Page 27 of Captive Bride

Tristan

Her blue eyes scan the crowd frantically, panic etched across them.

My heart skips a beat when they latch onto me.

I feel a spark rush between us, startlingly intense.

A message.

Her eyes cry out for help even as she sets her mouth firmly in resignation. My fingers ache to touch her, hands yearning to reach out and pull her from his grasp.

The Governor.

That monster.

Her white gown swishes around her feet as he spins her for all the world to see, looking like his perfect bride. The image makes me feel sick.

“We should go,” Benny says from my side, drawing me from my thoughts.

I know that he’s right. Getting caught here would be a disaster.

Still, I can’t seem to force my feet into action. I can’t seem to drag my eyes from her twirling form.

“Tristan,” Merc says, more forceful. “Time to leave.”

I pull my eyes from Isobel with a near audible rip, severing the connection. The force that’s drawing me to her doesn’t yield easily.

Merc and Benny are right, though. We have to leave before the party ends. We absolutely cannot be recognized here.

Three Montagues crashing any Capulet party might be enough to start a war. The Capulet girl’s engagement party, though?

That has bloodshed written all over it.

I turn to Merc and Benny, forcing my face into some semblance of normality as I do.

“Let’s go then,” I say, as if I didn’t just have to force the words from my mouth.

Merc’s moving already, shouldering his way through the crowd as politely as possible. No point in drawing attention now.

Benny stills before following him, eyes searching my face for a moment too long. Leave it to Benny to see through my game face.

I gesture for the exit, pointedly ignoring the questions in his eyes.

I definitely can’t handle that now. I can’t explain what I’m feeling, not to myself and definitely not to Benny.

Thankfully, he goes ahead without any further delay, seamlessly blending into the crowd around him.

I follow his lead, avoiding any eye contact that might lead to conversation, taking up as little space as possible with a frame like mine. Nobody seems to notice us, their attention firmly held by the swaying couple currently on display.

And that’s what this is.

A display.

The power and connections of the Capulets, all dressed up and parading about.

I’ve reached the edge of the crowd, moments from freedom, when something drives my head to turn once again.

In the center of the room, the dance has finally ended, applause echoing from the ceiling. Isobel stands still beside the Governor, looking small and fragile at his side.

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