Page 28 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

His hands settle on me with a confidence that mirrors my husband’s.

He rests one hand on my waist in a way that’s firm but not at all possessive. He clasps my hand with a gentleness that’s foreign after experiencing Dorian’s commanding grip.

This close, Brennan is all angles and shadows—high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. A scar bisects his left eyebrow, faint but jagged. He’s older than me, by at least a decade, and the lines around his mouth suggest he’s seen more than I can imagine. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, hoping he’ll communicate that to Dorian. If they’re reassured, maybe they’ll lower their guard.

“No?” His question is light, but I know he’s seen through my white lie.

Brennan is not to be underestimated.

“You’ve got more fire than that, Isla. I saw it when you walked down that aisle with your chin up like you were marching to war.” He spins me gently, the movement smooth and practiced, and I’m forced to follow, my body responding even as my mind scrambles to catch up.

“You don’t know me,” I manage, but it sounds weak, a protest drowned by the truth in his words.

He considers me.

I’m hyperaware of every point of contact between us, the way his thumb brushes the curve of my waist through the gown. His touch is not like Dorian’s, which claims and consumes—this is subtler, an invitation rather than a demand.

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice dropping low, intimate. “But I’ve been watching you. You’re not fragile, even when you’re terrified. That’s why he’s worried.” His head tilts toward Dorian, who’s now leaning against the nearby wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on us.

Even from here, I feel his intensity, and I’m forced to look away so I don’t trip over my own feet.

“And you?” I ask when I regain part of my composure. “What do you think I’ll do?”

Brennan’s lips quirk in a half smile that’s gone before I can fully register it. “I think you’re already planning your next move.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die as Jaxon’s voice cuts through the air.

“Now it’s time for the rest of you to get out on the dance floor.”

The house lights come up just enough to soften thespotlight’s glare. Chairs scrape and conversation resumes as people join us.

Jaxon switches to “Sweet Lovin’,” an upbeat track with a pulsing beat.

Brennan doesn’t miss a step, adjusting our rhythm to match the tempo. In stark contrast with their backgrounds, both men seem adept at societal norms. How can a criminal be an expert on the dance floor?

I’m taken aback a little to see Evelyn near me with Caleb.

Then more and more people join us.

I struggle with what to do. Stay out here with Brennan? Or rejoin Dorian? None of the above, my mind is screaming. And yet Brennan feels slightly less threatening than Dorian. Maybe because I know I don’t have to sleep with him.

Decision made, I search for a safe topic of conversation. “You’re good at this. Dancing, I mean,” I clarify in case he thinks I’m complimenting his earlier, unwanted observations.

“People have…expectations.”

Before I can press further, he spins me, the motion dizzying. Maybe because it’s the first minute of reprieve I’ve had in twenty-four hours, I laugh. The sound is so carefree; it feels as if I’ve stolen it from someone else’s life.

The song winds down, and Brennan slows us to a stop, his hand lingering on my waist a beat longer than necessary.

Has Dorian noticed?

“Time to return you to the king.”

How fitting, since I’ve been considering myself to be a pawn.

He steps back and offers his arm like a gentleman from another era. After the way Dorian has been so dictatorial, this is a welcome reprieve. I accept, and my fingers accidentally brush the taut muscle beneath his sleeve.

God help me.