Beauty in Deception

I draw my hands from his. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

“Pity?” He considers me. “No. You’re too regal for pity.”

He’s wrong. I’m nobody. I’m used and ruined, a broken doll that will never be new—never clean, always dirty—but deep down I’m still me. I’m still me, and with him, that’s the problem. He makes me vulnerable in a way Bell never can. Bell torments me physically and emotionally, but Roman will hurt me in ways that won’t heal.

The knowledge makes me sag against the shelves.

“You’re not backing out,” Roman says. “Not out of this.”

“I made you a promise.” Defeat sinks like a stone in my stomach. No. That’s not true. I’ve been defeated a long time ago, even before Roman stole me. “I’ll keep my word.”

He nods, the gesture resigned. Taking my hand back in his, he says, “Before that can happen, something else needs to happen first.”

He doesn’t let me go as he takes something from his pocket. He holds on as if he’s afraid I’ll flee. I promised. I can’t run. There’s nowhere I can hide from him. Then why does he tighten his grip to the point of pain?

I search his face for the answers. He holds my gaze, offering me a strange consolation as he lets me look into his eyes and gives me an anchor. But his face is the wrong place to hunt for the answers, because when I look down, he’s pushing a ring onto my finger.

CHAPTER 14

Roman

* * *

It was my mother’s ring. The diamond twinkles on Evie’s finger. Set in a circle of emeralds that match the color of her eyes, it looks as if it was always meant for her.

She jerks up her head, her pretty features aghast and her cheeks ashen like the burnt-out embers in the fireplace. “Roman?”

If I look at her longer, I may lose my nerve. No. If this was any other matter, maybe. I have a feeling I’ll find it hard to say no to Evie for anything. Just not this. This is not negotiable.

Gripping her left hand, the hand on which she now wears my ring, I steer her down the hallway and open the door of her room. The woman I hired to prepare Evie waits in front of the dressing room.

At the sight of the woman—I don’t know her name, but my contact said she’s trustworthy—Evie digs in her heels. I pull her over the threshold and across the floor. I must be walking too fast because she stumbles. Slowing down, I grip her elbow to steady her. She didn’t trip because my strides were too long. Her gaze is fixed on the white dress that’s laid out on the bed.

“Is this a joke?” she asks, looking so pale I’m worried she may faint.

I grip her waist, testing her balance before I let go. “I’ll never joke about a matter like this.”

I nod at the woman in silent instruction. She knows what to do. Not giving Evie time to argue, I leave and lock the door.

Just as I’m about to enter my room, Mateo comes down the hallway, carrying a black garment bag in his hand.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” he asks, shaking the bag.

“Get dressed,” I say in a flat tone. “The marriage officiant will be here in less than an hour.”

He stops in front of me. “This better not be what I think it is.”

“It is.” I give him a level look. “Now do as I say, and go get ready.”

“You’re fucking marrying her?” he exclaims.

I turn for the door. “I don’t have time to spell it out for you.”

He grabs my arm. “You conveniently left out this part of the plan.”

Looking at where he’s gripping my forearm, I say, “I don’t want to break your nose twice in one week, especially not an hour before my wedding. It won’t look good on the photos.”

He lets go, working his jaw. “This was the plan all along, wasn’t it? It was never about ruining Evie. It was about marrying her.”

“If I told you, would you have gone along with it?”

“Fuck, no.”

I smile. “There’s your answer.”

“You’re giving her our fucking surname.”

Damn right, I am. The thought of it alone makes blood rush to my head. Whereas the sound of Evie Malan sits exactly right with me, Mateo doesn’t seem to appreciate it to the same degree.

Cupping his nape, I drag him closer. “What did I say about getting back what’s ours?”

“That you’ll get the diamond,” he says, gnashing his teeth.

“Everything.” I squeeze his neck. “I said I’ll get everything, not only what Warren took from us.”

He pushes me away. “Do you think Warren will give it to you if you’re his son-in-law?”

“Warren won’t give a dying man a piece of bread, not even if that man is his brother,” I say with all the hatred I harbor for Warren.