Page 19 of Unchained

“Wait, you were there?” I ask as I turn to face her.

She nods. “Don’t ask. There was a communication mix-up. Ace was told family party, not bar turned strip club.”

I chew on my lip. “And how did my future husband react?”

If I had to guess, having met him twice, both in very stressful circumstances, I’d say Colten Sterling despises being the center of attention; therefore, surprise parties are a no-go. I’d say he would slap on a smile for his family and drink.

And I get the impression he’d have more than one dance.

“Uh. He wasn’t too amused at the start. Parties aren’t his thing. But he, uh… got into the spirit eventually.”

I arch a brow. “You mean he got hard looking at the women dancing for him?”

Her eyes go wide. “Ew. That’s my brother-in-law. I don’t wanna know what gets him going. But I’m not sure it was those girls.”

I swallow. This is the one area of reading people I am bad at. I’ve fooled around. I’ve got close. But I know my place and what it means to my father.

Harper glances behind me, as someone knocks on the door. Three heavy raps.

My stomach sinks. “My father is here; I’ll meet you at the church.”

She smiles and then brushes past me, nodding to my father before running down the stairs.

“You’re not ready,” he states, walking in and closing the door with a soft thud.

“I have to put my dress on.”

His eyes track over me, stopping on the tattoos on my collarbones. He hates them, every single one. It’s probably the only thing I’ve ever done to defy him, and continue to do. I own my skin. I like the pain. So I take the punishment for it.

“Have they not created some make-up to cover those?” he grimaces.

“No.”

Silence fills the room. “This is where you’ll be living? What is there, two bedrooms?”

“Three, technically. One is an office.”

He chuckles. “This is punishment in itself. Let alone marrying in the wrong church.”

I sigh. “You know full well it’s easier for me to marry in his church than him in ours. It’s all a deal, father.”

The vein in his forehead pops. “Your mother would turn in her grave.”

“Hmm.” Is all I can muster.

I bite my tongue. My mother would turn in her grave over him and who he became after she died. Me marrying in a non-catholic church is the least of her worries.

I put on a smile. “When I get married, for real, I’ll do it right. Just for you. Let me marry and divorce first.”

He huffs. “Divorce? You mean widow.”

A chill runs through me; I don’t flinch. I don’t even understand why I care about being a widow at thirty.

I don’t think this reaction is about me.

“Get ready. I’ll see you in church, assuming we don’t go up in flames stepping foot in there.”

I don’t respond. There is no savior for what we do, although my father truly believes there is.