Page 5 of Revenge
No, he must marry into La Famiglia if he wants to live and if he wants me to treat his daughter like the shining pearl he and Babs believe the spoiled socialite to be.
He gives a jerky nod. “Okay.”
“What?” Babs crumples, her knees giving way again. Her husband has to hold her up. “You can’t,” she croaks. “Benedict…the wedding.”
“My wedding,” I say. “My wedding to the girl you once told me I wasn’t worthy of. Not even to lick the shit off her designer heels.” I lift my brows at Benedict. I envisioned this moment every day I was in prison on trumped-up charges put there by this man. “Do you remember that?”
Benedict blinks in confusion, his mouth open.
No, he doesn’t remember. He’s fucked too many of those he considers lower class to count.
“At her coming out ball. Surely you recall. The blue-collar brute?”
I watch as the flush of recognition then rage transforms his expression. “You.”
I nod. “Me.”
He throws an arm wide. “This? That’s what this is about?”
I could not put more satisfaction into a smile. Yes. All of this. Seven years in the making. From becoming my uncle’s right-hand man after prison to orchestrating all of Benedict King’s failed investments and making sure he took the cash loan he could never pay back.
Yes, I’ve been directing the downfall of Benedict King since that night of the ball when his security guards beat me to a pulp and then dragged me to the police station with lies that no one should have believed.
And today is deliverance.
I now own Benedict King, his wife, and most importantly, that stuck-up virgin of his.
The one who is about to swear to love, honor, and obey me.
Dahlia
There’s a tiara on my head. I wanted a wreath of flowers. The kind with ribbons that fall down the back to mingle with soft curls, but my mother wouldn’t have it.
My hair’s in an up-do to display the diamond engagement earrings Jake gave me at our engagement party. I argued that the tiara actually detracts from the earrings, but in the end, I had no say in the matter.
It may be my wedding, but like every other moment in my life, it belongs to my parents.
Bea, my best friend–the one who I wanted to be my Maid of Honor, but my mother nixed–brushes a little more rouge on my cheeks.
“You look pale. You’re not going to puke, are you?”
I stare out the church window at the guests streaming in. Hundreds of people I don’t really know.
Of course, I’ve memorized all their names and stations. I know who is who and what they mean to both my family and the Reeses. I know I have to schmooze every single one of them today.
That’s my job.
This wedding isn’t about marriage at all. It’s a political event planned by the Reeses and my parents to boost Jake’s Mayoral career and get him to the governorship of New York City.
This will be my job for the rest of my life: looking beautiful, remembering names. Charming the right people.
“If I do, there won’t be much to puke. I haven’t eaten anything today.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem,” Bea clucks. “I’ll go and get you something.”
The door to the room opens, and my mom pokes her head in. “It’s time. Come here, Dahlia. There’s been a change of plans.”
There’s a wild, hysterical look about my mom. For once, she’s not giving me the critical once-over to tell me everything that’s not perfect about me at the moment. Something must’ve gone wrong downstairs.