of feelings coursing through me impossible to pin down.

“I am sorry, you know,” Dad says. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have asked you to do this. I know Nicholas isn’t your favorite person, but he’s a good man. He’ll do right by you.”

He did have a choice, and he chose himself and his business instead of me, but I don’t say that. What’s the point? It’s done, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it.

“Good?” I arch a brow and give Dad a nudge. “That’s one way of describing him.”

He says nothing more, and we make our way outside. The breeze is a little chilly, but the sun is still shining, and I try to take a grain of comfort from that.

The drive to Oakleigh takes thirty minutes, and when we arrive, my two maids of honor are outside the chapel waiting for me. Mum must’ve gone inside, and another stab of rejection pierces my heart. I know she’s seen me already, but would it have killed her to give me one final show of support?

The bridal march strikes up. Heads turn, watching as we enter the chapel. The aisle is long, and the pews packed, mostly with people the De Vils know. I do see a few familiar faces, though, and I lock onto them until they’re past me, then scan the pews for the next person I know.

As we get closer, Nicholas turns around. His eyes flare, and he slowly pans them down to my feet and back up again. My skin heats, pink blotches breaking out on my chest. Dad lets me go, and I take my place on Nicholas’s left.

“You look lovely,” Nicholas says, and this time it’s my eyes that widen. I hadn’t expected him to say anything, let alone give me a compliment.

“Thank you,” I murmur, clutching my posy of winter flowers that little bit tighter. His sleeve brushes my arm, and goosebumps spring to life, skittering over my skin. I’ve never gotten this close to him before, choosing to keep my distance almost as a self-preservation technique. There’s no keeping my distance now. In fact, I’m sure he steps a tiny bit closer to me.

The minister starts up his spiel, but I fade in and out, too busy breathing in Nicholas’s scent of sea-fresh body wash and a cologne clearly blended to make women’s ovaries weep with joy.

The second the thought crosses my mind, guilt weighs in. I have no right to be here. Beth is the one who should be standing here having hundreds of people admire how beautiful she looks and commenting on what a stunning couple they make. I barely make it through my lines, even flinching when Nicholas takes my hand to push a platinum, diamond-encrusted band on my finger. I force a smile—a pretense that I’m fine even though I’m not.

By the time the minister pronounces us husband and wife, I’m crushed by guilt, like having ten thousand boulders stacked on my chest, one on top of the other.

Nicholas takes hold of my upper arms and presses a kiss to my lips. He lingers only for a moment, then draws back. His eyes, rich and dark, lock onto mine. For a few seconds we both stand there staring at one another, only snapping back to life when polite applause breaks out.

“Ready?” he asks.

Somehow, I nod, but when I don’t make a move, he takes my hand, slides it through the crook of his arm, and leads me down the aisle.

That’s it. Done. I’m Victoria De Vil from now until the day I die.

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