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Chapter Five

MERRICK

I can feel the stares from the rest of the men. They have unasked questions, and I haven’t provided any answers to a single one. I’m not sure what to say. They want to know where the fuck Colette is and why I haven’t gone to get her.

The truth of the matter is I’ve got too many questions about the situation myself. I’m not someone who typically rushes into any situation. None of us are. We’ve been put through hell in our lives, and every decision we make is normally extremely cautious.

My agreement to marry Colette was, without a doubt, done hastily. I didn’t think about every aspect of the promise. All I knew was that her father was dangerous and could have caused some problems for the others, for the men I consider my brothers.

I didn’t want my personal shit, my lack of control, to bleed onto the rest of the men.

As I’ve taken the time to think about the future, I realize that I don’t know her. I married her for self-preservation, or rather for the protection of my brothers. Truth be told, there has been enough shit in my life that I don’t really give a fuck what happens to me, but I do give a shit what happens to them.

I signed the fucking annulment papers and sent them back a few weeks ago, and I can’t even pretend I’m at peace with it. I’m not. Something is bothering me about the whole thing.

It’s not even the fact that Bellucci put her on the dark web for a marriage contract. That doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. But these are the dark fringes of society, so going that deep doesn’t seem really off for me.

The fact that we were married, that her father pushed it, and then a few months later came and got her, that bothers me. I know he is always looking for what someone can give him. And I wasn’t going to give him anything other than a security system. But we were fucking married.

Not living together, not dating—married. Something that he forced my hand on, and then poof, now she’s gone. Maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars, but I can’t get it out of my head—something is wrong with this scenario, but I just can’t put my finger on it.

Vaughn can’t give me any information about the man who purchased the chance to marry her. But I’m not sure it matters. I’m not any better than him, whoever he is. It just happened to me in a different way, but I have no doubt that I’m just as shitty as this mystery man.

Sitting in my chair, staring into the dark living room, I bring my whiskey bottle to my lips and take a long pull. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat. I welcome it because at least it’s a feeling, and I’ve wondered a few times over the past few weeks if I’m numb on the inside.

I’ve been doing this every single night since I signed those documents. I don’t know if it’s regret or what the fuck it is. Self-sabotage maybe? But when the doorbell rings, I don’t even bother asking who it is.

I know who it is.

I call out for her to come inside then wait until she’s directly in front of me. Her eyes meet mine, and she gives me a small smile. I do not return said smile. Instead, I watch as she sinks to her knees in front of me. Her tongue slips out as she licks her lips, and then she reaches for my belt.

“You’ll have to tell me just what’s got you eaten up from the inside out one day, Merrick,” she purrs.

That will not be today.

It will not be any day.

She will never know my weakness.

COLETTE

The wedding planning is in full gear. A huge church affair, complete with hundreds of people who I don’t know on the guest list. The whole thing makes me feel absolutely sick to my stomach. I’m not used to being paraded around, and this puts me front and center.

Today, I’m going dress shopping, and even though I haven’t stepped into the dress store yet, I already hate everything about it. Pressing my lips together, I look at the storefront from behind the tinted car window and wince.

Marcello sits next to me. He has surprised me recently. I keep waiting for him to say something inappropriate, but he’s stopped making comments about sex and me.

In fact, he has stopped speaking to me altogether. He’s quietly been at my back with everything that I’ve had to do for this joke of a wedding. A constant that I didn’t know I needed.

I’m okay with that because nobody else has been there. Why not one of my father’s men? Although, I also know that if my father told him to do something to me, he would. I’m under no illusion that he’s my friend in any capacity. That I could tell him anything or ask for his help. I am still very alone.

“Most women can’t wait to try on pretty dresses,” Marcello mutters, the first words he’s said to me in weeks.

Without turning my head, I let out a heavy sigh. “Hard to be excited when you’re being forced to marry someone you’ve never met while simultaneously still being married to someone you actually wanted to be with.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. We sit in silence. I can feel his attention on me, but I still don’t turn to face him. I’m not sure I can stand to see the pity that is, without a doubt, etched on his face.

When he does speak, his words surprise me. “Do you want me to take you away?”

Those words cause my head to spin around, and my eyes find his. “What are you asking?” I hiss.

Marcello’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Something that would get me killed.”

“Yeah, it would,” I murmur.

Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “As easy as that might be, I tried that once, and all it did was drag this moment on. Find someone you actually like.”

I don’t let him respond. It wouldn’t matter what he said anyway. Wrapping my fingers around the handle of the door, I tug on it as I push the door open then unfold from the back seat of the car, place my feet firmly on the sidewalk, and stand.

Smoothing down my skirt, I inhale a deep breath, then hold it for a moment before I let it out slowly. Straightening my shoulders, I lift my chin in the air before I make my way toward the front door.

My wedding to Merrick was nothing like this one. There was no princess dress. There were no invitations. It was in the church with my father and a few of his men. Nobody else was there, and it was amazing. It would have been out-of-this-world perfection if my father hadn’t been there at all.

I don’t bother trying the door handle. I know from being forced to go to places like this with my father that they require you to be buzzed inside. I extend my index finger and press it against the bell. It makes an almost fairy-tale sound, and then I hear a woman’s voice.

“Hello, how may I assist you?”

I fight rolling my eyes, only because this is so pretentious, but I don’t bother. Instead, I smile, knowing that I’m on camera before I announce who I am and what time my appointment is for.

I’m instantly buzzed inside. Marcello doesn’t follow me. Turning my head, I look over to where the car is still parked. He’s inside, though I can’t see him. I can’t help but wonder why he isn’t coming, especially since he’s been right behind me at every turn.

Walking into the building, I try to push the odd feeling and questions away. I’m instantly greeted by a woman who smiles a bit too brightly. It’s fake, so damn fake, but I meet her wide smile with a small one of my own.

“Tell me, what exactly are you looking for?”

Marina should have told her all of that shit already. She also should be here. I’m not sure why she isn’t. As soon as I open my mouth to tell the bridal consultant that I don’t know and don’t really care, either, the sound of the fairy-tale music fills my ears.

The consultant frowns, then moves toward the door. I watch as she tugs her phone out of her pocket and touches the screen a few times before she brings it to her ear. She starts talking, but I don’t listen. Then she reaches for the door and pulls it open to reveal Marina standing there.

Her whole security system is on her phone—very cool.

Admittedly, I know very little about the security business. It’s not like Merrick and I shared pillow talk about business. We hardly talked at all about anything. He didn’t initiate conversations, and I wasn’t about to annoy him.

For the first time in my life, I could breathe, and I was happy just to be a ceramic statue on a pedestal, untouchable and ignored until I was ready to be used. I would have lived in silence for the rest of my life just to feel that peace every morning when I opened my eyes.

Marina walks through the door, and I’m brought back from my short-lived fantasy. I watch as she gives the bridal consultant a kiss on each of her cheeks as they hug. A few moments later, I’m ushered into a room in a flurry of excited chatter.

I say nothing.

Then I’m stripped out of my clothes, and a big poofy dress is dropped over my head before it’s cinched and pinned at my waist and back. I look up and expect to see my reflection, but the mirror is covered by black fabric.

“It really ruins the moment if you see the dress in these dressing rooms. It should be an experience,” the consultant announces as if hearing my unsaid question. “We’ll reveal it outside, and you can see it in the three-sixty mirror.”

I don’t know if I agree with her, but I don’t argue. Picking up the front of the dress with my hands, I step down from the pedestal and follow behind her as she guides me toward the main room.

At least there is nobody else here except Marina to witness me in this cupcake dress. It’s absolutely nothing that I would ever choose for myself. Marina gasps as soon as I enter the room, holding her hands over her lips as her eyes tear up.

God.

Gross.

The consultant helps me onto the main pedestal before she releases my dress. I place my arms at my side, and that is when I lift my head to finally see my reflection, and I’m horrified. It’s a gorgeous dress, on someone else but not on me. It is not my style at all.

“This is a Pnina Tornai, one of my favorites,” the consultant announces.

Marina and the consultant start talking about the floral double organza skirt. It starts at my waist, and there are so many flowers that it seems almost unreal. It’s really beautiful, but not for me. The bodice is also over the top. It’s sheer, and the only things covering my breasts are beads and crystals.

I enjoy fashion when it’s on other people, not on me. I would be happy with a sleek satin or silk fabric and zero embellishments that cover everything. This is too much. I don’t have the personality to fill this dress… or, to be honest, the breasts either.

Opening my mouth, I start to tell Marina that, but she speaks over me… well, squeals, and she tells the consultant that it’s perfect. It’s everything she envisioned, and to order it. The bridal consultant hesitantly looks between her and me, then back to me, and gives me a small smile as if waiting to hear my confirmation.

“We’ll take it,” I say softly.

And it’s at this moment that I realize Marina is planning this wedding for herself. I thought that it was my father doing this all, making these demands, and I know that he’s made some, but this is mostly for her.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I look back at my reflection and take it all in. I hope this wedding is an epic failure. And right now, with Marina’s overpowering bullshit, I hope her head is the one on the chopping block for it. It’s mean, I know it is, but right now, I feel like thinking mean thoughts.

I continue to think mean thoughts as I climb into the back of the town car and even as I walk back into my bedroom and close the door behind me so I can be alone. I hope that everything about this wedding fails.

I don’t want it.

A tear streams down my cheek for the first time since this stupid thing was announced, and I whisper three words that I swore I would never say aloud.

“ I miss Merrick .”

And I do.

Desperately.

But he doesn’t miss me. He’s no doubt relieved that I’m out of his hair and out of his bed.

But I miss him anyway.