Page 85 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
She moves—glides—to a case lined with pink satin. Inside, collars gleam—some bold and heavy, others fine and intricate.
I’m riveted, fascinated, and horrified as she unlocks it with a tiny key that was attached to one of her bracelets.
Even though I want to run away, my gaze catches on one that is made from delicate silver. It’s double-stranded with a delicate weave of vines and tiny flowers linking two bands.
Without me directing her, Mademoiselle picks up the piece.
It’s beautiful, almost jewelry-like, but the lock at the back betrays its purpose. My throat tightens. I can’t wear that. I won’t.
I shoot Dorian a cold glare, but he’s already reaching past me to accept the piece from the proprietress.
He holds it up to the light, inspecting it with a slow, appreciative nod. “Perfect for you. Subtle, but unmistakable.”
“I’m not—” I start, but the dark warning in his eyes cuts me off.
“Not yet,” he corrects, his voice soft, mixed in threat and promise. “But you will. This is meant to be yours.”
The two men exchange glances, and Brennan nods.
“We’ll take it.” He hands it to Mademoiselle, who tucks it into a velvet-lined lacquered box.
When she hands it back, Dorian slips it into a pocket in his suitcoat.
“Will that be all for now?” Mademoiselle asks.
As she moves to package everything in elegant black bags embossed with the store’s name in raised gold lettering, I stand there, rooted, my mind spinning.
This can’t be my life—modeling lingerie, wearing dresses that scream seduction, having a collar locked around my neck.
But with Dorian’s hot gaze on me, and Mademoiselle’s quiet confidence filling the room, I wonder how long I can keep saying no before I don’t recognize myself.
Even more terrifying, what happens if I continue to go along with their demands?
“Find out,” Mademoiselle encourages me.
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve spent your life reading about others’ adventures. And now you want to know what happens in yours.” She pauses for a long, dramatic amount of time that makes me hold my breath. “Don’t you?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isla
More relaxed than I can ever remember being, I sprawl on a cushioned chaise by the hot tub at the spa of the luxurious retreat that Dorian booked for our honeymoon. The massage I just had was amazing, leaving me loose and languid, and now warm, humid air curls around me.
Eucalyptus and lavender linger in the air, seeping into my bones, unraveling stress I didn’t even know I’d been carrying.
My white robe has an embroidered live oak on the lapel, and as I settle in, the amazingly soft material slips open across my thighs.
I blow out a small sigh, tip my head back and allow my eyes to drift shut. The gentle lap of water against tile lulls me into a rare calm.
After the whirlwind visit to le Coin Secret de Giselle, the luxury SUV whisked us to a sprawling estate that Dorian called the Parthenon that’s about an hour outside of New Orleans and nestled along the Mississippi’s lazy curve.
Once on the property, I’d had to show ID and getapproved for a special badge. I was informed that I needed to be accompanied by someone while on site.
The whole thing feels a little restrictive to me. I didn’t know what to expect for our so-called honeymoon, but it wasn’t this, being on maybe hundreds of acres of land that are graced by an incredible Grecian mansion fronted by towering columns and surrounded by manicured grounds that are baking beneath the Southern summer sun.
I’m not sure what this place really is. It’s obviously not a hotel or private residence, but I do know it’s an exclusive monument to wealth, a playground for men like Dorian who wield power as naturally as they wear their tailored suits.
