Chapter 18

I’ve married a stranger.

The thought reverberates in my head as I stare at my husband , chatting with Charles, whom I’ve met a few times in the past, and his friends near the fully stocked bar during our dinner reception in the Hyacinth ballroom at The Orchid. True to form, he has declined a public speech and has told the wedding planner he’s only staying for one hour.

Of that one hour, forty minutes have elapsed, and he hasn’t spent a single one with me other than to eat a quick dinner in silence.

My heart twists as I stare at his handsome silhouette—dark hair carefully swept up, jaw clean shaven, his black silk tux fitted over his tall frame like a glove. He’s playing with a large ring on his finger. I saw it earlier at the church and marveled at the craftsmanship. It must be a family heirloom.

He looks composed, every inch the frigid billionaire the press calls him, not the man who almost had a panic attack in the church. My heart squeezes at the memory—the fear in his eyes, the helplessness. I’m extremely glad I could help him out of it.

I sigh, missing the charming man from the race. In fact, if I weren’t at the race myself, I’d question whether or not I had ever seen that side of him.

But then, there was that kiss, when the priest said he may kiss the bride.

The searing kiss that reminded me of that night at the race. The electricity sizzling through me when he ravaged my mouth, when he felt like the soulful man at the pier .

I miss Silas.

Snap out of it, Belle. This has never been anything more than an arranged marriage or a marriage of convenience. Get what you need from it and get out.

Squaring my shoulders, I tear my gaze away from him and scan the beautifully decorated ballroom befitting a royal wedding. Towering centerpieces of roses, crystal lamps and chandeliers light up the space in a soft glow.

Millie is waltzing with Ryland on the dance floor, the two lovebirds acting much more like bride and groom than me and Maxwell. Grace and Steven are taking a picture in front of the feature wall covered with wisteria and millions of fairy lights.

It looks like a wedding among the literal stars.

“Congratulations, Belle,” a quiet voice murmurs.

I turn toward Cole, who is dressed in a gray suit, his blond hair appearing gold in the dim lighting.

“Thank you. I’m glad you could come today.”

“You look beautiful.” His voice catches and pain flashes in his eyes.

I force out a smile and there must be something in my expression because he steps closer, far closer than any friend would in normal circumstances.

Leaning in, he whispers, his voice ardent in my ear, “I told myself I wasn’t going to say anything, but then I saw you today and I’ve never seen you look so miserable before.”

Blinking, I look away from his inquisitive stare, and he takes it as a sign to continue. “I’ve never told you this, but I’ve seen this look on the face of someone I cared about before.”

My eyes snap back to his. He’s never told me much about his family or love life before. “W-What happened to her?”

“Her husband killed her.”

The four quiet words shake me to the core. “What? ”

Cole gives me a sad smile. “I should’ve done more for her—she looked just like you after she got married, sad…miserable, like she made a mistake. All the red flags I ignored because she told me she was fine.”

He takes my hand. “I’m not saying this to scare you, but I told myself then I wouldn’t stand by and do nothing again. I-I’m sure you know I like you, Belle. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and kind. And if you were happy tonight, I’d keep my mouth shut and drown my sorrows at the open bar.”

Wetting my lips, I try to wrench my hand from him, but his grip tightens. “Cole, this is inappro—”

“Hear me out. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Belle, you deserve more. You deserve so much more than standing in the middle of your reception with tears in your eyes while your husband ignores you. You deserve more than him . Anyone but him.” There’s a hard edge to his voice I’ve never heard him use before.

My eyes burn at his words. How is it my feelings are obvious to others but not to the one man I can’t stop thinking about?

Dammit.

“Just say the word. You don’t even need to be with me, and I’ll take you away. Anywhere you want. Belle…Belle, just look at me.” Cole pulls my hand and I look up at him.

Shaking my head, I twist my lips in what I hope is a convincing smile. “We’re only friends, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. It’s my wedding day and I’m happy.”

“No. Bullshit. Your smile is fake, you don’t look hap—”

“Get your hands off my wife .”

His low, growly voice courses through my body like a caress. I feel his imposing presence behind me.

Cole’s eyes harden and fill with a hatred so cold, I almost shiver. He stares at Maxwell, who’s standing so close I can feel his body heat transferring to mine.

I tug my hand out of Cole’s clutches and move back, just a smidgen, into the hard body of my husband .

Maxwell curls his arm possessively around my waist, his fingers kneading my stomach like a brand, and my core clenches at this blatant display of ownership.

Cole’s eyes snag on the movement, his throat working as he swallows. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he extends his hand. “I’m Cole Whelan, Belle’s good friend from the shelter she volunteers at.”

“Maxwell Anderson, her husband .”

My useless heart skips a beat at his words.

Maxwell grips Cole’s hand, the whites of his knuckles showing, and the men stare at each other for a few seconds, the tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.

An old man in a tux—I think he works with the family—steps up beside Maxwell and glares at Cole.

Cole’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring, and he turns to me. “It appears I’m not welcome here. But Belle, remember what I said. You deserve more.”

Without another word, he spins around and stalks away, the old man quickly following, clearly escorting him out of the ballroom.

Maxwell breathes heavily behind me and I finally turn and look at him. His slate eyes are almost obsidian and his lips twitch in barely restrained anger.

He leans in and seethes, “Is this how it’s going to be between us, Belle? A few hours married and you’re already cavorting with other men?”

Indignation chars my insides. “ Cavorting? What are you, ancient? He’s my friend, Maxwell. I’m allowed to have friends.”

“He doesn’t look at you like a friend.”

“You’re being an idiot.”

“And you aren’t holding up your end of our bargain. Or have you already forgotten our vows at the church,” he sneers, his eyes cold.

I raise my hand and take a breath. “I won’t stand here and let you accuse me of something I haven’t done. If you have a problem with our arrangement, you never should’ve offered or agreed to it in the first place. So please, take your surly attitude and shove it!”

He steps toward me and I find myself backing up slowly until I hit the wall by the ballroom doors.

My pulse quickens as I lift my head up to look at him. I won’t cower underneath him.

“Our deal is for one year and one heir minimum. I don’t want to have to do a paternity test when you get pregnant.”

My mouth drops open and I reach up to deliver a well-deserving slap.

He catches my hand in mid-air as he leans down, so close I can smell the mint in his breath mixing with the heady sandalwood of his cologne.

My traitorous body heats and my core clenches.

Maxwell’s eyes sweep down my face to my chest and I curse myself for wearing a silk wedding gown, so thin I’m sure he’s seeing my nipples saluting him.

“You’re turned on,” he rasps in my ear.

I shake my head. No, no way.

“So, this is how my wife likes it in the bedroom? To be dominated? Degraded?” Another slivery whisper and my pussy pulses…very much against my wishes.

My lips part as I stare into his dark eyes, his pupils blown. I finally find my voice. “In your dreams, Maxwell.”

He chuckles, his low laughter holding no mirth. “You have no idea how depraved my dreams are.” He leans in, and my eyes flutter shut. I can almost taste him—his passion, his darkness, the addiction that is Maxwell Anderson.

But the kiss never comes.

I open my eyes, finding his irises a chilly shade of gray once more, a pulse threatening to burst from the vein in his forehead.

He whispers in my ear, “Too bad. You’ll never find out what my dreams are about. Because they’ll never be for you.”

“You bastard,” I growl.

Spinning around, I take a few steps toward the lobby, eager to escape this domineering, insane man.

He grabs my wrist and whirls me around before letting go.

“I’m not done with you.”

I snap back, “But I am, Maxwell. I. Am. Done. And now, I’m going to the bathroom to get away from my deranged husband, unless you want to control that behavior too. Now, may I leave your presence, Your fucking Majesty? ”

I don’t even feel guilty for cursing at this asshole. This devil in a tux.

He fumes, a muscle pulsing in his jaw as he steps back and mockingly sweeps his hand out and cocks his head. “Anything for my queen.”

He stalks off and I watch him disappear into the crowd. I touch the aching spot on my chest, right under the locket nestled safely under the neckline of my gown.

What did I get myself into?