Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(28)

“Is there a problem?” he says, frowning at us.

“No problem at all. Start the ceremony,” I order.

Aida and I continue to snipe at each other in muttered tones, while the priest drones his way through the vows.

“If you think I’m gonna be some little porn star for you—”

“That’s just bare minimum standards—”

“Yes, it certainly was bare—”

We break off when we realize the priest is staring at us.

“Callum Griffin and Aida Gallo, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?” he says.

“Yes,” I reply angrily.

“Oh yes,” Aida says, in the tone of voice my father would classify as “the lowest form of humor.”

“Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”

“Yes,” I say, after a moment’s hesitation. The rest of our lives is a very fucking long time. I don’t want to picture it right now.

“Yes,” Aida says, looking at me like she’s planning to try to make the rest of MY life as short as possible.

“Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his church?”

“Yes,” I say.

I’d get Aida pregnant right this second, purely because of how furious it would make her. That would be one way to tame the wild beast.

Aida already looks so annoyed that I don’t think she’s going to answer the question. Finally, through stiff lips, she mutters, “Yes.”

“Then say your vows,” the priest instructs.

I seize Aida’s hands and squeeze them as hard as I can, trying to make her flinch. She stubbornly sets her face, refusing to acknowledge the pressure on her fingers.

“I, Callum, take you, Aida, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

I spout the words off quickly, having memorized them on the car ride over.

Aida looks at me for a moment, her gray eyes more serious than usual. Then, in a flat tone, she repeats the vow back to me.

“I pronounce you man and wife,” the priest says.

That’s it. We’re married.

Aida tilts her lips up for a chaste kiss.

To show her who’s boss, I seize her by the shoulders and kiss her roughly, forcing my tongue into her mouth. Her lips and tongue taste sweet. Tart and fresh. Like something I haven’t tasted in a very long time . . .

Strawberries.

I can already feel my tongue going numb. My throat starts to swell, my breath coming out in a whistle.

The church whirls around me in a kaleidoscope of color, as I slump to the floor.

That fucking BITCH!





11





Aida





My husband spends the night in the emergency room. I guess that strawberry allergy was pretty serious after all. It doesn’t make up for the weeks Sebastian spent at the hospital, or the months of rehab and the loss of his basketball season, but it’s something at least.

It also allows me to skip out on the farce of the wedding photos, the dinner, the dancing, and all the other nonsense in which I wanted no part. It was bad enough having to spout off all those lies in a church, in front of a priest. I’m not religious, but that didn’t make it any better. The pious nonsense was the cherry on the bullshit sundae.

Callum and I were supposed to go to the Four Seasons to consummate our union, but that’s another thing that doesn’t end up happening. Instead I go up to the honeymoon suite alone to kick off my shoes, ditch the itchy lace dress, and order up enough room service that the concierge sounds very concerned when I tell her I only need one fork.

All in all, it’s a pretty glorious night. I try every kind of cake on the menu, while watching old episodes of Law and Order and Project Runway.

The morning isn’t quite as cheerful. I have to pack up my bag and drive over to the Griffin’s mansion on the lake. Because that’s where I’ll be living now. That’s my new home.

I feel deeply bitter toward my father and brothers as I climb in the cab. They’re at home in the house I was born in, the place I’ve lived every day of my life. They get to stay there, surrounded by family, while I have to march right into the lion’s den. I have to live in the middle of my enemies for the rest of my life. Surrounded by people who hate and distrust me. Never truly comfortable. Never really safe.

The Griffin mansion looks gleaming and formidable as I pull up the drive. I hate the perfectly manicured lawn and the sparkling windows. I hate how everything in their lives has to be so perfect, so soulless. Where are the overgrown trees, or the bushes you plant because you love the way the flowers smell?

If you told me their garden was full of plastic plants, I wouldn’t be surprised. Everything they do is for appearance, nothing more.

Like how Imogen Griffin stands in the doorway to greet me. I know she doesn’t give a shit about me, except for how I’m going to help promote her son’s career, and maybe provide her with grandchildren.

Sure enough, as soon as I’m inside, the mask drops.

“That was some stunt you pulled,” she says through pale lips. “I assume you knew he was allergic.”