Chapter 31
1786words
No matter how many times I spin the ring on my finger, I can't find where it starts or ends. It's almost the same tint of silver as my eye color. The platinum with a black diamond inlay through the middle strikes a powerful aesthetic. Pricey, but I bought it myself. If I'm going to wear jewelry, it needs to be exquisite.
Camila looked blatantly stunned when the priest asked her for the ring. I should have prepared her more. I was busy with other, more pressing plans.
Plans that turned out to be pointless.
The reminder that my trap wasn't sprung is infuriating. I twist the ring faster, friction burning against my finger. I continue to spin in spite of the pain. Why didn't Yannick show up? Mila's intel was rock solid. He knew about the wedding, knew the time, the location, everything. He knew more than Camila.
And yet …
A spike of shame runs through my heart, and I stop twisting the ring. My mind wanders back to yesterday afternoon, to the wedding itself.
To Camila.
I busied myself visualizing every possible way Yannick and his men might attack the church, but I didn't put any thought into what Camila might look like.
Nothing prepared me for seeing her standing there at the end of the aisle, looking like a Renaissance painting of an angel come to life.
Her makeup was understated, but the rest of her … magnificent.
The fabric of the dress clung tightly to her hips, demanding I notice her alluring curves. Tiny crystals shimmered like shattered diamonds all over the bodice.
Camila was a bride.
My bride.
I drew up beside her, and she gazed at me with a slew of emotions. She was pale … frightened, I think. But there was also an unmistakable longing. I'd seen it in her before. No, I'd felt it before. I could tell when she was aching for me. The rush of affection that swelled in me for this woman was enough to make me forget, even for a moment, that this was all pretend.
Standing there beside her, my body thrummed at the thought that everything would finally fall into place, and that I would finally get my chance to kill Yannick.
And most unexpectedly, that Camila was mine—that she wanted this as much as I did. That we might have stumbled into something real. Something everlasting.
But no sooner did all thoughts of triumph flutter across my mind than my brigadier, Iosif, leaned in to whisper in my ear as he set the crown upon my head.
'Yannick isn't here."
And in an instant, victory turned to ashes in my mouth.
The trap had failed.
I wanted to storm out of the church in that moment and roar loudly under the open sky for Yannick to stop being a coward and face me. The bastard must have figured out this was a ruse. Did someone tell him? Was there a traitor in my ranks?
But I couldn't. I had to keep my focus on the ceremony. And when I saw the crown on Camila's head, it sobered me in a different way.
Ripples of wonderment massaged away the tension left by Yannick, and only a single thought raced through my head.
She's beautiful.
She was mine for the taking, and I fucking took her. I gripped her body possessively as I stole every doubt from all eyes upon us that she was now mine.
Our first kiss as husband and wife was neither soft nor gentle. I devoured her in my kiss, hungry and ravenous. And my heart skipped a beat when I felt her match my intensity.
Mila came to me late on my wedding night, after Camila had gone to asleep, and informed me that she'd lingered at the church to see if anyone would show up.
No one had.
I asked her how Yannick could have known, and all she did was shrug and tell me that maybe it was a coincidence that Yannick ever hung around that dance studio.
Maybe, she suggested, Yannick simply wasn't interested in Camila.
That idea alone left me reeling, because it meant that I was wrong.
No, I'm not wrong about this, I think savagely now. I can't be wrong. Yannick was following Camila for a reason. Not being able to predict that man's actions isn't just galling … It's dangerous. But that's all behind me now.
With some effort, I force myself back to the present.
I twist my ring and wonder again at how my plot could have fallen apart. I cross one leg over the other, swaying my foot up and down in agitation. But I can't focus. The weight of the ring beckons, as if reminding me of my newfound connection—fake as it is—with Camila.
And suddenly, as if summoned by my mind, Camila bursts into my study.
'Asher!" Camila shouts as she flies in. 'Asher, oh my God, there you are! It's awful!"
'What is it?" I'm already on my feet, meeting her in the middle of the room. 'What's wrong?"
Her eyes are wide. The skin along her chest and neck is patchy red.
She's panicking. Something must've happened! My pulse begins to quicken.
'My mother just called me." Throwing herself into my arms, she lets out a shuddering breath. 'Someone shot up the studio!"
I feel my heart dropping away into a bottomless pit. The sensation sinks into my heels, down and down, as Camila's panicked voice drifts further away. A thudding, louder than parade drums, grows in my ears, and it takes me a few moments before I realize that I'm hearing my own heart thundering against my rib cage.
I see myself touching her, but I don't feel the ends of my arms.
Someone dared to pepper her studio with bullets. I have an awful suspicion that this could have been Yannick, but it seems too reckless. But if not him … then who? Simon? Could her ex be attempting to provoke a reaction now that he can no longer stalk her?
But as soon as the second thought enters my head, I immediately discard it. No, it can't be. The man is a coward—most stalkers are. Only Yannick would be rash enough to choose explosive violence like this.
But why?
I had assumed that he wanted Camila alive for some unknown purpose. But maybe I was wrong? Then again, maybe this shooting wasn't meant for Camila.
There's something I'm not seeing here. I'm sure of it.
'Asher?"
The thumping fades and I return to my body, holding her in my arms. My eyes find hers and catch sight of her terrified face.
And just like that, I'm overwhelmed by an unstoppable need to protect her. To keep her safe. To kill anyone who put that look on her face.
'Was anybody hurt?" I ask quietly.
'No, thank goodness." She slumps against me, her strength sapped by the ordeal. 'But my mother is shaken up. And if I'm being totally honest, so am I." A look of distress flashes across her face. 'Do you think the shooting had anything to do with Yannick?"
'It's a possibility that I can't rule out."
Suddenly she draws herself taller, and she approaches me with purpose. Her eyes are narrowed, and her lips are pressed tight.
'You promised you'd protect her. That was our deal."
'My men can't stop a random shooting."
'They should have!" she snaps, poking me in the chest. 'Your obedient soldiers should have seen him or whoever coming and …"
'And done what? Shot first?" I snap.
Camila turns away, her anger leaking from her like a balloon losing air. 'I don't know. I don't understand what's happening out there." She takes a huge breath, exhales, takes another. Finally, she looks up at me. The anger is gone, and in its place is the fear from earlier.
'Do you think it could happen again?"
'It might," I say honestly, taking her in my arms again.
She locks up in my grip, and I feel that need to keep her safe again.
'I have a suggestion," I say.
'Go on," she encourages me.
'I can bring your mother here."
Camila leaps from my arms, standing back a full foot. Her mouth is back to hanging open. 'What?"
'You make it sound like being here is torture."
'Sorry." She shakes her head. 'I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I know my mom wouldn't want to be here. She'll be away from her daily routine. And I'm only here because you won't let me leave." She pauses to gather her thoughts. 'But her? She's too prideful for it."
At the mention of me not letting her leave, I'm surprised by the wave of guilt that washes over me.
'Camila," I whisper as I stroke her hair. 'You aren't a prisoner here. Today should've proven beyond doubt that the danger is real. This is the only place where I have ultimate control over your safety. If your mother can understand that, I think she'll accept coming here."
She bites her lip, thinking over my words. Finally, she nods. 'Mom would be safer here than anywhere else. But you have to promise me your men won't be rude to her. They can't try to boss her around like they do with me."
'They shouldn't be rude to you either," I say darkly. 'You're my wife, remember?"
'Oh …" Her cheeks tinge pink. She begins to smile, then falters. 'She doesn't know about our marriage."
'Is that such a bad thing?"
Covering her face with her hands, Camila laughs without a hint of humor. 'I don't know why I was worried about her being safe. Mom is going to kill me when she finds out about this."
Gently, I pull her into my arms to try and assuage her fears. 'I think she'll be grateful. I'll pamper her with fine food, a lovely bedroom, and all the finest things I can provide. I'll have the studio fixed up ASAP too." Kissing the backs of her hands, I smile fondly at her. 'But I need you to do your part as well. Think you can convince her that this is the best option?"
'No," she chuckles as a bemused smile takes shape on her lips. 'But I'll try my best."
Her stress is plain as day. I sympathize with her situation, because it's one I am very familiar with. I'm not a hero. I know that. And that makes it hard for people—especially good people like Camila—to take me at my word.
It's something I've lived with for a long time.
Something I always will.
