Bitter Arrangement: Chapter 9

I’ve seen her a dozen times since that first afternoon when she broke into my house. From a distance, from up close, through binoculars and on a screen. I’ve studied my future wife with an obsessive eye for detail.

But I never saw her like this.

Perfect

She walks down the aisle escorted by her grim-looking brother. But everything around her disappears. Riley floats along in a long-sleeved lacy dress, tight at the top with a pleated billowing skirt. It doesn’t show an ounce of skin, and she still somehow makes it look obscene. Her auburn hair’s half up in a complicated braid and there are flowers woven through it.

She looks like a Celtic warrior queen from legend.

Her brother deposits her across from me, and our eyes lock. She stares at me, lips parted slightly, and I think about what they must taste like.

I know how she sounds when she comes.

But a fucking kiss?

I barely hear the priest as he drones on through the ceremony. I’m too busy thinking about my wife’s body pressed to mine, her skin flushed and sweaty as her back arches and she begs for more.

Is this what a man is supposed to have on his mind during his wedding?

We exchange rings. We repeat the vows. There’s no time to talk, no time to discuss how we’re going to do this, no practice, no point in any of it. Because it doesn’t really matter.

This is happening. The dozen or more men sitting in the pews with guns under their jackets will make sure of it.

The old priest clears his throat. “By the power vested in me by the Church and the State of Maryland, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He gestures toward us. “You may kiss the bride.”

There’s a moment, just a brief moment, where I’m not sure I’ll do it. Because I know myself, and I know how I’m dangling over the edge with her, already deeply obsessed, and anything could toss me over into the abyss. I’m afraid this kiss is going to do it. One taste and I’ll never want to stop tasting her again.

But she moves forward, and when I put a hand on the small of her back and feel her warm body against mine, I’m fucking lost.

“Hey, Alexan,” she whispers, smiling slightly.

“Thief,” I say, then press my lips to hers.

It’s a brief brush at first, but soon the kiss turns into something more. Hungry, desperate, needy, everything all at once. Her taste is lilacs and honey and pollen. It floods my mouth like bliss. I growl against her tongue, and it takes all my strength not to palm her hair and drag her head back to expose her long, pale throat.

Instead, I step away, heart hammering in my chest, and she stares at me with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide like she can’t believe what just happened.

But then the music plays again, and everyone claps, and we’re swept along toward the reception. I want to stay by her side, but we get separated almost immediately as she’s surrounded by her family and I’m surrounded by mine. Her brother and her maid of honor shadow her the whole time like they’re protecting her from the rest of the family. I find that very curious.

“You did it,” Tigran says, grinning like a hawk, his blonde Russian wife, Dasha, leaning against his side.

“She’s beautiful,” Dasha says and gives me a quick hug. “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

“And that was one hell of a kiss.” Arsen appears, the patron of the Brotherhood. He shakes my hand firmly and pats my shoulder. “Well done, Alexan. I know we can count on you to really seal the deal.”

“He means we need you to impregnate her as soon as possible.” Tigran bellows a laugh and shoves a drink in my hand. “Not that you’ll need this to figure out what to do with her.”

I mutter the proper thanks, not used to being the center of attention. I keep looking across the room at her. She’s glowing and incredible as she hugs and kisses her aunts and uncles.

It’s not until the dances that I finally get a moment alone with her.

She seems almost shy as Frank Sinatra plays. I don’t know who picked this shit, and it doesn’t matter. I put my hands on her and gently pull her closer. We sway together as I breathe in her smell.

“You look good,” I say quietly, aware of all the people staring at us, but not really caring.

“Thanks. I hate this dress.”

“You didn’t pick it?”

“I had pretty much nothing to do with any of this.” She laughs lightly. “It’s not terrible though, right?”

“Which part?” I ask, moving closer, unable to help myself. My hands move lower on her hips. “The marriage? Or the reception?”

“Both,” she whispers.

I’m about to tell her everything will be okay when I feel something at her hip. It’s round and hard, about the size of my palm. “What do you have here?” I ask.

She brightens slightly, pulling back to grin at me. “Can you keep a secret?”

“You’re my wife now. I’ll die before I betray you.”

Her smile falters. “That was a little intense.”

I shrug and pull her against me again. “What’s the secret?”

“I brought a little talisman. Call it something borrowed.” She wriggles against me as she laughs. “I stole a watch.”

My heartrate slows. We keep dancing, but I feel the hairs on my spine stand up. “Really? And you brought it to your wedding?”

“I wanted it as a reminder, you know? Even though I’m doing this, that doesn’t mean it’ll change who I am.”

“Who did you steal it from?”

“This guy named Jeremy Fong. Some uptight cybersecurity consultant that came over for dinner one night to talk business. I lifted it from him right in front of my dad. It was honestly perfect⁠—”

She’s still talking, but I can’t hear anymore. My heart’s hammering now and blood rushes to my head.

This can’t be happening. There’s no way this is happening right now.

I pull away but grab onto her hand. I pull her along, dragging her from the dance floor. “We need to talk,” I snarl, hurrying away from the reception. I know it’s making a scene, but fuck, fuck, fuck.

I have to be wrong.

“What are you doing?” she says, looking back over her shoulder with a frown.

Tigran starts coming toward us, but I wave him off. I take her down a back hall and toward the bathrooms, and once we’re alone, I spin around to face her.

“Show me,” I command, holding out my palm.

She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

And honestly, I’m about to. I’m vibrating from head to toe, ringing with horror.

“Are you joking right now?”

“Please. I need to see it.”

“You just dragged me from our wedding because I stole a watch? I knew you were crazy⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit that you stole something,” I say, and maybe it’s the desperation in my voice because her face softens with surprise. “Please, Riley. Let me see it.”

“I don’t know why this is such a big deal,” she says, awkwardly reaching down into her dress. She fishes around at her hip before pulling it back out, wriggling to get her arm back through the sleeve. “It’s just some crappy old thing. Do you know Fong or something?”

She dangles it by the chain.

I touch it gently. The watch spins, catching the light.

Burnished brass. Made to look old, although I know it was made only a few years ago. I weigh it on my palm. “It’s heavier than I thought it’d be,” I say quietly, mostly to myself.

“You really know this thing?”

My stomach is an empty black pit. A deep, existential bleakness fills me as the gravity of our situation becomes horribly clear.

“I was hired to find this,” I tell her, letting it go. I touch her cheek, and she stares at me with confusion. “I’ve been looking for you for a couple of weeks now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This isn’t an ordinary watch, and Jeremy Fong isn’t just some average consultant.”

“Who is he then?”

I shake my head and lace my fingers into her hair. She lets out a little, confused whimper as I pull her close, brushing my lips over hers, unable to help myself.

“He’s the man who will kill us both if I don’t figure out a way to stop him,” I whisper.

Then I bury my mouth in hers.