Page 76 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

However, this knowledge gives me hope on moving forward, making this charade more bearable, and I can pretend all of this is for me while temporarily existing in his insane world.

Besides, a monster might spare me once he knows he never wanted my twin and set me free without declaring war on Amalia’s family.

I gulp for breath, inhaling as much oxygen as possible, because this newfound hope fills me with happiness and determination to talk to him before the wedding.

What if we can stop this madness all together?

Briseis comes back inside. “We have to go. They’re waiting for us at the church.”

Yes.

I will give Remi one last chance to prove to me I’m not an idiot who looks at this world through rose-colored glasses.

And based on his answer, he will either heal my heart or crush it beyond repair.

God help me.

Remi

“What is the meaning of all this, boys?” Father Paul asks, glancing around the church in confusion when it fills with men—each deadlier than the next—who drop onto various pews.

Lachlan has refused to attend, since he never steps foot in churches, but his loyal knights sure showed up to make sure my bride goes through with the wedding.

“We’ll have a wedding here.” Santiago checks his wristwatch. “In twenty minutes to be exact.”

Father Paul gapes at him in shock, then blinks before his brows furrow and his gaze darts around us four. “Who is getting married?”

“Me,” I reply, and at this, he relaxes, a smile shaping his mouth and happiness flashing in his eyes.

He even sighs, poor guy.

“Ah, Remi. Is this the bride’s family?” Since silence greets his question, and instead Arson checks the magazine in his gun, the smile starts to slowly slip away, and concern along with dread replace it. “Another forced bride?”

“We just call them brides. The whole forced thing gives us a bad reputation,” Florian responds, earning a chuckle from Santiago, and Octavius flips open the tequila bottle, ready to take a greedy pull.

Needless to say, we don’t follow the holy rules in the church or have much respect for the institution.

And we get away with all this shit, because Father Paul happens to be the best friend of Uncle Lucian, Santiago’s father, and the Cortez family funds this church and all its charity organizations.

Father Paul glares at me and shakes his head. “Remi, how could you?”

Laughter threatens to escape me at this; the idea of anyone thinking I have a higher moral ground than those of my friends is truly hilarious.

Through the years, I’ve earned the reputation of a hotheaded asshole who acts first and thinks later, because I’m always single-handedly focused on whatever I want to achieve.

Consequences. Society’s opinions. Feelings.

They don’t matter to me unless they stand in the way of my goal. Then I either deal with them or destroy them, depending on my mood.

When people have nothing and rely only on the resources nature has granted them, they learn quickly to grab opportunities with both hands. This is one of the reasons most of us are grateful whenever someone shows kindness to us and treats us as equals to them without judging us by what we have.

My gratitude toward my friends’ parents is absolute. They never treated me as less than them or encouraged their kids to stay away from me, the gardener’s son.

Hence why I show more respect to those around me through the years than my friends do, and I control my temper, doing my best not to get into useless fights unless someone crossed a line I couldn’t look past.

I didn’t want Santiago’s or Florian’s parents to be disappointed in me and regret giving me a chance when most people from such dynasties wouldn’t.

Somehow, though, everyone also has come to the conclusion that I’m the gentleman in the group for having a romantic soul, because I believed in finding one’s true love. Watching Santiago’s parents’ marriage inspired awe.

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