Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The wedding is not really a wedding. Especially considering I haven’t spoken a word to my soon-to-be husband in two days. Not since that day on our walk when he tried to bully me into thinking he could do whatever he wanted and I had to abide.

I don’t abide. Ever.

I spent most of the last two days trying to recuperate from my jet lag without much success. Last night, around three in the morning, I heard some cursing and stumbling down the hall where Killian’s room is, but there were no other voices to be heard, so I didn’t bother much about it.

Now, I’m standing in front of a plain white dress, trying to work up the courage to put it on. I feel so stupid for doing this. I don’t have a friend or family member here. I’m going to stand up in front of some strangers and say my wedding vows to a man I can’t stand and wouldn’t marry even if I did like him.

Vows mean nothing. It doesn’t matter if I make them. It doesn’t matter if I’m not being genuine.

Vows aren’t something I can spend or eat or live in. Money is though. Money can buy me a car, one I can drive by myself wherever I want to go, preferably far away from anyone else.

Money can buy me a beautiful house in a strange city where I can start a new life.

Money can get me whatever I want, so anyone who says money can’t buy happiness is probably poor and bitter.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Sylvie, are you ready?” Anna calls from the other side of the bedroom door.

I heave a sigh. “Almost.”

Standing up, I grab the white dress from the hanger and toss it over my head, shoving my arms into the sleeves and shifting it down around my breasts and waist. My long wild hair cascades over my shoulders, so I grab a clip from the vanity and pull it into a French twist. Tiny wisps hang over my ears and on my forehead, so I comb them back into the curls, spraying a little hairspray to keep them in place.

When I turn to face the full-length mirror, I pause at the reflection.

I’m not much for weddings. I don’t believe in marriage. And I’ve never pictured myself in a white gown before like so many of my friends did growing up. The sight of myself in a white dress with lacy shoulders and rich, ornate fabric shouldn’t really affect me, but it does.

I look like a grown-up, happy version of myself. Like this version doesn’t suffer from a strained parental relationship and reckless life decisions. This version of myself did everything right. Found a nice partner, fell in love, and is moving through life’s little rites of passage without fumbling at every turn.

There’s another knock at the door. “Coming,” I call after one last look.

When I open the door, Anna is standing there waiting. She’s in a deep-green dress that looks lovely with her warm chestnut-colored hair.

“You look beautiful,” she says without even looking at my dress. I realize as we start our walk down the hall and to the car that she’s likely to be the only person to tell me that today.

As I descend the stairs, I see Killian waiting by the front door. He has his back to me as he looks down at his phone. His hair is down—deep-brown locks the same color as Anna’s. His come just to his shoulders.

He has on a granite-colored wool jacket and a green and orange kilt. I bite the corner of my lips as I stifle a smile. I’ve never seen a man in a kilt in real life, and I’m a little annoyed with myself for how intrigued and aroused I am by the sight.

The kilt stops just above his knee and was probably specially made for him since he’s built like a tree. His legs are sticking out of the bottom, thick and covered in hair. Then there’s the long white socks and a pair of black shiny shoes.

It’s honestly not fair how handsome he looks, even from the back. But let’s be honest, that kilt is doing the heavy lifting. His personality makes it very hard to find him the least bit attractive.

When he hears us coming, he turns, and our eyes meet. For a split second, he’s not wearing a rueful expression. For just a hair of a moment, he looks as if he’s admiring me. As if he might be the slightest bit nervous about today too. Which would be nice to know since I’m feeling nervous as hell too.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grunts before painting the hatred back on his face where it belongs. Then he opens the door and marches out to the makeshift altar outside in the white gazebo in the garden.

Anna gives me an apologetic expression. “I can handle him,” I mumble to ease her worries.

There is a crowd of people gathered near the gazebo, including the priest in his green robes.

When we approach the small group set apart from the rest, I notice that one of the men standing there looks like a younger cleaned-up version of Killian. Another man next to him doesn’t look as much like Killian, but he’s wearing a scowl like Killian, so maybe there’s a gene for bad attitudes after all.

Anna leads me over to them.

“Declan, Lachy, this is Sylvie.”

The first one to smile and greet me is the short-haired Killian clone. “Lachy,” he says as he reaches out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.” His accent is thicker than his brother’s.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply warmly.

Then I turn to the other brother, who gives me a curt nod. “Declan,” he says flatly.

“Hi…” I stammer uncomfortably. “Nice to meet you.”

“The rest are mostly aunts and uncles and a few prominent people from the town. You’ll get a chance to meet them more at the reception later,” Anna says. I respond with a nod.

When I feel a heavy hand rest on my shoulder, I flinch. Feeling Killian’s touch and proximity is a little unsettling, but then I realize the priest is watching us, and when he sees my fiancé sidling up to my side, he smiles.

“Let’s get married, then,” Killian says, and I turn to see the fake smile plastered on his face. It’s not very convincing to me, but the priest seems to be buying it.

“Of course,” the priest mutters as he shuffles toward the center of the gazebo. Everyone takes their seats, and I walk down the aisle on Killian’s arm. It all feels very messy and rushed, but as long as everyone is buying it, I don’t care.

When we reach the front, I notice Lachy smiling, and I keep my eyes on him. He looks to be closer to my age and much more like the guy I’d be dating than Killian.

My hands start to shake as I turn to face Killian. The moment our eyes meet, I feel the tremble subside. He’s not scowling at me or giving me some hate-filled expression. I don’t feel so alone as we stare at each other. He’s in this too and hates it as much as me, and something about that is comforting.

The priest recites all the traditional things he’s supposed to say at a wedding, but I’m drowning it all out at the moment.

Ten million dollars , I tell myself. Set for life.

That’s the incantation that gets me through the next few minutes. Briefly, as Killian and I stare at each other, I replay the conversation we had the other day. About avoiding each other for the next twelve months. And I wonder to myself if this would be easier if we didn’t seem to despise each other so much. Would I be dreading this the same way I am now if I could see Killian as a friend? Does it even matter?

He squeezes my hand and nods his head to the priest. “What?” I mumble.

“Say, ‘I do,’” Killian whispers.

“Oh, I do,” I say, feeling a chill work its way down my spine.

The priest says the marriage vows before Killian replies, “I do.”

“Have you the rings?” the priest asks.

I turn toward Anna, who hands us a set of gold bands. I glance down at the one in my palm. A simple gold ring for Killian.

When he reaches a hand out for me, I place mine in his, and he slips the ornate diamond ring over my finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” He spits the words out with a hint of bitterness, and I look at the priest to be sure he didn’t catch that.

He smiles at me to signify that it’s my turn. Still trembling, I reach for Killian’s hand.

The moment he places his large hand in mine, I stare down at it. For some reason, I’m enthralled by it. It’s soft against my fingers, and I find myself admiring the size difference between mine and his, letting myself explore the palm before flipping his hand over to slide the ring over his fourth finger.

I don’t let go right away. Feeling his gaze on my face, I lift my eyes to his.

“Here before God, and in His name, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

My breath hitches. Fuck . I forgot about this part.

Killian doesn’t waver. He places a hand around my back and tugs me to his ginormous body. My spine bends as I stare up at him. I’m barely even on my feet when he cradles my head and presses his lips to mine.

It’s brutal and harsh, and I squeeze my eyes closed as his rough beard scratches my face.

The kiss is over as fast as it began. The next thing I know, my feet are back on the floor, and I open my eyes to see Killian’s brothers and sister staring at us with a mixture of smiles and unamused expressions. Anna claps softly, and I touch Killian’s arm to steady myself.

Then, he walks back down the aisle, and I follow him, holding tight to his gray wool jacket.

Killian marches right toward the house. I’m practically dragged behind him.

“Wait! We need photos!” Anna calls.

Killian stops in his tracks and stares at his sister expectantly.

“Here, next to the gazebo,” she says, pointing to the structure.

Killian grabs my arms and hauls me to stand next to the white brick. Anna gets her camera out and points it at us.

“Smile!” she calls.

When it’s obvious that Killian and I aren’t willing to do much more than stand next to each other without touching and refuse to smile, she heaves a sigh and gives us both a steady glare.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. Then, he slings an arm behind my back. We hold hands in front and stare at the camera. When I see him grinning, I can’t help but smile too.

This all feels incredibly strange and awkward, and I have to keep reminding myself this is a fake marriage and not a real wedding, so I don’t have to bother being disappointed.