Page 8 of Velvet Cruelty

I blink and see the outline of a second door embedded in the stone. A secret passageway. My mouth goes slick with fear. The priest shakes me by my hair. “Hey. Focus. If you pass out, I’m gonna have to slap you.”

I let out a dry sob. “Who are you?”

“Just some guy.”

“What do you want?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not worried about it.” His gaze travels down my body, a shark’s smile curving his mouth. “Nice dress.”

“I… I didn’t pick it.”

“I know you didn’t, moron. It’s what he wanted. A pristine little virgin gliding toward him with her tits out.”

My scalp is on fire. I try to pry his fingers out of my hair but they’re like iron bands. “Excuse me?”

The not-priest throws his head back, cackling at the ceiling. “Let me guess, how dare I speak to precious little January Whitehall that way?”

I don’t say anything, but he must read the answer in my eyes because his fist tightens in my hair. “Welcome to the real world.”

He traces a fingertip along my collarbone, and my skin feels like it’s melting. Since I became engaged to Mr. Parker, no man has touched me. Even my brothers stopped kissing my cheeks. It was like I had a barrier around me. Like men couldn’t touch me even if they wanted to. But this false priest’s finger is trailing down into my cleavage.

“Does that feel nice?”

“N-No.”

He grins, and his handsomeness flashes out at me like a knife. “You think I’m sexy, huh?”

Shame heats my insides. I look away, trying to find sense in this whirling nightmare.

“Hey.” He taps my cheek hard. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’ll be more fun if you like it.”

The door leading back to the cathedral bursts open. It’s Mr. Parker. His hair is on end, his face bright pink.

“Oh my God, help me!” I scream.

Mr. Parker isn’t listening. He’s staring at the priest. “Stop touching her!”

The priest’s free hand slides down my back to my bottom. “Sorry, Zach. No can do.”

Mr. Parker’s face goes white. “Who…?”

“Don’t recognize me, do you? I don’t blame you, it’s been a long fucking time. Here’s a little reminder. Alessia Valente.”

Mr. Parker withers like sped-up footage of a plant dying. “You.”

“Not me,” the priest says. “Us.”

A window opens in my head. This isn’t an accident. The fake priest didn’t drag me in here to help me, or even hurt me. The explosions, whatever’s happening in the cathedral… it’s because of Mr. Parker. I’m not the main event, not even on my wedding day.

“Just let her go,” Mr. Parker shrieks. “Give me January and I’ll—”

The door opens again and a giant man ducks under the frame. His face is hidden under a black balaclava and before I can shout a warning, he wraps an arm around Mr. Parker’s neck and forces him to his knees.

“Let go of me,” Mr. Parker gurgles, his hands slapping frantically at the giant’s.

The priest laughs. “Hey, Zach. Watch this.”

He turns me to face him and his mouth crashes onto mine. He kisses me deeply, the sharp scent of him wrapping around me like a thorny rose. His lips take on a soft, coaxing quality and my own part in shock. The second they do, his tongue is in my mouth. I try to pull away, but his hand is still clenched in my hair, trapping me. Heat surges through my body and all I can think is that this is my first kiss. Not Mr. Parker in front of the altar. A crazy not-priest in the back room of a cathedral.

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