Page 3 of Revealed

“Yes, Mama,” I say in a whisper.

“You can’t fight this, baby.” The tears escape her eyes before she reaches the end of her sentence. “Evander Rose isn’t a man to trifle with. He’s dangerous. To disrupt this union to his son could mean death for us all. If only to prove a point.”

My gaze tilts up, attempting to keep the tears at bay. I pull ina deep breath, filling my lungs with as much air as I can hold before pushing it out in a long stream. Evander Rose, father of my betrothed, Ashton Rose. The Rose family’s reputation precedes them, and not in a good way. Evander rules his territory with an iron fist, and his son Ashton is set to take it over. Ashton is said to be even more ruthless than his father. Behind his back they call him “Murderous Maniac”. This is who my father is perfectly okay with giving me away to. A wave of anguish moves through my body with the thought of how meaningless my life has become.

“I know, Mama. I won’t cause any trouble for anyone. Speak when spoken to, produce an heir, and stay out of the way. You’ve been a shining example,” I snap, doing exactly what I was trying to avoid.

That last bit was out of my mouth before my teeth could catch it. I want to kick myself as more tears trail down her cheeks, faster than she is able to catch them. Quickly she dabs at her face with a handkerchief, restoring her perfect appearance.

I snatch her hand up in mine, “Sorry, Mama. I know you did everything you could for me. This isn’t something that I could’ve avoided or that you could’ve protected me from.”

“You can still have a life, Franny.” Her hands are cool against my cheeks. “Find happiness where you can get it. Grab hold and don’t let go.” Her voice holds resolve that I haven’t seen in her since the night we found out I was being married away. I wonder where my mother found her happiness, all these years, living in this environment.

There’s a brisk knock on the door interrupting our conversation. It swings open without waiting for a response, and my father enters the room, shoulders back and eyes assessing. While my thick hair and hazel eyes come from my mother, my height and high cheekbones come from George Eden. Most ofthe time he doesn’t acknowledge my mother and I, at least not until he is demanding obedience.

“The Rose family’s ready to get started.” His gaze appraises me before he gives one nod of his head. “She’ll do. Let’s get this ceremony over with. Don’t keep us waiting.”

He turns, leaving the room with no other words to give the only bloodline he and my mother were able to produce. I stand, running my hands down my white double breasted dress suit as my mother situates the shoulder-length veil. We don’t utter another word as we follow my father downstairs to his office, my makeshift wedding chapel.

My roommates in college would sometimes talk about their dream weddings and meeting the loves of their lives. Those were conversations that I steered clear of. Marriage has always meant something different in my world, and it was never anything I daydreamed about. A true love match wouldn’t be enough for my father to hand over his only bargaining chip so easily.

My mother and I tuck ourselves into a corner of the office as my father returns to the conversation that was paused when he fetched us. Evander Rose stands by the large oak desk speaking in hushed tones with a large man I assume is security. An officiant is present, having the honor of binding this forsaken matrimony. He stands by the fireplace with a pleasant smile tilting his lips, not reading the room and the emotionless expressions painted on nearly every face. I continue to take in the people gathered, while simultaneously wishing I could disappear into the walls.

My eyes land on the Murderous Maniac himself, only tofind him watching me with a narrow glare. Ashton looks exactly like his father, but younger. Hidden behind the short veil, I allow myself to study the man I’m about to tie myself to. He’s one of the taller men in the room, with a lean build and dark brown skin. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, almost black, cold and assessing. There’s a predatory stillness to the way he holds himself. Like a cobra ready to strike. His study of me is interrupted by a short redhead to his right that gently elbows him, grabbing his attention. I release a trapped breath at the relief of no longer being under his scrutiny.

I study the man that freed me from Ashton’s gaze. His skin is fair, with freckles covering most of it, his hair gelled stylishly. There’s warmth to his features, almost welcoming if you look past the tightness in his shoulders. I don’t allow my gaze to linger on the redhead for long.

Movement at the end of the line catches my attention as I watch yet another man take in every inch of the room. Security. The clenching and unclenching of his jaw paired with the slight narrowing of his eyes gives him away. When his eyes connect with mine, my breath catches. He stands a couple inches taller than Ashton. Where my groom is lean, this man packs a bit more muscle. He has a low-cut fade, trimmed to perfection. His medium-dark complexion is similar to mine. I watch as his gaze rakes down my body, taking me in with skeptical eyes. For the second time since entering this room, I’m thankful for the veil.

The silence of the room is broken as the officiant clears his throat, pulling all attention towards himself.

“Shall we proceed?” His tone is warm.

Evander looks annoyed with the interruption but waves a hand to my father, giving him permission to leave their conversation. My father snaps his fingers towards my mother and I, making my cheeks flush. The embarrassment quicklyevaporates, fiery anger taking its place as I look over to catch the smirk on Ashton’s mouth. I glance at the sexy bodyguard to find his brows drawn in, eyes drilling a hole into my father’s head.

Ashton and I move to stand in front of the officiant, both our feet dragging in the desire to delay this union, but both bound by duty. The officiant begins to speak and I barely pay attention. Instead, I take in the man that I’m expected to spend the rest of my days with. He would be handsome if I didn’t know the stories of his love for torture. I don’t allow myself to be scared. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that these men don’t respect women who cower, even if that’s what they think they want. As I recite my vows to Ashton, I make a silent vow to myself.

This man will not break me.

All too soon, Ashton is raising the veil over my head, and we lock eyes for the first time as the officiant encourages him to kiss his bride. I don’t miss the way his brows raise as he takes in my unobstructed face for the first time, but he quickly recovers. He leans in to kiss me, and I stand stiff as a board when his lips touch mine. It’s over before I know it and when he pulls back there's determination in the eyes that were once blank.

“Take Francesca back to the airfield. We have business to handle before traveling home.”

Ashton throws the demand at the security guard, fully dismissing me in order to join our fathers in the sitting area of the office. Not that I was expecting wedding pictures or cake cutting, but it’s so jarring how my life changed in mere moments without much acknowledgement. I’m just supposed to continue life as usual, moving from one owner to the next.

The bodyguard steps toward me, preparing to usher us awaylike a good puppet. His body hides the reaction I have to my new husband’s demand as mother grabs my arm, jerking me so hard my teeth click together. We barely make it into the hallway, the door just snicking closed, when she spins on her heel to face me. The tears are back in her eyes, but her jaw is set with determination.

“Tamper down that fiery spirit, Franny. I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt.” Her eyes soften. I know she means well, but her cowering to their will angers me.

“I’ll be good, Mama,” I say, appeasing her for the moment.

My hope is that my lie will bring her comfort because as of now, my life is solely about survivalmyway. She kisses each of my cheeks softly, taking in my face before exiting down the hall, most likely to find solace in a bottle of wine.

“Shall we?” a deep voice thick with a Louisiana accent pulls my attention back to the bodyguard. I honestly forgot he was still here. “We’re parked in the driveway out front, and your items have been loaded for the trip.”

He speaks to me like an equal, asking if I’m ready instead of demanding. I simply nod my head and move through my childhood home for the last time with this stranger at my back, feeling nothing. Once we’re outside, I notice the convoy of black SUVs lining our driveway.

“Was my new husband frightened to travel through our territory?” That has to be the only explanation for this much security.