Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)

Chapter Thirty

My suite is alive with exuberant energy and a chaotic mess as everyone scrambles from one corner to the other finishing last-minute tasks. Everyone is dazzling and brightly dressed, ready for the wedding ceremony.

While I can’t look away from my reflection in the full-length mirror.

I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

It’s like I’ve grown into a woman overnight, sitting with the weight of the world on her shoulders. The difference is, it’s not further from the truth. My father has drilled into me to not jeopardize the peace treaty between our families.

Instead of words of love and blessings.

I’ve been trained as though I’m about to go to war.

I might as well be. Because it has increased my desire to somehow save myself from the invisible clutches of these men. Before the tight chains around my neck becomes a noose that’ll eventually be the death of me.

Pia, the hair and makeup artist, applies the final touches to my hair, styled into an intricate bun while the short tresses fall down my cheeks. Stepping back, she shakes her head in awe and says, “The ball gown is straight out of a fairy tale, Rosalie. I can’t put into words how absolutely gorgeous you look. Like a gothic Barbie come to life.”

“Thank you, Pia.”

While I may not be marrying my dream man, I am wearing my dream dress.

The black sparkling lace ball gown has a sheer bustier top with off-the-shoulder straps. It molds to my body like a second skin and lifts my breasts higher, making them even perkier. Since I was going for a dark, gothic look, my designer wove a gothic English rose. Black roses are embroidered from the top all the way down through the tulle bottom.

My wedding dress is dramatic, shimmering—one of a kind.

Just like me.

And I’ve a beautiful, just-as-dramatic veil to match. Though, I’ll wear it once I go downstairs since it couldn’t be brought up. After all, it is seventy-five feet long.

If I’m going to piss Dad off, might as well go all out.

“Oh, my goodness,” cries out my mom, appearing from behind me. Her frail hands fly to her mouth as she sees me for the first time and tears up. Meeting my gaze, she smiles through the tears and compliments, “You’re the most stunning bride I’ve ever seen, my love. I would’ve been a fool to ask you to wear anything other than this.”

“Really?”

“Far more beautiful than my imagination, Rosa.” Grabbing my wrist, she kisses the inside and cups my cheek. “I only ask for one thing.”

“What?” My voice is small.

“Please give Nova and his family a chance.”

“Why? How are you so sure they’ll be good to me?”

“Because even though I blindsided you, I would never give my daughter to someone who wouldn’t cherish her and keep her safe.” Peering deep into my eyes, she promises, “If you open your heart to them, you’ll know.”

Gazing at her while her own eyes plead with mine, I lie to my mom for the first time in my life. “I’ll try.”

It assuages her fear and I feel like the worst daughter in the world. But I can’t make her a promise that I have no intention of keeping. Eight years ago, I vowed to myself I will never be a pawn to any man.

I’ll die before I break it.

“Thank you, love.”

Jasmine and my best friends surround me a second later, wearing expressions of wonder while taking in my dress. They each give me hugs and shower me with compliments. A knock on the door pulls us all apart.

Tamana enters with her clipboard. It might as well be an extension of her body. “It’s time. Everyone has arrived.”

Taking a soothing breath, I nod.

Jasmine carries a hyperactive Suhana while Mom walks alongside her. Iris and Bianca linger back.

“Last chance, Ro,” murmurs Bianca.

I smile brokenly. “I have to do this, Bee.”

I need to because deep in my heart, I know Nova will chase and drag me back if I don’t. Because for some reason, he’s dead set on marrying me after vehemently forcing me to say no. And if I stand the slim chance of escaping, I have to tread the dark waters that will be the coming months.

Holding the skirt of my gown, my best friends help me out of the room and into the elevator that takes us downstairs. It’s bustling with energetic staff while the rhyming trio are waiting to attach the matching long veil that looks too delicate to touch.

Iris goes to check the venue, where all the guests are seated with the dais at the front. Nova and his family must already be outside. The priest was chosen by them, of course. I’ve grown up binge-watching Hollywood movies so it feels like I manifested my own Christian wedding.

Iris comes back with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen so many people at the same time.”

It’s moments like this I’m reminded that Iris doesn’t come from a world like ours. She’s grown up in a conservative middle-class family. In the beginning of our friendship, her parents were skittish and didn’t approve of Bianca and I, thinking we would be a bad influence. They were worried our lavish lifestyles would send her on the wrong path and she’ll make bad decisions trying to blend in with us.

However, we bonded so quickly, there was no way we were letting her go without a fight. It took time but her parents eventually warmed up to us.

“I swear the setting and the decoration is so romantic and beautiful,” she gushes with a starstruck grin.

“I wanna see too,” says Bianca as she goes to check it out.

“How do I look?” I ask once she returns and I’m wearing the veil. It’s so lightweight, I might as well be floating. I cock my hip and strike a pose, making them clap.

“Gorgeous.”

“Dreamy.”

A throat clears behind us and we startle. I turn to see my dad patiently waiting. My smile drops to the bottom of my feet. Despite the practiced smile he’s wearing for show and to fool the lingering people around us, I feel his disapproval like a tangible stroke.

I strive to not let it ruffle me.

Soon, he’ll be the least of my worries.

“Can I have a moment alone with my daughter?” he politely asks my friends.

“Of course, Uncle.”

He moves closer so others can’t hear in case they’re eavesdropping. His smile doesn’t waver as he rips me apart with his words. “I hope you don’t take me letting this dress slide as an invitation to rebel and disgrace us in the future. Your tears might have worked on Nova but will never work on me.”

“I didn’t ask him to defend me, Papa.”

“That arrogant boy can think you’re his all he wants but don’t forget where your loyalties lie. I’ve given you to him, I can snatch you right back if I wish to. Understand?”

I barely stop from flinching and nod, incapable of forming words.

“Sir,” Tamana calls, approaching us cautiously.

My dad faces her. “Yes?”

“The priest and groom are all set. Shall we?”

Malcolm and Nathan have also arrived, standing a few feet away from us with Iris and Bianca. Their attention draws to my father and I when we walk toward them. Malcolm stills upon seeing me and his gaze softens in a friendly manner.

Tamana guides us all to line up. First are Bianca and Malcolm, followed by Iris and Nathan. Lastly, Dad and I.

I’m once again swarmed by the rhyming trio as they apply last-minute touches, fixing my dress and the veil at my back. The moment they step aside, Tamana receives a nod from her assistant and then begins the soft notes of the wedding march playing outside.

“Go,” she says.

My heart travels up to my throat with each second it takes me closer to becoming Nova’s wife. It feels like it’s been forever when it’s finally my turn. Dad, who has been standing stoically the whole time, takes my hand into the crook of his arm.

“Now.”

A warm breeze caresses my cheeks, shifting the curls teasingly as I take the first step into the sunlit sky. The guests’ sharp intakes of breaths feel like my own. At first, everything appears blindingly white until I slowly take in the intimidating silhouette that waits for me at the altar.

Nova.

The vision of him standing like a dark god steals the air out of my lungs.

Because he. Is. Wearing. A. Red suit.

Red.

The color that I was supposed to wear.

I blink, my gait almost faltering as my stomach hollows. In the deep red color with a pristine black shirt, Nova looks ravishing and devilishly handsome. He doesn’t even look fazed in the slightest wearing the color that is supposedly for the bride.

Just as I’m absorbing every single detail about him, his own are traveling over every inch of me. They leave a trail of goosebumps on my skin, in my bones, and send a shiver down my spine at once.

I forget about the world.

Until only he exists.

And I almost don’t believe my eyes, thinking I’ve suddenly gone colorblind.

But in the next breath, he reaches forward to take my hand from my father, who pats my back in fake affection and steps away.

Nova doesn’t let go of my hand, his grip tight and warm. So are his eyes, arched with perfectly groomed eyebrows and a square jaw, envy of every male. They bask me in its light and heat as if he has suddenly become incapable of dragging them away.

Strangely, neither can I.

“You look breathtaking, Rose.” His voice is husky and deep. “My gothic Barbie.”

“You…” I trail off, gaze lowering to his suit, which makes the corner of his lips lift.

“Someone had to wear red.”

“What happened to traditions?”

“Traditions are meant to be broken, my Rose.”

The priest clears his throat, bursting our bubble we got trapped in. Nova’s jaw tightens in mild annoyance. He bewitches me with another carnal look, full of sensual promises, before we face the priest together. Our hands still intertwined.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” begins the priest with a pleasant smile. “In the sight of God to witness and celebrate the holy union of Rosalie and Nova. Marriage is a sacred covenant. It is a union founded on love, trust, and fidelity…”

His calming voice zones out when Nova’s thumb rubs back and forth on the inside of my wrist. It leaves me distracted and discombobulated. When I sneak a glance at him, he’s staring straight ahead with no visible tell he’s aware of the small movement.

I’m pulled back to the moment when I’m asked to repeat the standard vows. Slowly, we face each other and I miraculously deliver without stuttering. Nova does the same and again, I’m left scared by the foreign emotions swirling in his eyes.

Until there’s no distinguishing the lies from the truth.

“Nova, do you take Rosalie to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?”

“I do.”

“Rosalie, do you take Nova to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?”

“I do,” I whisper, binding my fate to him.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

My eyes involuntarily fall to his mouth. When I bring them back up, his are stuck on my lips and darkening with hunger. I swallow when he shifts closer, my breasts grazing his chest as his right arm winds around my waist. His free hand’s fingertips journey up my spine, one inch at a time until he cups the back of my neck.

Every touch feels deliberately slow.

Or maybe it’s time moving slow.

“Nova,” I whimper.

His mouth descends.

Our lips touch and madness unfurls. His lips are soft and gentle but the passion with which he kisses is harsh and full of ownership. So are his fingers around my nape, holding me still for the deep assault of his mouth.

The kiss is indecent. Filthy. Ferocious.

Like the man himself.

My villain.

My husband.

I forget the thousands of eyes on us. My hands fly to his budging forearms, digging in just as harshly as I submit to him. As he expertly coaxes me to kiss him back in earnest. His tongue licks the seam of my lips. The teasing flick earns a gasp, giving his tongue permission to invade.

Boy, does he.

He pours the years of pent-up anger, lust, and need into the kiss. He kisses me like it’s our last. As if he’s about to die and I’m his ticket to heaven.

He ruins my reality.

My hate that I carry so palpably in my heart.

I want to hate his touch.

His taste.

But he erodes all my rational thoughts.

Nothing matters except the press of his lips and the moans he elicits from me like a thief. When he finally pulls away, our eyes meet. His brows knit together, puzzled and still high on my taste. They lock on my swollen lips.

Before I can blink, his fuses our mouths again in another searing kiss that I feel to the tip of my toes. My world tilts on its axis when his hand moves to the front of my throat and tilts my head back to kiss me even more deeply.

He steals my innocence until I’m nothing but a puddle at his feet.

Pressing on my wildly pounding pulse, he growls against my lips, “You’re mine now.”