Chapter 17

Striding down the side aisle quickly, I strain a polite smile at the hordes of people gathered in St. James Cathedral, my family’s parish. I feel like an exotic animal on display, a thousand pairs of eyes trained on me.

There’s no way I’m walking down the center aisle until I have to. As I pass by the wrought iron votive stands, the flames flicker and dance, casting ghostly shadows on the marble walls.

It’s a chilly October evening. The skies outside are overcast, not a ray of sunlight to be seen. The bluish daylight pierces through the stained-glass windows and projects a kaleidoscope of muted colors against the walls and vaulted ceilings in this large, gothic-styled church.

I’m getting married today.

To the woman who has bewitched me like no other, for reasons I can’t explain.

I haven’t been able to get Belle out of my mind since that fateful night, and ever since I’ve decided to marry her, it’s been slowly driving me insane. Even though I made it a point not to see her since our negotiations at The Menagerie, I still remember how I felt with her that night at the race—the feeling of coming home, of finding something I didn’t know I’d been searching for. Then there was the way my body came alive in her presence at The Menagerie.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

An excited murmur travels through the crowd gathered here—the event of the year, as I’ve heard the wedding being described.

It’s a nightmare for me, in more ways than one .

I’d rather have a quiet ceremony at a small chapel and be done with this…arrangement.

I can only hope God is looking down upon me today and blessing me with the strength to carry on, to survive whatever is in my future…my loveless future with the woman who has inconveniently awakened my heart.

Banking a left in front of the altar, I stand in the center next to my brothers.

“Waited until the last minute, huh?” Ryland murmurs as he straightens the cuffs of his tux. “You know, you don’t have to do this.”

I stiffen and shake my head. “I won’t change my mind.” I glance at the pews filled with people. “I hate these crowds. I’m sweating through this tux.”

“You look fine, Your Majesty,” Rex quips from his position. “You’re probably breaking many hearts by getting married today.”

I roll my eyes.

Ethan snorts and chimes in, “But never fear, Maxwell. Mr. C over here is here to heal those broken hearts one at a time or fuck, maybe even several at a time. I think he already got five phone numbers when he was walking up the aisle.”

Rex scoffs. “Going back to the alphabet, huh? Not everyone can be as charming as me. Green isn’t a good color on you, D.”

“Like I want—”

“Boys, we’re in public.” A faint scent of roses sifts to my nose as Lana wraps me in a hug. “You look good today, Maxwell. I’m so proud to have you as my brother. And…you can do this.”

I nod, and a lump forms in my throat—my little sister, the baby who used to follow us around when we were growing up, is now a beautiful woman and is trying to console me.

Ryland clasps me on the shoulder.

Despite how I’ve been telling them I’ve made peace with everything in my life—the curse, the tragedies, my role in the family—they sense how difficult this is for me .

And they don’t even know about my feelings for Belle.

No. I grit my teeth. There are no feelings. Silas had feelings for Anna in a beautiful dream that was a fog-filled mirage.

Maxwell Angus Silas Anderson has no feelings.

“We’re always here for you,” Lana murmurs before pulling away and taking a seat in the front row next to Dad, Old Morris, Agnes, our housekeeper, and a few close staff members who are like family to us.

I scan the crowded cathedral, mentally thanking the wedding planner for adhering to the no cell phone and photography rules and see Charles laughing beside Steven in the second row, his gravelly voice traveling to my ears.

Adrian Scott, the infamous billionaire nicknamed The Shark, who is also Millie’s older brother, is sitting next to his wife, Emily, who happens to be Steven’s older sister. Emily flails her arms around, her face animated before she jabs Charles on the side, who mock scowls at her. But it’s Adrian’s gaze on Emily that has the lump in my throat growing in size.

It’s utter devotion and fascination, even though they have known each other for years and have been married for a few of them.

An endless thirst dries my mouth. I’ll never be able to have what they have.

Rolling my tight shoulders, I look away as the organist and string quartet strike up the soft opening notes for the bridal procession.

My palms grow sweaty and the air thins as the cathedral quiets.

I blow out one deep breath. And another.

The double doors open and a ray of light casting on the center aisle renders the bride in an otherworldly, ethereal glow.

I promptly lose my breath.

My heart hammers wildly inside my chest.

She’s wearing a long-sleeve gown that is modest, yet sexy, the silk draping over every delectable curve of her body. A swirling heat makes its way down my spine, chasing away the chills from earlier.

A silver jeweled chain peeks out from the modest neckline and I know she’s wearing the necklace I gave her .

I was approving the antiquities Lana planned to purchase for the upcoming charity gala at the estate when I saw the locket on the website. My breath stalled in my throat, and I knew no one else could have it…no one else other than Belle.

The music increases in volume as Belle glides down the aisle, her dad at her side. She stumbles but quickly recovers as she recognizes the enthralling melody of “Nessun Dorma,” the instrumental version, reverberating in the vast interior.

Her eyes widen, her gaze ensnaring mine, and a sharp current, so tangible I can almost see it, locks between us, the world fading into a blur of shadows and whispers.

In this civil, unemotional affair, the selfish man inside me couldn’t help but give Silas and Anna an ode of recognition with the song— our song —the one that began our story.

It’s fitting for the story of Silas and Anna to end with this aria.

Belle doles out a trembling smile, one I can see through the sheer long veil she has on as she continues walking up the aisle.

Toward me.

Adrenaline courses through my veins and I feel breathless. My fingers twitch at my sides.

Mine. Finally mine.

A strange voice screams inside my head and I fist my hands, making sure my nails dig into the flesh of my palms to the point of pain. Anything to keep me from bolting down the aisle, taking her hand, and running away.

Far, far away from here, from everything.

Her dad places her hand on mine.

My hand closes on hers automatically, the simple touch eliciting shivers down my spine and I hear her quick intake of breath.

I don’t look at her.

I don’t give her an ounce of compassion or camaraderie as we stand in front of the priest. My sanity is frayed at the edges as is .

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

The next hour passes by in a surreal blur and I feel the heat of the audience’s attention on me.

Don’t think about them. Don’t look at them.

I’m calm. I’m at peace. I accept myself.

“…join your hands and declare your consent before God and his Church,” the priest instructs.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my trousers before turning toward her and taking her hands in mine. Locking my jaw, I stare at her, not smiling, not yielding an ounce of warmth.

I can’t let her think this is anything more than a loveless arrangement.

The priest murmurs the next words to me as my throat tightens into a vise.

The church is silent—so quiet, I can hear a pin drop and the squeaking of shoes against the floors.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out other than my heavy, ragged breaths. My hands shake against hers as I stare helplessly into her soothing, tawny eyes. Wildflowers. Moors. Nature.

“I, Maxwell Angus Silas Anderson,” I begin, my voice a hoarse rasp, “t-take y-you, Annabelle Charlotte Law-McKenzie, t-to be my wife.”

Her hands tighten in mine as her lips part, a shuddering exhale escaping.

Blood rushes in my ears, and heat crawls up my neck. I feel the audience staring at me, their attentions foreboding and sinister, a monster waiting with bated breath for the moment to pounce and tear me into shreds.

“I promise t-to…” My breathing quickens, my lungs not working properly, and I see her beautiful face pinching at what she must be seeing on my face.

The beginning of a panic attack .

“I p-promise…” I try again, but the world swirls around me. I’m seasick on a sinking ship, staring helplessly at a wave threatening to capsize us at any second.

“You promise to be faithful to me,” she whispers, her fingers gently kneading my hands, loosening the tight muscles. “Look at me, Maxwell, just look at me. It’s only you and me.”

She steps closer, far closer than respectable in such a conservative setting, and angles us so I’m facing her and the altar only, the audience out of sight.

Belle lifts her hand, her fingers trembling as if to touch me, but she stalls mid-air, uncertainty in her features.

Closing my eyes, I lean toward her, resting my face on her outstretched palm, enjoying her warmth flowing to me, much like the night at the pier, before I succumbed to my desires and kissed her.

A soothing calm flows through my body after a few seconds of ripe tension and silence.

Opening my eyes, I clasp her free hand in mine and stare into those soulful, familiar eyes, the eyes I feel an undeniable kinship to, a deep yearning, a mysterious connection.

“I, Maxwell Angus Silas Anderson, take you, Annabelle Charlotte Law-McKenzie, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you.” My thumb caresses the back of her hand and she shivers, her mouth parted, and a heat simmers in my veins.

“In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you ,” I murmur, my voice rough to my ears—and for a moment, I forget about my promise to her, about the curse, about why we are standing here today, and from how she sways on her feet, her eyes dilated as they lock on to mine, I’m guessing she feels the same. “And to honor you all the days of my life.”

Her breath catches, a wet sheen appearing in her eyes. A clawing need digs into my chest and I swipe her tear away with my thumb. I want to ravish her, to push her away, to flay myself for causing the anguish on her elfin features .

Belle’s lips tremble before she murmurs, “I, Annabelle Charlotte Law-McKenzie, take you, Maxwell Angus Silas Anderson, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life.”

Fierce possession fires through me and I tug her closer so she’s a hairsbreadth away from me, half noticing the surprised gasps and murmurs from the clearly shocked audience.

The priest says something, and I barely notice Ryland walking up with the rings. I feel like I’m underwater; the words tumbling out of my mouth sounding muffled, the music of my heart and pulse overpowering everything else.

I only see her, my beautiful muse. Her large, familiar eyes, her soft, warm body, her heady scent of lilies and sweetness.

For the first time in my life, I don’t notice the crowds. The monster lurking inside me is abated. She grounds me.

“I pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride.”

In this moment, there is only one desperate need inside me.

To claim. To mark. To possess.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Snaking one arm around her waist, I pull her closer, so that every inch of our bodies touch. My other hand grips her nape, my fingers curling into her thick, dark strands, and I tug.

Her lips part in an erotic moan and I bend her backward and kiss those pouty red lips.

The lips that have haunted me, that have ruined me for anyone else.

I forget about the curse, the crowds, about how I vow to never kiss her again, about the Grim Reaper hovering nearby all my life.

She melts under my embrace as I pillage her mouth, a mad pulse hammering inside my ear, a burgeoning fire gathering in my loins. She gasps as she feels my hard cock digging into her stomach and a desperate desire awakens and I slide my tongue inside her mouth .

Her fingers dig into my neck, the pain only adding to the erotic kiss, which is much more sexual and intense than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.

Someone coughs in the background, but I barely notice. I taste, sample, and feast on her lips, needing her sweetness to survive. A shrill whistle and a few catcalls finally pierce the veil of lust and emotions.

Panting heavily, I haul her away from me, my hands dropping from her luscious body like I’ve been burned. My lungs heave in deep, rapid breaths, my muscles quaking with the need to haul her back to me and finish what we’ve started.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, her pale skin pink and mouth swollen, ravished by our kiss. She stares at me in shock.

And finally…finally, a thought enters my mind.

Fuck. She’s so doomed.