Page 93 of Devil's Bride

Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions.

Especially for the bride.

Friends and family.

A sun-kissed day with wispy clouds, never a raindrop to ruin the garden setting.

The perfect dress.

The perfect setting.

The perfect groom.

And a beautiful bride.

But I wasn’t just any bride. I was to be the queen in the arms of a king, a man considered one of the most powerful in Barcelona and all throughout Spain. In the two days leading up to the wedding, I’d listened to the stories my future husband hadtold me, gathering a better understanding of his world and the difficulties he’d had since taking over from his father.

No one liked change, least of all brutal men ruling by violence and intimidation. When anyone new came onto the scene, skepticism followed. If things weren’t handled correctly, the violence that remained just under the surface would breach the thin layer. At that point, there would be little that could stop blood from tearing apart families and destroying businesses.

There was not only a fine line of right versus wrong, but also a thin layer where corruption and legality worked side by side. The balance was delicate, more so than my father had let on. Did I feel closer to Jago? Yes, but I’d purposely shut down my emotions so I wouldn’t become a blubbery mess on this important day.

Soon, I would be Mrs. Jago Torres and the moment I took our vows, the balance would be upset again. Why was it I had a feeling a tighter leash would be snapped around my neck? I couldn’t live that way. How many times had I told him that?

Jago was so worried about Jamal Fassi that he’d all but turned the city of Barcelona upside down. And found nothing of value. At least not that he’d told me.

As much as I wanted to remain furious with him, he’d been frantic about keeping me safe, worried about Marco and Bella. At least they’d cooperated with his rules, although Marco would never be able to call Jago a friend. Or even a mentor. But Jago was trying.

Maybe.

I wasn’t certain.

Damn it. Why was this so difficult and entirely disconcerting?

Somehow, I could still taste him, the last kiss gentler than any before. Yet it remained hot, tingling on my tongue and that had been from two days before. His aura was that powerful.

“Genevieve.”

My sister’s hand softly touched my arm, yet I jumped as if she’d struck me.

She jerked back, her eyes opening wide. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” I told her.

“Jago?”

“Everything. The marriage. The alliance. The threats.” In the last two days, nothing life-altering had occurred. There’d been no additional threats, no roundup of anyone who’d killed my father or had attempted to steal from Jago.

No sight of the monstrous man who’d come close to taking me away from everything I loved.

“You don’t want to do this?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then don’t. You aren’t required to do anything you don’t want to do. Papa wouldn’t want that.”

Sighing, I fiddled with the beads on my dress. I’d thought about ripping them off while cutting the dress, so the hem barely reached the bottom of my butt. Let the photographers get an eye full of that. I turned toward her, shaking my head. “If only it was that easy.”

“Why can’t it be?”

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