Page 50 of Pretty Little Threats

Holding her gaze, I wait until we say our vows to pull the rings out of my pocket. I hand my father’s to her. The lines on Rose’s forehead annoy me. Did she think I’d marry her without rings? How else would the world know she’s mine?

She can despise me all she wants, but she will wear a ring.

I gingerly take her left hand. Her fingers grasp mine tightly. Though she likely means to hurt me, the softness of her palm is barely a whisper against my skin. Her gaze bounces between our hands as I run my thumb over the back of hers.

What’s she thinking?

I hold her gaze and the other ring, waiting for my cue.

My parents loved each other. Maybe one of the few arranged marriages that almost seemed driven by fate. Their love was deep and full, strong. Part of me mourns for what I’ll never have, but the other stares Rose down. They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and if I can’t have love, her hate will have to be enough.

Rose’s hand trembles as I slip my mom’s ring onto her finger. The ten-carat oval diamond sits alone on an eighteen-carat white-gold band that’s sandwiched betweenthin bands with smaller diamonds inset in the metal. Logic says I shouldn’t let this woman wear the ring, but logic also says this is the only woman I’ll ever marry.

Mom would want my wife to wear it.

Rose’s breath catches when it settles on her skin, a perfect fit. I scowl. She glances up at me and searches my face, probably wondering when I found the time to measure her finger.

The muscle in my jaw ticks.

Mom’s ring fitting her has to be a coincidence, because there’s no way Rose and I were meant to be.

The priest drones on. My heart hammers against my chest as I hold Rose’s hand and stare down at our rings. Once he’s done speaking, we’ll be tied together for life. I made sure the prenup would make the marriage hard to leave, but forever is a long time to be tied to someone who wishes I was dead.

But is that true?

The memory of how her body softened against mine as I slipped behind her, the way she let me guide the blade across Eric’s throat, or how she reached for me in her sleep, like I would keep the nightmares at bay...none of her actions align with her spiteful words.

One day, Rose will finally understand that everything she believes is a lie, and it was me who showed her the truth.

Rose’s eyes narrow when I lift my gaze to meet hers.

I hate you, she mouths.

A chuckle catches in my throat. I don’t know why I like this fire of hers, but I can’t deny that I do.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest finally says.

Rose rolls her eyes, like the thought is unbearable, and turns to leave.

“Not so fast,wife.” I grab the back of her neck and spin her around, crushing her body to mine. Her eyes widen in surprise but then drop to my lips, desire burning in her hazel irises.

That’s right, princess. You’re mine.

Whether she realizes it or not, she leans toward me, wanting the kiss. That’s all the permission I need. I seal my lips over hers. Rose’s nails dig into the fabric of my tux. If we were naked, the hellcat would’ve drawn blood. Her lips stay firmly closed, like she doesn’t want to kiss me.

But I see the way she watches me.

Feel her lust.

Rose might hate me, but she wants me.

And fucking hell, I want her too.

I sweep my tongue along the line of her mouth, delighting in the slight softening of her body against mine. My fingers knead her neck, encouraging her to open for me, and I nip at her bottom lip. She gasps, her mouth parting.

That’s right, wife,let me in.

I glide my tongue over hers, caressing and coaxing until she moans and fully melts. Pride beats at my chest. Rose submits to me and, finally, she kisses me back. She tastes like venom and sugar. Sweet regret. Honey and hate. Kissing her is dangerous, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Now that she’s given me control, I want to take everything she’ll offer.

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