Page 8 of Bride By Coronation

Fiona's greens, dancing with a challenging excitement while I squeezed her throat, won't leave my mind. They mix with the recollection of her thumping pulse pushing against my hand.

The small box continues to move at a snail's pace. The next number lights up, but it's blurry.

Fiona's parted lips and hot, shallow breath torment me further. It's so real, it's like she's in front of me.

The metal doors part in a loud screech, tearing me out of my thoughts.

The redhead shoots out of the elevator and into the hallway. Her frizzy hair bounces out of sight.

I press my palm on the screen and hit the close button, but it's another painstakingly long process before I get to the penthouse. The elevator finally stops, and I step out into my foyer, remove my jacket, and put it on the coatrack.

The elevator doors shut. I reach for the front door and enter the main area. The bell rings.

The hairs on my arms rise.

I don't get visitors. Not unless it's someone in The Underworld, and almost always one of my fellow Omni. Lately, those visits only turn into arguments.

It's my fault. I brought it on myself when I stepped in and interfered during Sean and Zara's final test to earn their seats at the table. I offered my only token. For it to be accepted, and for Sean and Zara not to die, we had to agree we'd owe the Omni.

Little did I know they already knew what they wanted from me. They set me up so I'd have to do the one thing I've worked hard to avoid—get married. Now, no matter how hard I try, there doesn't seem to be any way to escape it.

I may be king of the Omni, but right now, I'm powerless. And I should have prepared myself better. I've gotten away without a wife at my side longer than I theoretically should have. The rules are clear, and I'm to rule with a queen by my side.

Ironically enough, the Omni has chosen the one woman I've been unable to stop thinking about since our first random encounter. And when they ordered me to marry Fiona O'Malley, it only strengthened my obsession with her, no matter how much I've fought to make them change their minds.

Today's innocent reappearance of the sexy blonde who doesn't grimace or seem afraid of me isn't helping the ache digging deeper in my core. Her initial flirting, which I have to be wrong about, fucks with my head the same way it did the night I first met her. And every ounce of anger, frustration, and determination to learn the truth about her father's mark and why I branded it on my hand creates a guilt I'm not used to feeling.

The bell rings again.

I slam my hand against the button, demanding, "What is it?"

"A Sean O'Malley is here to see you," Carmen from the front desk states.

"Of course," I mutter, then instruct, "Send him up."

"Yes, sir."

I open the front door, then walk to the window, staring at the iced-over water. The flakes are as big as they were earlier.

What was she thinking, not dressing appropriately?I wonder, wishing she hadn't seen the skull and we could have had a more pleasant conversation.

What's the point?

I have to marry her.

I'm not doing it.

There's no getting out of it.

When she learns the truth, she's going to hate me.

Maybe she won't.

Stop kidding yourself.

She might as well hate me from the start.

By the time Sean arrives, my head is spinning with all the self-loathing and sins of the past I try to keep buried but fight every time I think of what's to come. It slaps me so hard that a cold shiver runs through my bones.

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