Page 250 of The Enslaved Duet
I’d laughed so hard, my stomach cramped.
Even now, walking down the hall by myself in search of my mysteriously disappeared family two hours later, I chuckled at the wide-eyed look on my sister’s face.
I couldn’t blame her. Alexander was an extremely terrifying man.
It was just one of the many reasons the dark side of my heart adored him.
The familiar strains of a Verdi symphony tickled the inside of my ears as I swept through the Hall of Mirrors and down the corridor to the ballroom. I frowned as I drew closer, the clatter of feet on the tiles and the low hum of chatter underscoring the swell of music.
Riddick appeared beside me so silently, I startled.
“Allow me, your grace,” he said formally, dressed to the nines in a perfectly tailored suit that made the somewhat crudely constructed man look entirely dashing.
I nodded, so many questions on my tongue, it felt cemented to the bottom of my mouth.
He stepped in front of me and pushed open the wide double doors to reveal the secret of the cacophony inside.
The ballroom was transformed.
For once, the drapes were tied open, the windows glimmering black mirrors in the night, reflecting the fragments of light from the many chandeliers like constellations of stars. The warm light made the gold leaf glow like luminous vines covering most of the room’s tall walls and my beloved mural of Hades and Persephone seemed to spring forth from the ceiling in a three-dimensional rendering.
It was gorgeous and so completely contrary to my history in the space, I felt momentarily bemazed and bamboozled. Had this loveliness been lurking in the dark of my cage the entire time? Had I been kept captive in a place of beauty, like a ballerina trapped in a closed music box, unaware of the gorgeousness around her, too haunted by the dark?
I blinked, wondering if I was imagining the warmth, hallucinating the many loved ones punctuating the space as I had in my loneliest hours being broken by Xan and Noel on the cold, hard black marble floor.
I wasn’t. Giselle and Sinclair stood in gorgeous refinery, his hand on the back of her neck in a claiming hold, Sebastian beside them with his head tipped to me but his suit-clad body angled toward my old friend Erika Van Bellegham’s stunning figure. Salvatore and Mama stood close but not touching, their hands both loose and twitching slightly at their sides as if drawn to each other by some invisible magnetic force. I caught sight of Agatha Howard holding Simon Wentworth’s hand, Jensen Brask standing beside Willa Percy, both peering at me with slight, smug grins as if they knew this would be my life all along. The staff was there too, in their humble finery, their smiles wide as they watched their lord and master carve a path through the crowd to collect his duchess.
To collect me.
My mouth went dry and my sex wet as I took in Alexander’s long, powerful gait eating up the floor, his stride purposeful, but somewhat unhurried as if he couldn’t wait to get to me, but he knew he had all the time in the world to reach me. His silver eyes caught in the warm light and reflected like diamonds from his golden face, one of Hephaestus’s perfect automatons come to life.
As he stopped before me, his face stony with tender solemnity, and took my hand, I felt for the first time ever as if my life was a fairy tale. Not one of the Grimm brother’s gruesome stories without optimism and filled with monsters, but something pure. A Bildungsroman meant to inspire hope, with the lesson that if you persevere through your times of trouble, you can come out the other side with a spine of steel, the heart of a worthy man held in your palm, and wisdom around your shoulders like a royal mantel.
“Topolina,” he said with a small kick of his upper lip that belied his amusement at my stunned silence. “Take your husband’s hand.”
Mutely, I did, my hand sliding into his like a key in a lock.
He tugged gently, leading me through the crowd to the middle of the room. He stopped me with my feet on the black marble tile scarred and punctured from the impression of the spike that had held me down in chains.
I looked up from my stilettoed feet on that wounded tile, and Alexander’s face was suddenly up against mine, his eyes everything I could see, his mouth moving against mine.
“You will always be my slave, my beauty,” he whispered just for me. “But you will also always be my duchess.” A kiss pressed like a notary stamp to my lips, legalizing his words, and then he pulled back to face the crowd. “Everyone, may I present to you, Cosima Ruth Lombardi Davenport, Duchess of Greythorn, and my gorgeous bride.”
Everyone clapped, Sebastian throwing in a whistle and Giselle a soft whoop.
My skin was too dark to show a blush, but my flesh caught fire with gentle embarrassment and pride.
“You are the greatest treasure I will ever know,” Xan continued as Riddick stepped up with a large, flat velvet box and handed it to him. “But I wanted to belatedly commemorate our marriage with a gift worthy of you.”
There was a collective gasp as Alexander popped open the jewelry case and countless diamonds erupted under the multifaceted light. My hand flew to my mouth to contain the immensity of my emotions as I stared at the necklace of diamonds constructed to look like thorny leaves and the absolutely sumptuous yellow gold diamond at its base.
To everyone else, it looked like an extravagant present from a lord of the realm to his new(ish) bride.
To me, it looked exactly like what it was—a replacement collar for the one Alexander had told me Noel had cast into the fire.
“Something incomparable for my incomparable bride,” he said as he lifted it in one hand, smoothed my cloak of hair off my shoulders, and settled the heavy, cold weight around my neck.
The weight of the diamonds was so acute, I knew it was deliberate. So that I would always feel the force of his possession around my throat.
