Sometimes it feels like everyone thinks this is a big joke, and maybe to them, it is.
But this is my life. Everything is going to change after this moment. I’ll be married. I’ll have a wife. It might be in name only, but she’ll become my obligation—one I’m realizing I don’t mind. It’s my job to take care of her, and make sure she’s safe. From everyone.
Including her family.
The music fades into another song and the few people sitting in the chairs rise to their feet as if on cue. I stand taller, clutching my hands behind my back, my gaze finding Charlotte as her father leads her to the start of the aisle.
I didn’t really look at her before when I first arrived, but I drink her in now. That dress…what the hell is she wearing? It looks fucking see-through with some strategically placed pink petals covering the majority of it. The heels are high and the skirt is short—what a surprise—and despite the worry I see in her eyes, she looks…
Stunning.
Blowing out a breath, I brace myself as they make their approach.
“Walk slower!” the wedding planner screeches, making me wince.
Making Winston utter a couple of choice curse words under his breath.
They slow their pace, Charlotte ducking her head for a moment, smiling to herself.
I smile, too.
She lifts her head, her blue eyes meeting mine and it’s as if everything else falls away. The music, the wedding planner, my snickering brother, her scowling father.
They all disappear.
It’s just me and my bride.
The music stops, and the silence is deafening. Everyone is watching us.
“Okay, Mr. Lancaster, tomorrow the music will still be playing as you hand over Charlotte to Perry,” the wedding planner instructs.
“The minister doesn’t ask who’s giving this woman in wedded matrimony?” Reginald huffs, irritated.
“Oh, these last few years, we’ve taken that bit out. Too antiquated.” Miranda smiles, and I can tell she’s nervous.
Reginald Lancaster has a way of setting people on edge.
“Daddy,” Charlotte urges. “We need to practice you handing me over to Perry.”
I really fucking hate how she calls him daddy. Like it’s a term of endearment, when he treats her like garbage.
“Do not tell me what to do, young lady.” His voice is sharp as he reprimands her. And just a little too loud.
Prime example of the treating-her-like-garbage assessment.
I take a step forward, clasping Charlotte’s arm and gently steering her away from her father as I send him the dirtiest look I can muster. He glares at me in return, and I wonder if I will ever get along with this man.
Probably not.
Charlotte doesn’t say a word during the exchange, hooking her arm through mine as we turn to stand in front of the bogus minister—AKA the wedding planner—and she starts the ceremony.
“Will you have personally written vows for each other?” she asks before the vows begin. “Now is the perfect time to rehearse them, of course, if you have them written. I know some people wait until the last minute.”
“No.” Charlotte shakes her head. “We, um, didn’t do that.”
“Just the standard vows will be fine,” I tell Miranda.
I listen to the wedding planner as she talks of honor and love, sickness and health. They’re powerful words, punching me right in the gut and I wonder how I’m going to be able to go through with this tomorrow and actually look like I mean it.
“There will also be a ring ceremony, but the minister will instruct you both on what to do and you just repeat everything he says, so it’s fairly easy.” The wedding planner hesitates, her gaze shifting to me. “Are you wearing a wedding ring?”
I glance over at Charlotte, who nods. “Yes.”
“And you have another wedding ring for your wife? Or shall she take off the engagement ring and you’ll slip that on her finger during the ceremony?”
“I have another ring for her,” I answer. A thin diamond band that actually does come from the Constantine vault, it used to belong to my mother.
“Perfect. Charlotte, make sure you wear your engagement ring on your right hand tomorrow so your groom can slip the wedding band on your finger easily,” Miranda instructs before she turns to face everyone. She claps her hands twice, getting their attention. “Let’s run through this again!”
Before Charlotte can leave, I snag her arm, keeping her by my side. “How many times are we going to have to go through this?”
“I’m not sure, but we’re almost finished—we have to be. The dinner is supposed to start soon.” She bites her lower lip, watching me with those big blue eyes. “I’m so glad you showed up.”
The relief in her voice is obvious. “You actually believed I wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t know what to believe. You were so late, and when you didn’t answer my texts or your brother’s calls, I became worried. I know you haven’t been…happy with this situation since it started.”
God, I feel like absolute shit for not actually talking to her during the drive. I did try and text, but she was probably busy. I hate that I tortured her when that was never my intention. She has enough to worry about.
“You haven’t been happy either,” I remind her as I stare into her eyes, wanting to see her reaction.
Those pretty blue eyes go a little wider. “I thought we’d come to a mutual understanding.”
“What do you mean?”
“That we were going through with it—and we were okay.” She does one of those nonchalant shrugs again, and damn, I hate those. “But it’s fine. Maybe I was wrong.”
“You weren’t.” I give her arm a squeeze, wanting to reassure her. I feel protective over this woman. She needs someone on her side. I feel like she has no one who’s team Charlotte, and I’m willing to do that for her. “I’m in this.”
The emotion shining in her eyes as she looks at me is a struggle for me to witness. She just looks so damn grateful, and I’ve barely given her anything. “Okay. I’m in this too.”
“It’s all going to work out.” I have no idea if I’m speaking the truth, but it feels like the right thing to say.
She nods, glancing over at Miranda. “We need to do another run-through. I should go to my father.”
I tug her in closer, lowering my voice so no one can hear me. “I didn’t like how he spoke to you earlier.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “It was nothing. He’s just…like that sometimes.”
I’m tired of her making excuses for his shitty behavior just because he is her father. That’s no excuse.
“He will never speak to you like that again once you become my wife,” I say, my voice firm. She stares at me, her lips parted. “What? I won’t let him, Charlotte. If he so much as lays one finger on you, I’ll break it. I’ll break all of them if I have to.”
“But I’m his daughter,” she reminds me.
“And you’ll be my wife. You’ll belong to me.” I pull her to me, slipping my other arm around her waist, my mouth at her temple as I whisper, “I don’t care if he’s your father. No one hurts what’s mine. Do you understand?”