Page 24 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

sixteen

CASSIA

I’ve never been to a shotgun wedding. I imagine this is what it’s like. A bride. A groom. The minimum number of witnesses. All we’re missing is an angry dad with a gun.

Rose goes into the room first, leaving me in the hallway with my stomach doing somersaults. Even with how fast it’s been arranged, there’s been so much build up to this moment. Nerves flutter in my chest.

Breathe, Cassia, breathe .

I pinch my eyes shut and take deep breaths, filling my lungs with oxygen and steadying my racing heart. I step toward the room.

There’s no angry dad because Dad isn’t here to walk me down the aisle. The thought crashes into me and knocks the air out of me.

Grief holds my heart in its ironclad grip.

It’s crazy how fast it can overtake everything else.

One moment, all I’m worried about is making it to Mace, and the next, I’m overcome by sorrow that sinks into my marrow.

I miss Dad so much. He should be here. My eyes burn, hot tears threatening to destroy the makeup artist’s hard work.

It’s been years since he died. It should be easier with the time that’s passed, but this sadness is soul deep. Time heals all wounds is a vicious lie.

A thick and heavy lump lodges in my throat. I swallow, blink, curse the emotions that’ve grabbed a hold of me so tightly I can’t bring myself to take another step. I have to do this.

Alone.

Chest tight, body numb, I take the next step, taking a sip of air. Then the next. Oxygen slowly spreads through my body. I turn into the room, pausing in the space between the hall and the den, gaze finding Mace standing next to a man in a black cassock.

Mace is wearing an onyx Tom Ford tuxedo, and he straightens, eyes darkening, drinking me in. The look of a man so thirsty, he’s desperate enough to test fate and cross the desert to find a drop of water.

My feet are stuck to the floor. It’s wrong. Dad should be here. I can’t do this without him.

Rose rises to her toes and whispers something to Dare, who slides his gaze toward me and nods. The two of them approach me. Rose holds up her hand in a placating gesture.

“We’ve got you, Cass.”

The fist closes around my heart and the tears return, threatening to spill over. She knows. Of course she does. She’s been with me through the worst of times. I’m so glad she’s here.

Dare stops in front of me, offering me his elbow. “I’m not as good of a man as your father, but may I escort you?”

My eyes bounce between him and Rose. I don’t know how to say what I need, but Rose sees it, and she links her elbow with mine.

“I’ll do it. We’re family,” Rose says.

My chest cracks open, but I refuse to break down. I can do this. It’s ten minutes of my life. I can’t go through this torture again. Marrying Mace has to happen tonight. When Dare starts to turn, to head back to stand next to his friend, I grab his arm. He turns, searching my face.

“Both of you.”

Nodding, he simply moves to my other side and hooks his arm with mine. “Ready?” he says low enough that Mace and the priest can’t hear.

It’s hard to believe that, once upon a time, I didn’t like Dare.

“As I’ll ever be,” I confess with a shaky exhale.

“You look amazing,” Rose murmurs. “He definitely shit his pants.”

As a laugh tumbles past my lips, I take the first step with Rose and Dare. Mace’s focus is all on me, and when we stop and I step to join him, his hands take mine in a firm grasp.

Those dark blue irises are turbulent. Glinting with victory.

Swirling with wariness. A flash of regret.

The priest starts talking, but the sound of his voice is a dull buzz in my ears compared to the thudding of my heart.

I can’t tear my eyes from Mace. His attention is all-consuming.

I’m terrified if I look away, the tears will spill down my cheeks and everyone will realize how weak I am.

His thumbs smooth over the backs of my hands, tracing slow circles that send gooseflesh racing over my arms. The space between us condenses, the line of tension taut enough to push the grief aside, trapping me in the moments between being Cassia Harris and becoming Cassia Astor.

For a second, his eyes flick to the priest. “I do.” Two words sealing my fate.

Then his gaze finds mine again, and I’m drowning in the depths of his irises. Consumed by the dark shadows that have surfaced, teasing me with their existence. If I reach out, could I touch them?

The priest clears his throat.

Mace lifts an eyebrow and tips his head toward the Father. Right. It’s my turn. I can’t bring myself to look at a holy man.

Mace’s attention drops to my lips as they part.

“I do.” The words are a soft whisper, but they reverberate through my head like I shouted them.

The priest drones on, wrapping up the ceremony, and my pulse jumps as he says three words.

Kiss the bride . I pull back, but Mace drags me toward him, and it’s impossible to resist. He lets go of my hands, one hand diving into the strands of my hair and the other tipping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze as he lowers his face toward mine.

The staccato of my heartbeat is so loud, he can probably hear it. His thumb strokes across my bottom lip, and his gaze seers into me, mouth dangerously close to mine.

“Now you’re really mine,” he murmurs before his lips crash into mine, ripping the air from my lungs and stealing the thoughts from my head.

His tongue traces the seam of my mouth and the grip in my hair tightens.

My lips part automatically in response. The low hum of his approval rumbles over me, trapping me in a kiss I wasn’t prepared for.

He demands submission, and as his tongue tangles with mine and his fingers hold me in place, I have no choice but to give in.

To let him drag me out to sea and pull me under, drowning me in passion I never expected to find in the arms of a man I’m forced to marry.

My fingers grasp at his shirt, and I’m certain the only reason he breaks away is because we both need to breathe.

Panting, he pulls back enough to stare down at me, lips curling into a smirk that has his dimples appearing. It’s a look that women would fall for. I see the devil in his eyes, though.

I have to betray him . The thought whispers through my mind. My stomach sinks. I’ve been so distracted with the ceremony that I forgot about Paige, the FBI agent, threatening to deliver me and Rose to prison. Dare too.

I have to get close to Mace. Let him think I’ve given in. Get his guard down and find what I need to save my family. If he finds out what I’m doing...well, that wouldn’t be good for me.

I send a prayer to heaven, hoping I can get out of this marriage alive.

The priest flees the house like a rat being chased by a broom.

With him gone, I worry less about being smited—smote?

—and more about how to effectively lie to everyone around me without feeling like I’m dying.

The truth prickles along my skin as Rose and I share a glass of wine on the couch in the den.

Mace and Dare are talking in low voices on the other side of the room, tumblers in hand.

The worst of the anxiety is gone now that the ceremony is over, but sadness lingers, hollowing out a part of me.

“So, how are you feeling?” Rose asks, curling her feet under her .

“Numb. Indifferent?”

She nods. “I was furious.” Her eyes soften. “Your dad would be so proud of you. You know that, right?”

I shake my head. “I’m a hacker struggling to survive. No, scratch that, I’m a hacker who fucked up big time, and now I’m in this”—I gesture between me and Mace—“situation. I think he’d be embarrassed, maybe disown me.”

“I don’t think so. Your dad loved you. He wasn’t like mine.”

She’s right. I probably could have held a gun to my dad’s head and he would have told me he loved me. He never used his love to manipulate.

“I miss him,” I admit, taking a big drink of wine.

“Of course you do.” She reaches over and side-hugs me. “Whatever you need, I’m here. We can go to a rage room if you want.”

That’s not a bad idea. Maybe beating the crap out of stuff with a bat will make me feel better.

Remy and Crue appear so suddenly, my eyebrows lift. I didn’t even hear the front door open.

“Mmm. Hello, Mrs. Astor,” Crue says with a wink. His nearly black hair is a tousled mess. He’s in joggers and a shirt that flatter his cut form, but he has nothing on Mace. “Let me know if you need a pool boy.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Mace mutters.

My attention zips to him and the visual daggers he’s throwing.

Crue hooks his thumb toward his friend, oblivious to the way Mace’s knuckles have turned white around the glass he’s holding. “Someone’s insecure.” Crue drops onto the couch beside me, maintaining enough distance that our bodies don’t touch, but obviously too close for Mace’s liking .

His jaw clenches. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

Crue ignores him and rests his arm on the back of the couch, turning toward me. “You know, I wasn’t sure how this would turn out for you two, but clearly, Mace is taken.”

I shake my head and take a sip, not getting involved in whatever this drama is.

“But does she like you, Mace?” Crue continues, pausing to slowly let his eyes rove over me. “Beautiful.”

The compliment has my cheeks burning for more than one reason. Crue is attractive, and apparently, he has a solid set of balls because Mace is right there.

“Motherfucker,” Mace growls. “Cassia, baby, get up.”

Eyebrows pinching together at the use of the nickname, I get ready to tell him no, but then I spot the absolutely murderous look on his face and think better of it.

Rose stands with me, grabbing my hand and scurrying away in the nick of time.

Mace launches his tumbler at Crue. Amber liquor flies through the air and the crystal arcs toward Crue, who merely laughs and catches the cup, holding it up and tipping the last few drops into his mouth.

“Thanks, I was thirsty.”