Page 41 of Scandalous Kingpin
Our gazes locked, and he must have read the startling realization in my eyes because his eyes darkened and he ran his tongue across his teeth.
After he’d dismissed me at Wynter’s wedding reception, his rejection stung, and I worried I was alone—not to mention delusional—in feeling this chemistry. Yet, it seemed the man was a tad obsessed with me. Maybe it was my vanity or just the woman in me, but I reveled in the power I suddenly felt.
“That was incredibly dumb.” I slid off the bed, wearing nothing but my pink boyshorts and a white tank top, and went to stand in front of the dress. I traced my finger over the layers and layers of silk and tulle and lace and fought back tears. Still facing the back of the door, I whispered, “Thank you.”
His warm, masculine woodsy scent came behind me and my pulse drifted between my legs. I tried to ignore the way Christian invaded my senses and made every one of them fuzzy. It was like a hit of the most powerful drug that you couldn’t resist.
I could hear my heartbeat as I held my breath, the heat of his body at my back. Too close. Too far away.
“I can’t wait to see you in it.” I glanced over my shoulder, at his boyish grin, and almost climbed him right then and there. “I’ll be the one in the best-looking tux, waiting at the altar.”
The sun glimmered between 18th Street and Benjamin Franklin Parkway as the car pulled up to where I’d become Mrs. Christian DiLustro. The Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, with its massive stone columns and a great dome, gave the illusion that we’d been transported to Rome.
I exited the car, gripping the bouquet in one hand. When my eyes lifted to the church, I almost stumbled over the hem of mydress. At the foot of the steps leading to the church stood my brothers, looking dashing in their tuxedos, their hands tucked into their pockets.
“Aemon, Bren, Caelan…?” I whispered, bewildered.
“Hello, princess,” Bren greeted me.
“You didn’t think we’d miss our only sister’s wedding, did ya?” Caelan drawled, smiling widely.
I let out a squeal and picked up my skirts with my free hand, then ran toward them where they stood in a row, looking dashing in their tuxedos. Aemon lifted me up, my feet dangling in the air as I laughed, tears burning in my eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I sobbed out. “How?”
My brother put me down, sliding his hands back into his pockets and swinging on his heel.
“Your idiot fiancé broke into the house.” It was then I noticed the bruise on Aemon’s cheek. “I figured if he’s willing to risk his life like that, he has to be a better option than Aiden Callahan who has a woman stashed away in his penthouse.” My jaw dropped. “Plus, your soon-to-be husband said you’re doing this willingly. Is that true?”
I nodded. Like my brother said, he’s a better option than Aiden who apparently couldn’t be faithful during the short period.
“Really?” Bren questioned, studying me with hawkeyed attention.
“Yes, really,” I uttered. “Does Christian know you’re here?”
Caelan grinned. “Of course. After we brawled and?—”
“And he fucked up Aemon’s pretty face,” Bren interrupted, flashing me a wink.
“I was going to say Aemon’suglyface,” Caelan chimed in, humor lacing his words.
“Are you done?” Aemon said to our other brothers, who just shrugged. “Your fiancé invited us, sister.”
“Ignore them,” Bren grumbled. “Now, let’s get you inside before your betrothed loses his shit. Fucker’s unhinged.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not that bad.”Most of the time.
Aemon and Bren took my arms, each at one side, as Caelan procured a basket from somewhere.
“I’m your flower girl… flower boy… man…Fuck!” He seemed to give up and simply bowed, twirling his arm like some eighteenth-century duke. “Anyhow, I’m at your service.”
“Get in front of us, douchebag,” Aemon muttered. “You got it right the first time, flower girl.”
Caelan flipped him off, then made his way toward the church, launching flowers like they were grenades. My brothers and I shared an amused look as we followed him inside, the scents of sage, frankincense, and myrrh—rich, smoky, and slightly bitter—filling my nostrils. The combination of scents—citrus and pine—brought me back to when Athair used to drag us to Sunday service when we were young. I smiled and took it as a sign that he was here with me, happy, even though he’d envisioned someone else waiting at the end of this aisle.
As I moved farther along the pews, the man with the piercing blue eyes came into view, his towering frame like a target for my thumping heart. I found myself drawn to his darkness—to him.
My steps grew in sync with the soft piano notes and my heartbeats. My clammy hands gripped my wedding flowers, white roses wrapped in green ivy, while our families and friends stood on either side of the church, their eyes boring into me.
