Page 50 of Precious Hazard

Say what? Oh. Right. I gulp a lungful of air.

Just like when I was a kid, about to do or say something I damn well knew I shouldn’t, I cross my fingers. I’m lucky one of my hands is hidden in the folds of my skirt, which allows me this little bit of superstition. An act of atavistic defiance from deep in my foggy brain.

“I do.” That didn’t sound like my voice, but I know I said it.

DeVille slipping the wedding ring on my finger barely registers with me. It’s a thick band of yellow gold that weighs a ton. Or at least it feels like it does. Like a shackle. Gleaming bright right next to the engagement ring.

Feeling all kinds of anxious and confused, I look up to find him scowling at me, his brows furrowed.

“Your turn,” he says without moving his lips, gesturing discreetly with his eyes and a slight incline of his head to the little girl standing beside us. She’s cute in a ruffly princess dress, holding a white velvet cushion. Upon the tiny pillow rests a larger wedding band. How did I not notice the girl in the first place?

Trembling, I pick up the ring. As if in slow motion, I lift DeVille’s left hand and start sliding the band onto his finger. The damn thing gets stuck around his knuckle.Shit.I feel the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes staring at me and my inability to slip the ring on my groom. The silence around us is deafening.

“Do not drop it,” Arturo whispers so only I can hear. “It’s bad luck.”

“Can’t get worse than this,” I say under my breath, biting my lip as I push the gold band as hard as I can. It finally slides into place.Thank fuck.

My ears suddenly feel like they’re plugged, so I try to swallow. Is the room beginning to spin? The only thing that seems to be keeping me steady at this point is the heat from Arturo’s hand spreading into mine. No. Not Arturo. Satan. Satan DeVille. I need to remember that.

I look around, spotting the ornate pen and documents on the signing table, and automatically take a step toward it. The pressure on my hand makes me stop. Only for a fraction of a second, because my groom is quick to lead me there himself. He picks up the pen and adds his signature to the wedding license.

My turn is next, and I almost drop the pen. Why do I feel kind of lightheaded? I concentrate on the dotted line at the bottom of the page and somehow manage to sign my name. The surname looks a bit askew. Likely because my fingers are shaking. It hit me while I was signing. I’m not a Popov anymore. I had to write DeVille.

I’m Tara DeVille now.

Mrs. Arturo DeVille.

I am officially the devil’s bride.

We return to the altar after our witnesses sign, too, and stand before the officiant. I close my eyes, unwilling to face the truth.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Did he say something else after that? I’m not certain. Thunderous applause descends on the room, threatening to suffocate me like the nightmare I often had as a child. One where I was stuck alone in a dark room, and a cacophony of voices suddenly erupted around me. From deep beneath my feet, from behind the hidden walls… all calling out to me, urging me to join them. I never knew where they wanted me to go, and no matterhow hard I pressed my hands to my ears, I could not drown out the voices. Back then, the only escape was the bright light of day. Now, unfortunately, there’s no way to awake from this nightmare.

My eyes pop open, and I blink, trying to clear the blur that has taken over my vision. Turning, I face my groom, while my heart pounds against my ribcage, and a pulsating whoosh echoes in my ears. It’s loud enough to block out the roaring cheers in the room. I shiver as icy chills crash like wave upon wave upon me. Am I getting sick? It’s so cold in here. Why is it so fucking cold all of a sudden? And why is my husband’s face starting to sway in front of mine?

His thick arm suddenly wraps around my waist. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me against him.

“Don’t you dare faint on me, Tara.” I feel his words vibrate through his chest, pressed flush with my own. “The entire Family is here, watching.”

“Both you and your Family can go to hell, Satan,” I pant. There doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in this room. “I need to get out of here. Now.”

His hold on my waist tightens. He grasps my chin with his free hand and tilts my face up, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. I see the exact moment he realizes what’s happening.

I should have noticed it sooner.

Shortness of breath. Unfocused gaze. The way her hands tremble while she squeezes mine tightly. Typically, I’m a lot more observant of my surroundings. If this were anyone else, I likely would’ve spotted it immediately. But Tara has always had an uncanny ability to push my buttons. She does it like no one else. Around her, my entire mental capacity is split between fighting my attraction and trying to curtail just how furious she makes me feel. I’ve been seething since the instant the hall doors opened, and my fiancée, clad in black, appeared on the doorstep. But looking at her now, so fragile all of a sudden and falling apart in my arms, my fury evaporates, transforming into grave concern.

“Breathe,” I whisper.

“I’m… trying.” She sounds terrified. Her voice is shaky.

Fuck.

My gaze falls on her slightly parted lips. Everyone is waiting for the kiss while we look like we’re exchanging words of love. I wasn’t going to kiss her. I couldn’t let myself get close to that bewitching mouth again. I had no idea how I was going to weasel out of it without making a scene or drawing attention, but right now it no longer matters.

She’s having a panic attack.

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