Page 8 of Finale (North Security)
I grant him a demure smile. “You are handsome. And rich. And titled. It did make me wonder why you wanted a wife you barely even know.”
Arranged marriages are common enough among our friends. They aren’t announced that way, but when two wealthy families join together, it’s often planned. It’s not like they randomly meet on Tinder. But the bride and groom do meet beforehand. They’ve known each other for years, usually. They can both object early and discreetly if it’s clear they won’t get along.
This? This doesn’t happen.
“I know what I want. That’s not going to change.”
“Not even if I snore?”
His lips quirk. “Do you?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never slept with anyone else.” As soon as the words are out I wish I could call them back. My cheeks heat. I didn’t intend to confess that to him—and certainly not in a church. Then again, maybe he thinks I meant sleeping.
The curiosity in his eyes proves otherwise. “Interesting.”
“You didn’t ask.” It’s a little much to assume that a young woman is a virgin in these modern times, but he’s technically royalty. If there’s been a request for verification of my virginity, my mother would have had the family doctor between my legs before I could blink.
“It wasn’t a requirement.”
The priest is becoming louder, and I sense that we’re getting close to our vows. Close to the moment when the plain gold band slides on to my finger, joining the five-carat diamond that was delivered by armed couriers six weeks ago. “What are the requirements then?”
“Honor and obey me.” There’s challenge in his eyes. He expects me to balk.
I’m considering it. His lineage may go back centuries, but I live in the twenty-first century. Women expect independence and autonomy. I expect those things, too.
Then again, I can hardly feign surprise. A man who wanted a modern marriage wouldn’t approach a woman with an offer that included a dollar amount.
No, I knew he’d be traditional.
And I was groomed to be the perfect society wife.
Francisco's expression turns intent. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”
Do I? I thought so, but I have no time to ask. No voice left.
The priest’s voice booms between us. “Francisco Absolon Castille, will you have this woman to be your wife in holy matrimony? Will you comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he says, loud enough that his voice carries to the rafters.
“And you, Isabella Marie Bradley, will you have this man to be your husband in holy matrimony? Will you honor him, obey him, and keep him in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”
Blood thunders through my veins. This one moment will change my life forever. I will honor him. I will obey him. That’s what my family needs, even if my knees feel like jelly under my dress. He waits for me with the patience of the moon. “I do.”
Triumph shines in his dark gaze.
The priest says a few more words before pronouncing us man and wife. “You may kiss the bride,” he says.
“Marie?” Francisco murmurs. My middle name.
I feel lightheaded. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Or maybe it’s the corset. Or maybe it’s the fact that he touches his knuckles to my chin, lifting my face to his. “My grandmother’s name.”
His head descends.
My eyes flutter closed. In the darkness, I can pretend that no one else is in the room. There’s only empty space—him and me, alone.
His lips brush mine. Heat licks through my body. His mouth glances over mine, again and again. It’s not perfunctory, this kiss. Not a form of punctuation or even a command.
It’s a conversation, much like the murmured one we had before our vows. He asks questions in this kiss and receives answers. My breath stutters. If the kiss in the boardroom was a greeting, this one is an intimate conversation over candlelight.
Light presses between my eyelids. We’re not really alone. Everyone’s watching us. Everyone’s waiting. It feels like the entire cathedral holds its breath. We should stop. I can hear my mother’s voice in the back of my mind. There’s probably some arcane etiquette rule for how long a couple can kiss at the altar. Whatever it is, we’ve already gone over the limit.
Francisco is in no hurry. One hand holds me at my waist, keeping me steady on my heels. The other cradles my jaw. I am both cherished and dominated in this moment. I both honor and obey as he coaxes my lips apart. His tongue presses inside for a small, possessive lick. I gasp, and he relents as if he was waiting for my true acquiescence.
Then he leads me down the aisle. I’m blind to the faces on either side. Somehow I manage a bright smile. It’s his arm that supports me all the way down.
