Page 5 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

I wish I could turn to look at our guests and beg someone to put a stop to the madness. But no one speaks. Of course they don’t. Everyone who matters knows exactly why this marriage is happening, and those who don’t know wouldn’t dare interfere with a Vale wedding.

Next to me, Dorian’s presence is suffocating. His scent—clean, rich, something dark and expensive that reminds me of aged leather and dark woods—curls around me like a trap. He towers over me, and this close I can see the subtle tension in his jaw, as if he’s determined to make sure nothing stops this ceremony.

Since the makeshift chapel remains silent, the minister goes on, his voice echoing through the space. “Dorian, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

Dorian’s voice resonates with absolute certainty, a deep baritone that sends a shockwave down my spine. “I will.”

Through my gauzy world, I watch as his mouth curves into what people might think is a smile. But I see the wickedness in the motion.

He reaches for my hand, and I try not to flinch at the contact.

I despise this man and the way he bargained for my sister’s hand in marriage.

His skin is warm, his grip firm—too firm. Possessive. A silent warning.

“Margaux.” The minister turns to me, and my heart stutters.

This is real. This is happening.

“Will you take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor, and obey him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

Obey?

This is craziness. No one has that word included in their vows anymore. No doubt he requested it.

What an absolute monster.

When I hesitate, Dorian’s fingers tighten around mine, and I feel the weight of his insistence.

No wonder Margaux ran.

My throat closes. The room spins. If I were braver, I’d run too. Right now, down the aisle, past the guests, past the millionaires, billionaires, and Mafiosos, past all of it. But everything hangs on this moment. On this one word.

I catch the slight lift at the corner of Dorian’s mouth—he’s enjoying this. Did he know, somehow, how much that single word would revolt Margaux?

“Miss Davenport?” The minister prompts gently, but there’s tension in his voice now. He can sense my hesitation. Can Dorian?

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Dorian’s strokes his thumb across my knuckles—a gesture that might seem comforting to observers, but I feel the steel behind it. The command.

“I—” My voice cracks. I swallow hard and force the words out. “I will.”

But the minister isn’t done. He leads us through the longer vows, and again that word appears, heavy and final: “…to love, honor, and obey, till death do us part.”

Dorian’s voice wraps around his vows like silk over steel, each word precise and measured. When it’s my turn, I repeat them woodenly, my voice barely a whisper. The wordobeyburns like ashes on my tongue.

The entire time, I’m achingly aware of his grip on my hand, of how close he stands, of the subtle ways his body shifts with each response. Is he noting the tremor in my voice? The way it differs from Margaux’s confident soprano? Can he tell, even now, that something isn’t right?

The rings come next, presented on a silk pillow by my young cousin. Dorian’s platinum band slides easily onto his finger, but mine is slightly too big, another reminder that I’m an afterthought. And there’s no engagement ring.

“Where is it?” he snaps quietly.

Oh my God. He’d insisted that Margaux wear the ridiculous, oversize, gaudy diamond every day. A symbol of his wealth and ownership? How could I have not thought about that until now?

“Margaux?” he prompts in an annoyed whisper.

I whisper, “My jewelry box for safe keeping.”

With a scowl that leaves no doubt about his displeasure, he slips the simple wedding band into place, marking me as his property.