“In honor of my soon to be English daughter-in-law, I thought we’d eat a traditional British roast dinner,” My father announces, looking at Lilly with far more than fatherly affection in his leer. My hand grasps hers, rubbing her knuckles as I bring it to my thigh and give him a death glare. “Are you pleased, Darling?”
I swear if that cunt uses her last name like that one more fucking time…
I don’t realize that I’ve squeezed her hand tightly until she squeezes back, so I loosen my grip, turning to dip my head in apology at her. She gives me a weak smile that damn near breaks my black heart.
“T–thank you,” she whispers, looking quickly down at her left hand, which is still in mine.
I let the sounds of everyone beginning to eat wash over me as I finger the sparkling antique jewel that now sits on her ring finger, the diamonds glinting in the candlelight. It’s an antique piece, mid-eighteenth century, and has been in my family since that time. A Burmese ruby and rose cut diamond sit side by side in a heart shape, set in rose gold, with a crown of three smaller diamonds sitting atop them. On the side in enamel is the motto UNIS À JAMAIS which means ‘united forever’ in French. It suits her delicate hand, and a fissure of certainty runs through me, like she was always meant to wear it.
“Did you know that this ring has been worn by a Vanderbilt woman since the mid-eighteenth century?” I ask her, looking up from our hands to watch her reaction, drinking in every movement of her beautiful face.
“It’s stunning,” she whispers back, looking at her hand as if it’s strange to have the weight of so much history on her finger.
“The story goes that several times great-granddaddy won it from a visiting Russian Tsar in a card game.” A rare smile lifts my lips at the memory of my grandmother telling Luc and I the story as children. “Apparently, it belonged to his favorite courtesan, who threw a spectacular tantrum in the middle of the party when he lost it, where, much to the amusement of everyone present, the Tsar threw her over his knee and spanked her until she begged for mercy.”
I watch as her eyebrows raise to her hairline, then drop as she sharply looks up at me when it dawns on her what I just said.
“You gave me a whore’s ring?” she asks, lifting one eyebrow and giving me a scathing look.
God, she’s exquisite when she’s angry at me. It takes almost more strength than I have not to give her one of my signature smirks. I lean in, so close that my lips brush her ear as I whisper in them.
“You gonna make me throw you over my knee again, Princess? In front of all these people? Naughty minx.” Then I nip her earlobe for good measure, relishing the hiss of breath that leaves her lips.
My smirk is fully in place as I pull away, although it drops slightly when I catch the look of pure unfiltered lust in her eyes.Fuck, that backfired. We both swallow hard, but luckily the sound of silverware on glass breaks us from our trance.
“Another toast!” my father cries out, and I turn to see him raise his champagne flute in the air. We all follow suit, waiting for him to speak like good little lapdogs. It makes me feel sick, following him like this. One day soon, just a little longer, and he’ll be the one following orders. “To the beautiful Lilly, and my son, Asher. May you have a long and happy life together, a fruitful union...” He pauses here and gives her another lecherous look that makes my hand tighten around my glass to almost breaking point. “And above all else, continue the legacy that is Black Knight Corporation, as your heirs will after you.”
Everyone raises their glasses higher, a chorus of “Here, here!” sounding around the table as we all drink the bubbling liquid that costs thousands per bottle, but tastes like nothing but ashes in my mouth.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
LILLY
The rest of dinner—orchestrated bullshit more like—flies by, but I don’t taste a thing of the delicious-looking meal, too busy trapped in my own head. It’s not that I don’t want to marry Ash, in fact, the idea fills me with an intense feeling of satisfaction. And there’s something almost relieving about belonging to someone officially, body and soul.
But what about the other three pieces of my soul? The other three men that own my body? How can I be happy being the wife of one, and not the others? We are all entwined until there is no separating us, will this change things?
“Ash,” Julian says, his voice finally breaking through my turbulent thoughts. “Why don’t you take your lovely fiancée back to Highgate? Jax and Kai can go with you.” Why not Loki too? I briefly glance at the cuntwaffle but decide not to raise a ruckus since the guys don’t seem to be too worried about it.
I hate the way he orders everyone around, tells us all what to do, and expects us to jump and do it. I can see that Ash feels the same, his hands clenched into fists under the table, his eyes full of silver fire. Even so, he gets up, placing his napkin beside our dessert plates, his chocolate brownie untouched like mine.
“Shall we?” he asks in a low voice, holding his hand out for me to take.
I give him a brief smile, hating that I should be ecstatically happy, but am not. Most women are, I believe, when an impossibly beautiful man, who they love, proposes. Taking his hand, I, too, get out of my seat, feeling a gentle touch on my left hand. Turning to look down, I meet piercing blue eyes in a soft, round face.
“Congratulations, Lilly dear,” Janette says softly, giving me a smile full of warmth. “It was wonderful to meet you.”
“You too,” I whisper, a lump in my throat, squeezing her fingers back briefly before letting them go and turning to face Ash once more.
I hear the others scrape back their chairs, Loki, Kai, and Jax getting to their feet as we walk past, Ash’s hand on my bare back a soothing warmth.
“Not you, Loki,” Julian’s voice cuts across the noise of our departure. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
Ash tenses up next to me, the hand on my lower back going completely still as we pause and I look back at Julian, then Loki who’s jaw clenches.
“Just Loki?” Ash asks his father, whose face darkens.
“I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, boy,” Julian replies through gritted teeth, all sense of joviality gone.