Chapter 19

Vance

Oh boy. I am slipping straight to hell with this girl. I worked too hard to getting into this business to fuck my way out of it now, but with her sleeping beside me, fully satiated from her orgasms last night, it's hard to remember my self-imposed policy against having sex with my clients.

Technically...her father is my client, not her.

No, I remind myself. I can't get inside her on a technicality like that. She's an extension of him. She's my fucking client too.

Besides, her wedding is in what? Three days? Which means I'll be dragged to all their events and shit, even if they don't want me there. There won't be time to fuck daddy's little princess on his dime.

"Hey." She stirs, arching her back and pushing her ass into my thigh.

I shake my head because she doesn't quit. From her first blink in the morning to the last at night, the girl thinks only of sex. Men don't even think about it as much as her; I'm convinced of it.

"Why are you up this early?" I ask. I haven't really slept. I think I dozed off for a few hours. Maybe.

"Rehearsal today. Don't you remember? I told you about it."

See? Fucking events. I think I'd remember if she told me that. Or maybe she mentioned it while I was blinded by horniness, which also makes me deaf, I guess.

"You didn't tell me that," I say, sticking to my guns on that. I'd remember if she'd said we had to be in front of her husband again.

Because God, I want to shoot him square in the face. Not even because she's marrying him, but because he's everything I hate about their world. The fact that they marry off people the way they do is fucking weird.

"Don't you know how weddings work?" she asks, sitting up in bed.

"Consensual ones? Yeah. Whatever this shit is? No."

* * *

I help her out of the car at the venue. My eyes catch on her, even though I saw her before we left. The falling sun's orange rays explode over her and mix with the vibrant red of her dress. She's stunning. I adjust the cuffs of my suit and rip my eyes from her before the family notices.

Isabella hooks her arm in mine, and we ascend the long walkway to a home which belongs to neither family. Staff meets us indoors and brings us to the backyard. Well, courtyard. Everything is surrounded by fancy mansion walls except this huge yard. So green and lush. It's like stepping into the fucking rainforest.

A tall wedding arch draped in sparkles and fabric stands in the center. I'm pretty sure it's decorated with actual diamonds. A walkway leads right to the ostentatious thing.

My eyes scan the area and land on the long table. Somehow it's expensive features still look like they belong beside the fucking Amazon. Two thrones—that's literally all I can describe them as—sit at the far end. For Mr. and Mrs., I'm sure.

God, it's infuriating. My first marriage was in the damn courthouse with a very inconvenienced judge. Our divorce was in front of the same judge. Something tells me these people don't divorce.

Her husband-to-be walks up and takes her from my arm with visible hatred. I really don't belong here, and he makes sure I know it. I feel like I belong here more than him, but whatever.

I sit down at the table with a strong fucking drink as I wait for the rest of the party to join us. Family shit I'm not meant to be privy to, I guess. They shouldn't worry. I don't want to be privy to shit.

Finally, the family comes together, and those who weren't at the last dinner look at me with a who-the-fuck-is-this-guy expression.

"This is Vance, the one I hired to watch over my little angel before her big day. Didn't want anything coming between this union," her father says to some confused faces.

The best part is I'm the one who could really get between this union by letting myself get between her legs. But that's neither here nor there.

Her husband scoffs. His brother scoffs louder. I down my drink and demand another as soon as those two take their places at the head of the table. In their fucking thrones.

I rub my finger along the rim of my glass and zone out as they talk about the intricacies of the ceremony. If I look at them, I'll get homicidal. I know it. I can feel it. Even his red tie matches her dress.

They fucking match.

"I've always wanted an outdoor wedding, ever since I was a kid. Right, Daddy?" Isabella looks at her father, but the word makes my spine snap to attention. She's saying it with the same dripping sensuality that she does at home.

Jesus, girl, not here. Not fucking here. I had to give up my gun at the door, and I'm sure none of them have given up theirs.

"It's..." Antonio slaps a bug off the table and throws his drink down like a petulant child. "It's not what I want. I would rather have it in my living room than out here."

"It's one day," his father says, trying to soothe him. "Happy wife, happy life, Tony. You'll learn that quickly."

The whole table laughs. Except me. These people are insufferable. Antonio is a baby. The wedding is dramatic and overly extravagant. But Isabella is right. It is beautiful out here.

Antonio drops his head into his hand. I want to reach over and strangle him. He's acting like he's getting married in a two-star hotel. Gasp.

My eyes meet hers, and both families disappear. It's me beside her instead of her husband. I imagine fucking her throat while I sit on that damn throne. Staring down at something as beautiful as the landscape out here. More so, even.

She throws me a flirty smirk, and my vision fills with the dicks around me again. The distance between us widens as I'm thrown back in my seat.

It's at that moment that I realize how much I wish I could be the one beside her. And that sucks.