Page 17 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
“A…” I choke on my sip of champagne. Dear God. There’s no way I could have heard him correctly.
“Dorian tells me the three of you will be paying us a visit in the next couple of weeks.” Altair keeps his expression neutral as he considers me.
Over my dead body.
“We’ll absolutely be there,” Dorian replies on our behalf. “All three of us.”
What in the actual hell?
My mind spins as I turn my head to gawk at him. I’ve married a man who is into BDSM? Was that one more reason Margaux couldn’t go through with the wedding?
Wildly the vows I just recited ricochet in my memory.Obey.I thought the word was dictatorial. But I’d had no idea that he might have meant it in theBDSMway.
While I’ve been mentally reeling, the conversation has continued around me.
“Do you mind taking a picture of all of us together?” Dante asks Marcella.
I look to Dorian. He’s surely going to say no, right? There’s no way he can be comfortable being photographed with a mob underboss.
“Excellent idea.”
Once more, Dorian has stunned me into silence.
Smoothly he takes the glass from my hand and passes it off to a member of the waitstaff.
When I scowl, he promises to replace it soon.
Rather than letting Marcella pose us, Dorian moves us into the positions he wants. Altair is on the far end. Next to him is Dante, followed by Dorian. I am placed between my husband and Brennan.
As soon as I have a chance to talk to my husband privately, I need to understand what kind of relationship the two men share. All I know is that Brennan is never far from Dorian’s side.
Possessively Dorian slides his arm around my waist.
To everyone around us, I’m sure we look like a happy couple.
If the truth were only known…
After politely excusing us, Dorian moves us to a bar-height table and introduces me to other people in his social circle. From what I can see, he appears to have more guests at this reception than my family does.
I glance across the room. My parents are smiling as wide as they do when they’re hosting a political fundraiser, glad-handing people and indulging in private conversations. Not a surprise. Shining is what they both do best.
Then Dante strides toward them.
My father fiddles with his bowtie, and my mother goes still, her eyes wide.
Stunned, I blink.
Why on earth is my father—a well-respected and powerful judge—talking to a Mafioso? And why does my mother seem paralyzed with fear?
“Isla?” Dorian prompts, dragging me back to our conversation.
“Sorry.” I force a smile as I return my attention to the people we’re talking to.
A few minutes later, after we move on, Mrs. Henderson finds us again. “Marcella would like to take some of the formal portraits now.”
More pictures?
If I have to smile one more time, I’m afraid my face will shatter.
