“Perry! Take that scowl off your face!” Susan snaps.
Realizing that I am indeed scowling, I relax my features as best I can and smile as if I haven’t a care in the world while I continue to stand next to my radiant bride.
There is no denying she is absolutely beautiful today. Gorgeous. The nerves were affecting her earlier, when she walked down the aisle with her father, who didn’t look pleased.
But when does he ever look pleased?
Charlotte’s expression reminded me of someone who was being led to their death, and for a moment I forgot all about the asshole who showed up and focused on making Charlotte feel reassured. I touched her hand. Calmed her down.
And now I’m the one who’s ragged with nerves. Exhausted and needing a drink.
Seriously, I’m looking forward to getting fucked up at the reception.
Slowly, one by one, our wedding party is set free. Until it’s just me and my bride posing for photos as Susan directs us.
“Kiss her, Perry,” she demands and Charlotte turns toward me, her lips parted and ready, her expression expectant.
The kiss I deliver is simple. But the spark between us ignites, just as it’s done before, and unable to help myself, I kiss her again.
And again.
“Oh, that’s good,” Susan encourages, her shutter going off at a rapid pace. “You two are adorable.”
I pull away before I lose my head, noting the dazed expression on Charlotte’s face. She blinks, a faint smile curling her lips. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” is my immediate response, though it’s a lie.
I’m definitely angry. Not at her. Not completely. More like I’m mad at the situation. At being duped. At having someone show up unexpectedly. Someone older and potentially more powerful than I am.
As in, he may have more power over Charlotte. She chose him after all, while I was assigned to her.
Big difference.
Realizing quick that Susan will never stop photographing us, I finally put a stop to it. “We need to greet our reception guests.”
The disappointment on Susan’s face is clear, but she lets us go, which is a damn good thing because we’re paying her, for God’s sake. Taking Charlotte’s hand, we leave the gardens and head down the corridor toward the ballroom where our wedding reception is taking place. My steps are hurried, Charlotte’s two for my every one, and by the time we’re stopped in front of the closed double doors where the party is happening, Charlotte is out of breath, her breasts rising and falling with her every inhale and exhale.
I notice this, of course. Every piece of her intrigues me, and I think of her—yet again—naked and flushed and eager for me to be inside of her. I’d hoped for a repeat performance tonight. I may not have been on board for all of this marriage stuff at first, but now that we’re here, I deserve to take advantage of the perks to being married.
As in, having sex with this very sexy, desirable woman.
Again.
“Do I look all right?” she asks as she turns toward me.
She looks fucking perfect.
“You look fine,” I tell her instead, and I see the vague disappointment in her gaze.
Damn it, I don’t want to lay it on too thick. What if she’s already considering the many ways she could possibly escape our marriage? Escape me?
And what if she’s lying? This could all be a big show for my benefit—and our families. She acts like an innocent, virginal bride but we know the truth. She claims she wants to get away from her father, and I know he’s an asshole, but is she a willing participant in this game her family is playing with mine?
I suppose I could be nicer. Lay on the charm and encourage her that she wants to be with me instead of acting cold and indifferent. It’s our wedding day, for Christ’s sake. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Since when do I give in so easily?
I’m a Constantine, damn it. Enough with the pity party.