Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Bradford finally reaches out and takes my hands in his, and they’re warm and reassuring and right. I nearly die when his skin touches mine. I never dreamed that he’d touch me for real. My heart thrums madly, and now it’s not fear. It’s anticipation. This might be wrong, and I still might want to run, but I’m going to stick it out and do it because my family needs me to do it. I’m buying our survival and our freedom.
My thoughts are scrambled, but Bradford’s touch grounds me. His warmth becomes my warmth, and I imagine I can feel the echo of his heart in the pulse at his wrist, where my index finger hovers.
“Bradford Anderson, do you take Everleigh Rushdale to be your wife…”
Oh good, he already gave the priest my name.
There’s more, and then he says yes, so confidently, like this is real and we’re in love, or we’re going to be, and everything is going to be fine. It gives me the courage to say yes even though I want to say fuck this and bolt, despite the fact that we’re in a church, and swearing would probably ensure eternal damnation.
Instead, I’m standing here and saying yes when it’s my turn.
It’s over before I really register it happening. Bradford slips two rings on my finger: an engagement ring with a pear-shaped diamond that looks very antique and a second gold band with scrollwork that matches—a set.
The priest finishes up, and then I sign the paperwork. Bradford already signed, which seems weird, but then again, he’s very organized, and he was here before me, so maybe he was just killing time.
“Go in peace,” the priest wishes us. And then he leaves. He just freaking walks right out the front through some ornate door I didn’t see before. He’s gone, and it’s just us, and now we’re married. My boss is now my husband.
I turn to Bradford, my heart hammering and blood rushing in my ears. “Now what?”
“Do you have your phone?”
“I…uh…yeah.” I brought a clutch with me, and it’s still hanging off my right wrist. I wasn’t even aware of it before.
I had put my phone on silent. But there are no missed calls or texts. My mom and sister are the only ones who know I’m here, and they tried to stop me. They tried all week to talk me out of it. When they couldn’t, they accepted that this was my decision. They didn’t second guess me or try to call me on my way to the church or while I was getting married.
“Check your bank account. The money was wired five minutes ago.”
I opened my bank app and checked. I don’t look up. “By who?” Those words shake. Something isn’t right. Something is very, very wrong. And there. There it is. Fifty thousand dollars added to my balance, bringing it up to fifty thousand one hundred and four dollars. The magnitude of those numbers makes me feel sick. I wonder if hurling right here on this fancy carpet would be acceptable. No, probably not. It’s probably also an eternally damnable sin.
“If you play your cards right, you won’t ever have to work again,” Bradford says softly, but there’s something smug and sinister about that.
My head snaps up, my fingers gripping my phone too hard. Play my cards right? Oh my god. What does that even mean? Does he think that’s what I really want? His face is neutral, but I swear what he just said was meant to mock me.
All of a sudden, the door at the back of the church bangs open before swinging shut, the echo reverberating throughout the place like that thunderstorm I thought about earlier. Who else is in here at eleven at night? In here with us? My head whips back so fast that I nearly give myself whiplash. My vision blurs, and my heart races. I feel like I’m back with the lions again. Not one. But two.
The black shadow from the back slowly, slowly emerges. He walks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He saunters but with a strong, powerful gait that eats up the aisle. He passes pews, and he’s moving so fast now that they seem to be moving too—a trick. Something like being in a car that’s standing still and then seeing one move beside you and feeling like you’re moving. I edge closer to Bradford as though he could save me, protect me, and explain what this stranger, clad entirely in black with raven dark hair, black eyes, and the bone structure of the devil himself—however blasphemous that might be, given where I’m standing—is doing here. And also why he’s stopping just a few feet away from us, clenching his hands at his side, and getting that dashing tick in his jaw that only handsome men can pull off.