Page 8 of The Chief (Those (Damn!) Texas Dantes #3)

And she stood like an impostor in her bridesmaid’s gown trapped under the lights, hot and merciless, magnifying every flaw. The air pressed against her chest, thick with perfume and too many whispers, her smile painted on as though with shaky fingers.

Her dress hugged her like it belonged to someone else entirely, its fit too perfect for a day that was all wrong. Her hair, once carefully pinned, now itched against her scalp. The makeup on her face grew heavy. Mask-like. Her fingers had gone cold despite the heat pouring off Cade’s arm.

They’d been married.

Legally. Officially. Eternally, if you believed in that kind of thing.

The priest had finished the vows. The papers had been signed. Her name was changed. Her fate sealed. And everyone clapped like they hadn’t just witnessed a public execution masquerading as a wedding.

Cade stood quietly beside her, drinking champagne like it meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t—to him.

But to her?

Everything began to spiral downward and she couldn’t claw her way out of it.

She glanced across the room at Petra. At some point her sister must have found time to change out of her wedding gown. She wore a simple dress in pale blue. Thank God. Elise couldn’t imagine her sister dealing with the reception in a wedding gown that hadn’t experienced a wedding.

Despite that, Petra was watching. Not cruelly. Not coldly. Just... watching. Assessing. Like a big sister deciding whether to haul Elise into the bridal suite for a change of shoes, a deep breath, and a strong shot of vodka.

Someone handed her a flute of champagne. She nodded, murmured thanks, sipped without tasting. Somewhere across the room, Katrina’s laugh rang out, brittle and bright. Titus stood near the bar, flanked by officials Elise didn’t recognize, his gaze never straying far from Cade.

The music swelled. A photographer hovered.

Cade leaned closer, murmuring, “We’re up next. First dance.”

Her stomach flipped. Not from nerves, but from the way he said it, quiet and inevitable.

Like it wasn’t a request or an invitation.

Like the music, the dance, the eyes on them.

It was all happening because he willed it.

And she was already caught in the pull, already stepping into motion before she could find a reason not to.

He moved, hand at her back before she could summon a protest, guiding her onto the floor.

Applause broke out, hesitant and inconsistent, like the crowd was collectively holding its breath, uncertain whether to celebrate or brace for fallout.

The doubt in the air hit Elise like a cold wind.

Her cheeks burned. Every clap seemed judgmental.

Confirmation that they were all waiting for her to stumble.

Then it gathered momentum, reluctant hands finding rhythm, covering discomfort with civility.

And Elise... smiled.

Because what else could she do?

The lights dimmed. The music shifted. Cade’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in as though they’d done this a thousand times before.

As if this wasn’t their first dance as strangers.

They were soul-bound partners who hadn’t chosen each other, but had been chosen by some strange, mysterious quirk of fate.

His hand splayed along her spine and they moved.

And the world spun with them.

Her body found the rhythm, but it was Cade who guided her hips, his arms locking her in tight. He didn’t lead so much as demanded, and every shift of their bodies sent heat ricocheting through her blood.

It rattled her, this pull between resistance and longing, the way her body answered him when her mind shouted for space.

She wasn’t prepared for how much she felt, how easily she responded.

It was terrifying. And intoxicating. The silk of the bridesmaid’s dress whispered against his suit, every step drawing them closer, every breath a shaky inhale.

She was dizzy with it. His scent. His strength. The steady drag of his fingers tracing the curve of her spine as they turned. Their marks pulsed where their palms met, glowing faintly between their clasped hands, a private brand that no one else could touch.

Her lungs stuttered when his thumb brushed the side of her ribs—too high to be innocent, too low to be anything but intentional. Her body arched without permission, pressing closer than the dance required.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His voice was barely a rumble against her temple. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to the cake.”

She didn’t know she’d been looking at him like anything. Her breath hitched, heat crawling up her neck as she tore her gaze away, too late. Too revealing.

But her legs didn’t care. They trembled beneath her, barely holding steady as his hand shifted lower, pinning her in place and making her forget why she ever wanted to run.

The music eased into silence.

Elise didn’t breathe.

Cade’s arms were still around her. His hand hadn’t moved.

The heat of him pressed into her skin like a brand, and the space where the music had been left only the thunder of her pulse.

She should have pulled away, should have taken the opportunity to create room.

But her body stayed molded to his, breath shallow, fingers curled tighter around his.

The stillness wasn’t a reprieve. It was a warning.

And she didn’t know whether to brace for more… or fall into it completely.

A subtle clink of a glass cut through the silence, sharp and sudden. Heads turned. Murmurs rippled across the room. The cake.

Elise blinked, like surfacing from underwater. Her pulse hadn’t eased. Her body still hummed with tension. But Cade’s hand found hers again and this time it wasn’t the crowd guiding her forward. It was him.

And she let herself follow.

Cade led her unhurriedly toward the towering confection like they’d rehearsed it, like this wasn’t all happening at breakneck speed. The cake stood tall and lavish, five tiers of white fondant, silver scrollwork, and delicate sugared violets. Petra’s cake, specifically designed for her sister.

It wasn’t supposed to be Elise’s.

The thought lodged sharp beneath her ribs, scraping against everything she was trying to hold together.

Petra’s cake. Petra’s day. Petra’s life.

Her smile faltered, lips trembling as she tried to remember how to fake poise.

Had she ever learned that? Not as well as pretending to be the carefree, harmless younger sister, sweet, scattered, perfectly ornamental.

She fought for that facade, failing miserably.

The camera shifted toward her like a blade catching light.

The photographer raised his lens.

Cade glanced down. His eyes caught hers, reading her discomfort, the tension knotting in her stomach, her utter vulnerability. Without a word, he shifted in front of her, blocking the lens just long enough to shield her.

Then he reached for the cake, as if claiming it was the most natural thing in the world.

He cut a perfect slice, methodical and unhurried, and settled it on a silver-rimmed plate.

When he turned back to her, there was a glint in his eyes and the faintest tilt to his mouth, like he was about to do something that belonged only to them.

He didn’t offer her a fork. Instead, he held the plate in one hand, a bit of cake pinched between two fingers and raised it to her lips.

His fingers brushed her mouth as she tasted the bite, soft vanilla, buttercream, and something else that made her shiver. Not spice. Not heat. Something darker, richer, something that slid down her throat and settled in her chest like a secret she wasn’t ready to name.

She looked up, startled, her lips still parted, frosting clinging faintly where his fingers had grazed. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. It should’ve been awkward. Silly.

But the way he watched her, focused and measured , turned it into something else entirely.

Cade leaned in, gaze locked on hers, unreadable and consuming. The noise around them faded. The world faded. There was only the heat in her chest, the depth of his intention, and the unbearable anticipation between one breath and the next. Then he kissed her.

Not a peck. Not for show.

It was deep. Thorough. A promise dressed like a threat.

The world narrowed to the force of his mouth—hot and unyielding—staking a claim with the kind of command that made her knees tremble.

The kiss was velvet and pressure, a coaxing kind of domination that tasted of sugar and heat and something far more dangerous.

Her lips parted under his, surrendering before she realized it.

The sugar on her tongue melted into the fire he left behind, and her mark flared against his palm, alive with demand.

It consumed her, his breath, his hunger, the tension in his body barely leashed—along with the shocking realization that she wanted more. So much more.

When he finally pulled back, she could barely breathe.

“I need a moment,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Just one.”

Because if she didn’t walk away now, if she stayed in his presence, in the echo of that kiss, with his influence sinking under her skin, she was going to unravel.

Right there in front of everyone. And she couldn’t do that.

Not yet. Not ever. Especially not with him watching her like he already knew every secret she didn’t mean to give away.

Cade didn’t stop her.

And somehow, that stung.

Not because she wanted him to drag her back or make a scene. But because part of her, a foolish, breathless part, wondered if he experienced it too. The shift. The heat. The way the world had tilted in those seconds between the cake and the kiss.

But he let her go. Calm. Unmoved. As if he’d given her permission and expected her to take it.

And maybe that was worse.