Page 60 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Nothing,” I lie. “Absolutely nothing.”
Who am I to care about Theo’s imaginary bride?
He’s welcome to wed and bed an entire horde of them.
I’m not delusional. We have no future together. After this week of no strings, he’s bound to move on.
Which is exactly what I asked for in our arrangement. Precisely what I told him I wanted.
To have and to leave.Notto have and to hold.
I open my mouth to make some excuse for my brief descent into madness, but the string quartet strikes up a new song, snapping Asher’s attention toward the back of the room.
“Showtime,” he whispers as the doors to the hall burst open.
A hush settles over the crowd. Chairs creak. Spines straighten.
The opening notes ofCanon in Dfloat through the air. Then, without warning, the soft sound shifts. The violins tighten, strings scraping with tension as the melody morphs from a marital one to something more martial.
A call to arms. Not toward love.
Sienna steps into view, looking like fire incarnate. A scarlet ballgown clings to her curves, cascading in a dramatic sweep of silk and satin. Its bodice is a masterpiece, encrusted with ruby-colored gems that catch the light like smoldering embers. They glint against the richness of her dark brown skin, amplifying the blaze in her eyes. Delicate strands of gold filigree weave through her glossy black curls, forming a crown that elevates her commanding presence.
Moving with the intensity of a flame, she advances down the aisle toward Lucas. The room releases a collective gasp, struck by her beauty, her poise, and the sheer force of her presence.
Another sound follows—this one of surprise—as we realize she’s not led by her father, the Honorable Judge Isaiah Sinclair.
No. Sienna is flanked by four men in uniform.
Of theFBIkind.
A thrum of confusion ripples through the audience. It’s like we’ve all been pulled into some surprise play. Sans script. No warning.
I glance at Asher for clarification. “What’s happening?”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. Fingers curled around the Chiavari chair in front of him, he looks ready to charge forward and play knight to Sienna’s queen. His expression is a battlefield of contradiction, mouth wavering between a satisfied smirk and a wrathful sneer.
I’ve never seen Asher this rattled. The guy who always emits the brightest light, often turning the world around him into a joke, now embodies darkness itself.
Darkness aimed directly at his ex’s groom.
Lucas straightens as Sienna walks toward him. Panic flickers in his eyes. His jaw tightens, lips pulling into a thin, rigid line. The mask he’s sporting begins to fragment.
Sienna forges ahead, walking with an assured, leisurely saunter. She’s always been a woman who commands attention, but this feels different.
Grander.
With each step she takes, more emotion leaks through the cracks in Lucas’s polished facade. His gaze narrows, scanning the room before darting toward the exits where agents block every escape route.
That’s when Asher moves. He springs to his feet, slipping through the rows in a silent rush. He posts himself near the front—poised to act the moment Sienna needs him.
Theo moves, too. In a few quick strides, he crosses the aisle and takes his brother’s vacated place. He settles beside me so seamlessly my stupid heart stumbles over itself.
“All good?” he murmurs.
I nod.
“You’re going to go,” Sienna instructs as she reaches Lucas. The velvet tone of her voice contrasts sharply with the authority beneath it. “Quickly and quietly. No words. No scene.”
