Page 8 of Revenge
Dahlia is the ultimate revenge fuck.
She returns her gaze to mine. I expect confusion. Tears. Refusal. Instead, she lifts her chin. “I’m not running.”
And just like that, I remember why I debauched her in the first place. I enjoyed this rebellious edge–the one that separates her from the rest of them. I believed–falsely–it meant she had a soul inside that perfect shell.
I glance at the priest, who I spoke with before we walked in. He and I should understand each other perfectly now that I’ve lined his church pockets. “Go on.”
He greets the audience. “In deference to the family’s wishes, we will skip the readings and prayer and go straight to the Statement of Intentions. Antonio and Dahlia, have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?
I nod my head. “I have.”
Dahlia glances toward her parents in the front row again. Both of them vigorously nod at her. She looks over her shoulder at her bridesmaids who look as bewildered as she does. Bea, the one closest to us, shakes her head.
I cock mine and send Dahlia a warning glance. She doesn’t know me–doesn’t know what I’m capable of or who I am. I doubt she even knew my first name before the priest mentioned it. But she understands the look just the same. I can tell because she pales and swallows.
“I have.” To her credit, her voice rings out clear and smooth.
The girl was trained to perform, and she’s putting on the performance of a lifetime right now.
“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”
“I am,” I say.
“I am.”
“Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?”
A little shock ripples through Dahlia at the mention of children, but after another quick glance toward her parents, she answers after me, “I am.”
“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.”
I reach for my virgin bride’s hand and take her cold, trembling fingers. “I, Antonio Beretta, take you, Dahlia King, to be my wife.”
There’s a gasp in the audience at my last name.
“I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life.”
That’s right, everyone. The Yacht King just got revenge fucked.
Now all that remains to be done is to give his daughter the same treatment.
I expect that round will be equally if not quite a bit more enjoyable.
Dahlia says her vows like a good girl, and we exchange rings. Yes, I give her the one her intended groom bought for her. I stripped it from the young politico before I installed him and his family in a limo headed back to Manhattan under the careful guard of a few of my men. I left it to Benedict to ensure they take it gracefully once the wedding is over.
The priest pronounces us man and wife. He doesn’t suggest I kiss the bride, but I take my due. I cradle the side of her flawless face and tilt her lips up toward mine.
Anger flashes in her pale eyes as I lower my head. I hover with my mouth just above hers. “Be a good girl and kiss your husband,” I murmur.
“Go fuck yourself,” she whispers back but lifts on her tiptoes to deliver a quick peck. She tries to draw away, but I hold her in place, slamming my lips down on hers, sliding my tongue in her mouth in front of everyone.
I hear the shocked intake of collective breaths. The murmurs grow louder as I continue to plunder my bride’s mouth.
She tastes of minty toothpaste. Her lips are as soft as I remembered. Her skin as smooth. Bad on me, I guess. But kissing Jailbait didn't warrant three years in the pen.
She starts to struggle against me, pushing me away, but I hold her fast.
She needs to learn that she’s not in charge of anything in this marriage. Especially not how much and well I use her pretty little body.