Fake Empire(24)

The priest looks to Scarlett expectantly. She doesn’t need any prompting. Her voice is clear and unwavering, echoing off the glass windows and the marble floor and the dark wood.

“I, Scarlett Cordelia Ellsworth, take you, Crew Anthony Kensington, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do we part.” She slides the platinum wedding ring onto my third finger. It’s far from heavy but impossible to ignore. A reminder of her I’ll always see—whether I want to or not. “I give this ring as a sign of my love.”

If I weren’t watching her so closely, I would miss the flicker of trepidation as it passes across her perfectly painted face. Scarlett knows what happens next, same as I do. I wonder if she’s more or less apprehensive about this kiss following her request earlier.

“You may kiss the bride.”

I watch Scarlett smother the urge to roll her eyes. She obviously doesn’t appreciate the priest “allowing” me to kiss her. But I’m close enough to see her breath hitch and her eyes widen. She wants to kiss me; she just doesn’t want to admit it.

I take a step forward slowly. Deliberately.

Actions I don’t usually think twice about, I’m second-guessing. The small space between us shrinks to nothing, until the stiff fabric of my tuxedo is pressed against the white material of her dress. This is the closest we’ve ever been, save for that brief moment earlier.

I was annoyed then. At her for asking. At myself for capitulating. Women chase me, not the other way around. And, ironically, the one woman whose attention should be a given is the only person whose lack of it bothers me. I admire her for treating me with a callousness I didn’t expect, for not getting swept up in the pomp and circumstance of what is, at the end of the day, nothing more than a business arrangement. However, it’s put me in the strange situation of having to pursue what I want from her.

My expectations of this marriage never included a wife who wants nothing to do with me. It would be convenient—if not for the fact I find Scarlett captivating and intriguing. I want her attention.

I have no idea when I’ll kiss her again after this, so I intend to savor every second. Most of today—the gold foil invitations and the thousand plus attendees and the flowers covering the end of every pew—seemed unnecessary. This feels very necessary.

The thin lace of her veil tickles my palms as I raise my hands. I cradle her face like it’s a bubble that might pop. Like it’s the most precious possession I own. Her pulse thrums rapidly, just below her jawline. Her eyes turn heated, betraying how her body hasn’t moved at all. I hesitate for a few more seconds, letting the anticipation build to a breaking point.

She may want to—try to—forget this day. This moment.

She won’t be able to.

Our lips collide. I can taste her surprise, followed by relief the torture has ended. I’m not finished though. I slide my hands down to rest on her waist as I tease my tongue along the seam of her lips. I swallow the slight gasp that allows the entry I’m seeking. Then she starts kissing me back and I forget everything I was trying to accomplish.

Our kiss is fireworks and heat and passion. Combustible. Explosive. Electric. More than a cold fusion of assets. It’s a struggle to remember where we are. Why it’s not an option to bend her over the nearest available surface.

Ice can be chipped away at. But fire? Only fools trifle with fire. Fire destroys everything in its path.

There’s a split-second, right after I pull away and end the kiss, where this feels real. When I’m looking at her and she’s looking at me and that’s the extent of anything that matters. It lingers between us…and then it’s gone.

“I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Crew Kensington!”

I incline my head. Scarlett gives me a barely perceptible nod. And we turn, facing the crowd that is clapping and cheering and standing.

We’re married. The woman standing next to me is my wife. I’ve had almost a decade to get used to the idea. It wasn’t long enough, clearly, because the words sound strange in my head. Maybe marriage is one of those things that can’t be prepared for.

Maybe it’s that I care—about her, about the significance of the vows we just exchanged—and I didn’t think I would.

I take the hand hanging limply at her side, and we start our descent. Past my father and Candace and Oliver. Past Scarlett’s parents. Past the politicians and celebrities and the business moguls. People who think they’re witnessing a fairy tale and people who know a monopoly was just secured.

The aisle is long. I keep a smile pasted on my face for the full few minutes it takes to traverse from the apse of the cathedral to its narthex. As soon as we pass the final pew, I let the fake expression fall. There’s a small army waiting for us outside the doors. Scarlett is ushered away by two women immediately, and I’m left to nod along to the wedding planner as she talks.

It’s probably an accurate representation of how the rest of our lives together will look.





The reception is worse than I imagined it might be. Usually, I’m selective about who I socialize with. Tonight, I have no choice. Every person here wants a moment with me. A chance to offer congratulations and earn favor.

Scarlett is surrounded as well. The first time I have a chance to talk to her is several hours after we left the altar, during our first dance. She’s looking at me, but she’s not really looking. I know it’s purposeful. I caught a glimpse of vulnerability earlier. Now she’s reinforcing her walls. Battening down the emotional hatches.