Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

EMMELINE

The girls from school mill about the room, paying absolutely no attention to me, but that doesn't surprise me one bit. I'm honestly not even sure why they're here. We aren't friends. We're barely even acquaintances.

From what I understand, I'm supposed to be surrounded by friends and family. As it is, I feel more alone than ever before. Taking care not to crinkle my dress, I sit down in the corner and watch as the others look at dresses and talk about what it would be like for their own wedding.

With my makeup done, I do my best to keep the tears at bay, but it's a struggle. Though it's one I'm used to, it's still a struggle, nonetheless. Off to the side, a beta helper shuffles over, her wide smile looking a touch false.

"It's almost time, Miss Emmeline. I suggest you pick out a ring now."

That's when the others pay attention to me. Their eyes narrow as I make my way over to the case, watching as I look over the rings. How can I choose something like this? I don't even know who I'm going to be marrying. What if they don't like it?

"There's no wrong choice, Miss. But you do need to make a decision." Her voice shatters the silence, as if I asked these questions out loud.

Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath. It's not as if I have anything to go on. Just the one Alpha who ever dared touched me inappropriately. When I open my eyes again, I study the rings, looking for one that might fit him. There, in the center, sits a dark band with what looks like a steely blue inlay—a perfect match for his eyes.

If anyone asks, I'll just say I like the color. It's not a lie. Not really.

As the woman gets it out of the case and hands it to me, a flurry of movement catches my eye. My mother storms in, her face red as she pushes past the helpers and strides over to me. For a moment, I flinch, terrified by the stench of rage swirling around her.

"You are not matched with the right person. I don't know what idiot put you with some blue-collar, low-born alpha, but I will not stand for it." She snatches my arms and hauls me toward her, ignoring my pained yelp as her fingers dig into my sensitive skin.

"Please," I whimper, a few errant tears sliding down my face to ruin my perfect makeup. "You're hurting me."

"I'll do more than that if you mess up my plans for you. You are to rebuff him at every turn. It's only for six months. Do not let that barbarian take away the one thing that makes you precious. That makes you valuable. At the end of six months, you will reject the marriage, and I'll see to it you find someone proper. Someone fit to merge with the house of Astencourt. Do you understand me?"

"Y- yes, Mother."

Off to the side, my classmates snicker behind their hands, making no show of hiding their delight in my agony. I long to lash out at them, to tell them off, something, anything. But then, what can I do? No doubt it will just make things worse for me in the end.

Besides, if I lash out, it will be my fault.

It's always my fault.

Hanging my head, I take the bouquet from the attendant and make my way down the long hallway, following the two classmates. For a moment, the attendant holds me back, her gaze sympathetic as she dabs at my eyes. But it's no use. I don't even have to look in a mirror to know it's no use.

I don't even have the energy to hold my head up high as I near the doors, waiting behind them as the two take their spots at the altar. This should be a happy time, the dawning of my freedom. Instead, I feel even more trapped than ever before.

If I mess this up, if I allow myself to give in to whoever is waiting down there for me, she'll know. Unless my new husband can protect me from her, it will be hell on earth until I can get matched again. And who knows how long that will be?

I can't go back to that jail of a house, especially not with her enraged to the point where she might do just about anything to me. Turning back, I notice the door to the bridal floor is closed, leaving me alone. Unable to help myself, I slide down to the floor in a heap, not caring at all what it does to my dress.

Sobs wrack my body as my heart breaks in two. Why couldn't they have paired me with someone my mother found acceptable? I would have been in a different prison, but one where I might grow to love my jailer. Deep inside, I worry there will never be anything I can do for my mother to love me.

Father is no help. He just seems apathetic the whole time, a shell of a man who only cares about business and money. He won't keep my mother in check. He won't care.

No one cares.

No one.

Alone.

All alone.

The words flow through my brain in a spiral, never settling down. Though I've never had a panic attack before, well, except for the butt plug incident, it's the only way I can fully describe what I'm feeling. I'm stuck, unable to move. I know I need to get up, to go meet my new husband, but I can't. I just can't.

The doors fly open as the scent of a man fills my nostrils. Not just any man. Peering up, I take in the face of the EMT who saw me at my most shameful moment. He looms over me, all Alpha, all male, and all undeniably sexy in his perfectly pressed tux.

Does this mean he's my husband? Can I truly hope for someone so understanding? He's certainly as blue-collar as my mother described.

My body spasms as he hunches down, crying out for him to take me, hold me, and soothe away the pain with his erotic touch. But I can't. I can't let him get that close.

As I turn my face away, he slides his fingers under my chin, forcing my gaze back to him. "Who did this to you? Who made you cry on your wedding day?"

"I-" A hiccup cuts me off, and that's probably a good thing.

I can't tell him about my mother. Not right now.

As if he reads my mind, he brings his face closer to mine. "It's your mother, isn't it?"

"W- what makes you think that?"

"She had a few choice words with me before storming out. Didn't imagine she'd harangue you so close to saying ‘I do,' but I guess it makes sense. Are you okay?"

A shaky laugh bursts from my lips as he helps me up. Nervous energy swirls through my gut as I again take in his tux, boutonniere, and stern frown on his face. Like pieces falling into place, my heart and mind both know he's definitely the one marrying me and not one of the people attending the groom.

He has to be. I'll just die if he's not and once more having to help me during an embarrassing episode. But his reactions just make more sense as a future husband. He's far more concerned and caring for someone other than that.

Mother must have seen him waiting for me down the aisle and had a meltdown. To her, he'll never be enough, never be right for me, but she doesn't know the shameful secret he's kept locked away since that fateful day we first met. It's fitting, honestly, that my one scandalous act is here to haunt me.

Unsure of how to answer his question, I drag my gaze away from his magnetic stare. I'm not okay. I'll Never be okay. I'm not allowed the simple peace that others seem to have granted to them by some unknown benevolent being.

Unfortunately, he doesn't allow me to escape so easily. Sliding his finger under my chin, he forces my gaze back to his.

"I need an answer from you."

I long to pull away, but I don't dare. "I guess it depends on your definition of okay. I'm here. I'm alive. As of right now, you don't seem to hate me. I am rather surprised to find it's you. But then, I guess that's how fate goes."

"I guess," he murmurs, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

The instant he touches me in such a gentle, intimate way, my body comes alive, sizzling with need and want. As he stands there, gazing down into my eyes, his own darken just a touch.

"We need to get married before I answer the longing in your face. Come, let's get this over with, my little princess."

Before I can chide him for calling me a princess, he bends down and scoops me into his arms. As he carries me down the aisle, whoops and hollers come from the right side, but mine is deathly silent. A quick glance shows it's empty. No one sits there in celebration of me.

Even in all this crowd, I'm still alone. At the front, my classmates look rather bored, and a touch annoyed, but then, I'm sure they had much better things to do than stand up here waiting for me to stop crying. Before I can stop myself, I bury my face into Branson's tux, hiding myself away from all the pain and anguish.

His soft, steady purr makes me nearly boneless in his arms as he clutches me tighter, holding me as if he'll never let me go. But he will have to let me go. Mother will make sure of that.

"This is highly irregular," the officiant sputters out, drawing my attention.

I glance down at Branson's tux and gasp. My makeup is smeared all over the front, ruining it from any future use. Frantically, I try wiping at it, unsure of how to fix this.

But I must. Branson probably can't afford another tux, and now, this one he got for free, is no longer fit to be used. Maybe a cleaner can get it out?

"Steady yourself," he grumbles, easing me down so I can stand next to him. "It isn't the first time I've had an outfit ruined by a pretty omega's tears, and it certainly won't be the last."

"But it's so expensive."

"It was free. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." Turning to the officiant, he motions for him to go ahead. "Irregular or not, I say we get on with it." He drops his voice. "That is, unless you want the scary lady to come back and start yelling again."

"Quite right," the beta mumbles, drawing a smattering of laughs from the others.

He has to be talking about my mother. No one else would act that way. Shame floods my system as I bow my head, studying my shoes. It's not right that she can treat people like this just because she's so very rich.

With a quick clearing of his throat, the officiant starts again. "Branson Afford, allow me to introduce you to your new bride, Emmeline Astencourt."

Branson looks down at me and winks, making my stomach churn again. If he keeps this up, everyone will know what he did. What we did. Keeping my face trained on the officiant, I do my best not to give anything away.

"Emmeline Astencourt, this is Branson Afford."

"Go Ace," a deep, masculine voice bellows out from the back.

The officiant shakes his head, already looking weary when we're just at the start of things. "What Branson's friends and family wish you to know about him is that he's loyal to a fault. Even as a child, he was always caring more about others than things. Treat him well, and you'll keep an Alpha by your side who will burn the world down just to keep you happy and safe."

I chance a glance up at the man and note the darkness in his eyes. An odd possessiveness flares out from him, enveloping me in its warmth. Unbidden, tears gather in my eyes again, but not because of sadness. Not exactly. In that moment, I almost believe I can have the love I truly desire.

Almost.

"Branson, what Emmeline's family wants you to know is that she is a product of good breeding and refinement. Though she flits about with her head in the clouds, pursuing art, she is willing and able to put all that aside to be the perfect, poised wife and mother you can expect from such good breeding."

My jaw drops as the officiant looks through his notes, as if expecting there to be anything else to say. But I know better. It's exactly the message my mother wanted to convey. If I were marrying anyone else, it would probably be a glowing recommendation, but something tells me Branson doesn't care about such things.

"And her friends?" he growls to the officiant. "What do they have to say?"

"I- I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't worry about it," I mutter, my throat feeling like it's about to close from all the emotions swirling through me. "I don't have any friends. Not really."

Branson looks over my shoulder at the two. "What about them?"

"Just classmates. I don't know how they got picked, but here we are."

"You two, out," he snaps, snarling as they look at him with dumb expressions on their faces. "If you're not here in full support of Emmeline, you need to leave."

They roll their eyes and trot out, relieved mutters littering the air in their wake.

"Mr. Afford," the officiant cries out. "But you can't-"

"This is her wedding as much as it is mine." With a broad sweep of his arm, he motions toward his side. "I have my friends and supporters here. It's only fair that she does as well." Looking down at me, he gives me a soft smile. "Don't worry, Princess. My friends may be a bit rough around the edges, but what's mine is yours. They'll take you in just as well as any born family."

I don't even have to look over at them to feel the outpouring of love. When I do hazard a glance, new tears form in my eyes, blurring the sight. All of them beam at me, nodding as they welcome me into their clan. Perhaps I'm not so alone after all. Perhaps with them, I can have the family I've always wanted.

"You both have your rings?"

"Yes," we say in unison.

Branson extends his hand, a gentle, welcoming smile on his face. To think I picked out a ring to match him, and he ended up being the one I'm marrying. A part of me wonders if this is, indeed, fate.

It looks perfect on him, as if it was always meant to rest there. With a growl of satisfaction, he turns it this way and that, looking it over. "I love it. Ready for yours?"

The moment he opens his palm, I gasp. "It's gorgeous," I breathe. "Stunning. I- I don't understand. It's so much more elegant than any of the ones for you. If I had known, I would have-"

He holds up his hand. "Now, now. None of that. I think this is a perfect ring for me. I don't know what others they had, but I probably would have chosen this. You did well."

His praise is a balm to my soul, allowing me to settle for a moment. As he slides the ring on my finger, I can't help but marvel at the delicate band and the rows of diamonds surrounding the princess cut. Just like him, I don't think I can picture a better ring.

"At this point, it is your choice if you kiss or not, but-"

Before the officiant can finish, Branson slides his hand across my cheek and into my hair. Gripping it ever so gently, he pulls me forward. Even if I want to resist him, I find that I can't. Besides, what's the harm in one little kiss?

It's not like his lips will rob me of my virginity. But even as his mouth brushes over mine, I know it's a mistake. Arousal flares through my body, hot and heavy, robbing me of my breath. My nipples ache as he crushes me to him, grinding my body against his.

I never want it to stop. This is nothing like the stolen kisses I had as a child. This is erotic, charged, and the most adult thing I've ever done. Besides the butt plug, that is.

Unfortunately, the more I think about the girls I stupidly called my friends, the more I realize it was all a lie. No doubt they were only sort of kind to me because of my status. They certainly weren't friends enough for the Governing Body to have them standing next to me today.

His hands roam over my shoulders and back as if he's memorizing my curves, drawing me back out of my brain and into the present. Owning me, possessing me, robbing me of the ability to think. When he finally breaks off the kiss, I wobble for a moment, unsure if I'm going to collapse or not. But he's right there to scoop me back up into his arms.

"Well then, bride, let's say we get you acquainted with your new home."

My gut clenches at his words. A new home means a new bed. It means being alone in the house with a man, a man who very clearly desires me. How am I supposed to hold out when his very scent demands I strip down and allow him to have his way?