Fuck. Asher turned around, seeing both tears and shock in Remy’s eyes. Beside her, her bridesmaids; the blond-haired woman was Boone’s fiancée, Peyton, and the dark-haired one glaring was Boone’s sister, Kinsley. They were both wearing light purple bridesmaids’ dresses and holding Remy’s hands tightly.
“What the hell, Asher?” Kinsley spat.
Peyton’s gaze darted from Asher to Boone; she was obviously in a state of confusion, as was the rest of the crowd. With Damon nowhere near Remy, Asher’s head centered again, heart slowed. He took in the minister, Remy’s friends in the pews. Shit.
“Asher,” Remy snapped, stepping forward, giving him those hard eyes that used to make him grab her and kiss her.
He hated when she was mad at him. He sighed, desperate to take her in his arms and take all this shit away. “We don’t have to do this here,” he told her.
“Tell me,” she said firmly, tears in her eyes. “What is going on?”
To keep the conversation private, Asher stepped closer, becoming more aware of her trembling body. His fingers twitched to grab her, bring her close, and keep her safe. “This man isn’t Damon Lane. His name is Kyle Fanning. He’s a con man who has swindled more than three million out of his past three wives, all under different aliases.”
Kinsley slowly turned to Damon. “You motherfucker.”
Gasps came from the pews. The minister looked shell-shocked, his skin ashen.
“What? No. You’ve got to be wrong,” Remy said, her gaze darting from Asher to Damon over her shoulder. “This can’t be true, Damon.”
Asher glanced back and found Damon’s head hanging, shoulders slumped.
“My inheritance,” Remy said, blinking rapidly.
For every passing moment that Asher had been thinking about himself, suddenly all he thought of was her and the pain crossing her expression. “I’m so sorry, Remy,” Asher said, reaching for her.
She took a step back, horror flashing across her face, and yelled at Damon, “No. I’m sorry I believed that you loved me.” She looked at the crowd in the pews. “And I’m sorry I wasted all your time.” She took one final look at Asher, her heartbreak seeping into the air around them, and then she grabbed up her dress and ran down the aisle.
Asher cursed and then chased after her, meeting her by the big oak tree outside. He grabbed her arm. “Remy.”
She spun around, tears floodin
g her face. “Why did it have to be you?” she yelled at him. “Out of anyone who could have stopped the wedding, why did it have to be you?”
He moved closer, pulled by something he never could control. “Because this is what I do,” he told her honestly.
“Hurt me?”
The bitterness, the pain, it all took his breath away. Because right now he knew that he’d caused this. He could have made her happy all those years ago. Instead he’d crushed her. “No, Remy,” he said gently, “I protect you.”
Her chin quivered. Then the dam opened.
Before she could stop him, and needing this far more than she probably needed him, he gathered her close. She shook in his arms and wept, years of pain bleeding from her soul, while he pressed his lips against the top of her head.
But then, as quick as she came, she was gone.
“What am I doing?” she gasped, yanking herself from his grip. “Stay away from me,” she bit out. “Everyone just leave me alone!”
“Remy,” he called after her, letting his arms fall to his sides, catching the deep-rooted hurt in her gaze before she turned away. It occurred to him then that even though he knew he did the right thing by stopping the wedding today, he’d forever be remembered as the guy who broke her heart, not once, but twice.