Page 45 of Bound to the Daddy

Yours Forever

There’s no signature, but then, that doesn’t surprise me.Everything they do is so cloak and dagger. It doesn’t make any sense. For people without anxiety, I’m sure this is a titillating affair, filled with wonder, surprise, and merriment. All it does is make me sick.

At least the guy doesn’t seem all that reprehensible. But it does make me think it’s not Brody. I can count on one hand the times he’s bought me something, and they were never anything as fancy as jewelry. Cracking open the box, I gasp at the beautiful bracelet lying nestled in the box.

When he said it had things to fiddle with, I assumed it would be chunky and garish. But it’s not. Loops of silver line the satin, each with diamond encrusted little balls that roll around with the simplest touch. Beautiful and functional. Definitely not something Brody would come up with.

All it does is make the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Who then am I meeting at the end of the aisle? It must be someone rich in order to gift me such a fine piece of jewelry. The ladies around me all ooh and aww over the piece, making a great show of fanning themselves and saying what they would do with such a man.

Most murmur about what a nice man he must be, but the majority of the conversation devolves into ribald jokes and scandalous musings. If it were my friends, I suppose I’d join in, but I don’t know these women. I can’t just joke about such things with strangers.

I smile as prettily as I can while the assistant puts the bracelet on me, but inside, I’m dying. I was all set to marry Brody. I finally got my mind around to the idea and settled myself with the knowledge that I at least know the guy. Now what can I do?

Once the bracelet is on my wrist, she admires it on me for a moment before reaching out for the box. Apparently, she didn’tread the letter. At least my intended and I have a somewhat private thing to share between us.

“I’d like to hold on to it for a little longer, if that’s okay.”

“Certainly. Ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. We’ll want to give you a final look over before we head out.”

The women scuttle about, looking for things to do. Thankfully, it allows me a small moment of peace to scour the box to find my something borrowed. My something old and blue is a set of sapphire earrings my father gave my mother when they got married. Everything else is new, leaving me lacking in the borrowed department.

Now, thanks to this stranger’s forethought, I have all the lucky items I need to start a good marriage. While the others continue fluttering around the room, making sure everything is accounted for, I pull on the satin to reveal another bit of cloth. How very odd.

It’s white and lacy. Perhaps it’s a pocket square? I could wrap it around the bouquet waiting for me. But as I pull it, my gut clenches. It’s a thong. A snow-white, virginal, lacy thong. A quick peek at the tag shows that it’s in my size. But how would he know?

Could it actually be Brody then? But there’s no way he could know there was a chance I’d be marrying him. Rushing over to where I stored my things, I pull out my phone.

Stephanie

Hey.

Brody

The person you are trying to reach has blocked this number. If you feel as if this is in error, please have them contact a servicing station for a systems scan.

The phone nearly drops from my hands as I force myself to read the message again. No matter how many times I read it, it doesn’t change. He doesn’t know. There’s no way he could know. I didn’t tell anyone else.

My vision wavers as I slam my palms against the wall to keep from falling down. The assistant rushes over and holds me up, her frantic words refusing to reach my ears. I hear her speaking, but it doesn’t make sense.

This person is an unknown, and yet they know my size. Or is it a coincidence? Did he want me to wrap them around my bouquet? But there’s no way in hell I’m doing that.

What if he’s a psychopath? Someone who’s been stalking me? But that doesn’t make sense either. No one knew I was getting married today. What if he’s a wretched person?

What if?—

What if?—

What if?—

My fingers clench as I fight back the urge to find something, anything, to cut myself with. It wouldn’t be my tools, but the pain would feel the same. No. No, I can’t. Not with so many people around. Besides, my dress is white. Blood will show.

“How much trouble would I get into if I ran?” They’re the first coherent words that come to my brain.

All the women titter, their light laughs scoring down my body like jagged nails. There’s a hint of relief in the sound, as if they were so very worried. Then again, most brides probably have cold feet. Mine happen to be icicles.

“You’re too funny,” the assistant finally laughs. “Why would you run? The man is clearly nice and rich. You could do a whole lot worse, and many omegas have.”

The room descends into silence as everyone goes back to what they were doing. Forcing my lungs to take in as much as air possible, I shove the thong into my bustier. No way in hell I’m putting that on. If he wants me to wear it, he’ll tell me to my face.

---