Turning, I see Nora watching me with some bemusement. In the long white dress and with her hair all done, she looks like a princess—which I suppose makes me the evil dragon stealing her away.

Inexplicably amused by the thought, I lift my hand and run my fingers down her baby-soft cheek. “Are you ready, my pet?”

“Yes, I think so,” she murmurs, staring up at me. They did something to her eyes, those women I hired, making her eyes seem even larger and more mysterious. Her mouth also looks softer and shinier than usual, utterly fuckable. A sharp surge of lust catches me off-guard, and I force myself to take a step back before I do something sacrilegious at my own wedding.

“The video is all set up,” Lucas informs me, coming up to us.

“Thank you, Lucas,” I say. Then, turning toward Nora, I take her hand and lead her toward Padre Diaz.

6

Nora

The ceremony itself takes only about twenty minutes. Cognizant of the camera trained on us, I smile widely and do my best to look like a happy, glowing bride.

I still don’t fully understand my own reluctance. After all, I’m marrying the man I love. When I thought he was dead, I wanted to die myself, and it took all of my strength to survive from one day to the next. I don’t want to be with anyone but Julian… and yet I can’t shake the chill deep inside.

He handled my parents smoothly, I will give him that. I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but the calm, almost civil conversation that took place hadn’t been it. He had been in control the entire time, his matter-of-fact attitude leaving no room for tearful accusations and recriminations. He had apologized for the rushed wedding, but not for abducting me in the first place—and I know it’s because he feels no guilt about that. In his mind, he has a right to me. It’s as simple as that.

After a lengthy speech in Spanish, Padre Diaz begins speaking to Julian. I catch a few words—something about spouse, love, protection—and then I hear Julian’s deep voice responding “Sí, quiero.”

It’s my turn next. Looking up at Julian, I meet his gaze. There is a warm smile on his lips, but his eyes tell a different story. His eyes reflect hunger and need, and underneath it all, a dark, all-consuming possessiveness.

“Sí, quiero,” I say quietly, repeating Julian’s words. Yes, I do. Yes, I want. My rudimentary Spanish is good enough to translate that at least.

Julian’s smile deepens. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out another ring—a slim, diamond-studded band that matches my engagement ring—and slides it onto my nerveless finger. Then he presses a platinum band into my palm and extends his left hand to me.

His palm is almost twice the size of mine, his fingers long and masculine. He has a man’s hands—strong and roughened with calluses. Hands that can pleasure or hurt with equal ease.