Page 52 of Vicious Games

The question hung between us like a lead weight.

I forced a smile. “No, of course not, Roman. I would never intentionally hurt or disappoint you.”

Would he understand what I was trying to say?

“I’ve recently learned it is our purest intentions which are the cruelest.”

His subtle threat hit its mark. I tightened my stomach muscles to keep from trembling.

Roman shifted away and I let out the breath I had been holding. Before I could collect my thoughts and think of what to do, he returned to my side. He covered my shoulders with a heavy fur wrap.

“Time to leave. We don’t want to be late.”

Roman wrapped a secure arm around my waist and escorted me out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The butler rushed ahead and opened the door. Roman’s car was waiting for us in the drive. With every step, my panic increased. As we crossed the threshold and were only a few steps away from his car, I pulled back. Roman increased the pressure on my back and propelled me forward. Seeing no other way out, I relented and allowed myself to be helped into the car.

I sat in the passenger seat frozen. Roman ducked his head inside and reached over me to secure my seat belt. He caressed my cheek. “Don’t want you getting hurt in some random accident, now do we?”

My eyes widened. He obviously didn’t expect a response, because he slammed the door shut before I could even form one. As we wound our way down the long drive, I glanced out the car window to the small copse of trees where Eleanor would be parked two hours from now, waiting for me. I blinked back the tears.

LP’s ’Lost on You’ was playing on the radio as Roman deftly navigated the heavy traffic through London. The forlorn lyrics tore through my chest like a bullet. I stared at his profile as he drove. The hard line of his jaw and his stoic expression radiated anger.

The car pulled smoothly over to the curb just outside Westminster Abbey. As usual, Roman waved the valet attendant away and opened my door himself. Instead of holding out his hand, he reached inside, unbuckled my seat belt and practically lifted me out of the car. I left the wrap inside the car and immediately missed its warmth as Roman placed a proprietary hand on my lower back and ushered me forward. My anxious gaze scanned the crowd. The men were dressed similar to Roman, in dark gray cutaway coats with tails, pale cream double-breasted waistcoats, striped trousers, and top hats. The women were dressed in bright monochromatic colors with matching elegant fascinators.

This is a wedding.

The thought jumped into my mind as I recalled watching William and Kate’s wedding on television years earlier. This was a freaking wedding. My heart raced as I struggled to suck oxygen into my lungs.

He wouldn’t.

No, he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t!

On our approach, men dressed smartly in bright red uniform jackets with gold brocade hustled the remaining lingering guests into the Abbey. Roman pulled me through the imposing centuries-old entrance. I blinked as we transitioned from the uncharacteristically bright sunshine to the somber shadows of the Abbey’s interior.

The guests were already seated in pews and extra chairs set in straight regimented lines just for the occasion. A flourish of orchestra music with trumpets played the Prince of Denmark’s March by Jeremiah Clarke as we started down the aisle.

Oh, my God.

I stumbled over the long hem of my dress… my pale cream, almost white silk dress.

Roman’s hand squeezed my waist as he practically lifted me off my feet and crushed me to his side as we proceeded down the aisle.

All eyes turned to stare at us in wonder and curiosity. There was a wave of whispers and gasps as the guests caught sight of us. Several people lifted the program booklet to cover their mouths as they gossiped to the person seated next to them. No doubt they were wondering why one of the most eligible bachelors in the world would want to marry a penniless woman who was almost a decade younger than him. Oh and bonus, had been accused of murdering her parents in cold blood. Well, they weren’t alone in wondering. I had asked myself the same question countless times since he first proposed.

I looked ahead to see the altar. My vision darkened around the edges as I leaned heavily on Roman. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

I was well and truly trapped.

Roman knew there was no way I would have the courage to cry out and run in front of all these distinguished guests. I would have no choice but to say I do.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

What the hell was I going to do?

With every step, we drew closer to the altar.

I can’t believe this is happening.

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