They are accompanied by many friends and family, at least that’s who I believe they are, and as she catches my eye, I don’t miss the way she trails her gaze dismissively over my outfit. Then she turns her attention to my groom and the heat that floods her smile gives me the last laugh because she will walk into that room already knowing she is marrying a man who will never match mine.
This time I smile dismissively at her groom, flicking her a sympathetic smile as if to offer my bad luck. Her smile falters, and a shadow passes across her face, and I don’t even care if I have ruined her wedding day because she deserved every cruel moment of that.
We head outside into the sunshine, and Joseph whispers, “She deserved that.”
“What?”
I’m surprised when he wraps his arm around my waist as one of his guards takes a photograph of us.
“Nobody pities my wife.”
A simple statement that curls around my heart like a warm hug.
More photos that are slightly ridiculous considering who is taking them. The rather stern looking guard who appears to show no trace of humanity, is marking the occasion, but for what?
Joseph turns at the top of the steps and pulls me close, revisiting the kiss with the cool air of London to douse the flames. We kiss again, not as intense but every second is captured for eternity as his guard plays wedding photographer.
Finally, we are done, and as we slide into the car where another guard holds the door open, Joseph says casually,
“Buckle up, princess.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“What, no celebratory meal, a surprise party perhaps. Surely the Ritz is around the corner. You are slipping, husband. What would your business associates think of you?”
I’m being deliberately snappy because so much for my wedding day. He could have at least tried.
“So, you want to celebrate now?”
“Why not? Have you ever been married? I thought it was worthy of a glass of champagne at least.”
“Champagne is overrated, but if that’s what you want, I have a cellar full at the house.”
“The last of the true romantics.”
“This isn’t romance, princess. This is business, and you are aware of that.”
“I don’t have to like it.”
I huff with frustration.
“So, what happens now?”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them because he says almost as an aside.
“We fuck.”
“No!”
I glare at him.
“You must try a lot harder than that, Joseph. I may have married you, but I am still the mistress of me, and I will not fuck to order. I will not fuck at all if you persist with this attitude, and no matter what you say, I have rights, and so there will be no fucking today, or for the foreseeable future.”
My heart is thumping with a mixture of passion and anger, and yet the beast merely shrugs and turns his attention to his phone instead, leaving me fuming.
As I attempt to form a plan, it strikes me how disappointed I am because back there in that room, I would have agreed to strip naked on the spot and consummate the marriage in front of anyone who cared to watch. Now the mere idea of it leaves me cold because I was right, I married a monster, and I have nobody to blame but myself.