My lips part to say something, anything that will give me back the upper hand, but it all dissipates when Tiernan’s hand softly cups my left cheek and brings my lips to touch his. Without my consent, my lids close shut and I marvel how a man who has been groomed to take lives can breathe life into me with such soft, demanding lips. It’s only when my hand finds purchase on his chest to steady the unstable ground at my feet that Tiernan’s mouth pulls away from mine, leaving me oddly destitute and wanting.
I’m brought back to reality when loud cheers and applause break out, reminding me that the first time I ever set eyes on my husband—the first time he kissed me—was witnessed by a large audience of strangers.
I swallow my embarrassment down and take a step back to gather my composure. Tiernan offers me his arm, the little smug smile on his lips no longer visible; in its place is a no-nonsense expression. I take his lead and link my arm through his, making sure my own facial features have turned to stone. As we take our first steps as husband and wife, I can’t shake the ominous feeling that this man will be my ruin in more ways than one.
My lips still burn from his kiss, and I wonder if the people standing at their pews can see the imprint he left on them.
Inwardly, I curse my inexperience when it comes to the opposite sex. If I had spent my youth kissing a bunch of frogs, then when the Irish king laid a kiss on my lips, it wouldn’t have left such an impression on me.
Unfortunately, not many men were brave enough to kiss a cartel princess already promised to the Irish mob boss. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve kissed someone. I’m sure my husband hasn’t suffered the same affliction.
Husband.
The word lies heavy on my tongue.
More like a jailer.
Imprisoned to a life so far from the reality I’ve experienced.
My new home is cold and grey compared to the warmth Mexico provided. Even the air feels different here. Arctic. Much like the man leading me out of the church, I presume.
The limo I arrived in waits at the curb, and like the gentleman he’s not, Tiernan makes no move to open the door for me, but waits for the chauffeur to do it for him. My cheeks blaze in resentment as our wedding party witnesses the subtle insult, resulting in little snickers of amusement at my expense.
“Gracias,” I thank the driver, keeping my wide smile front and center as he ushers and helps me into the backseat.
The minute I’m inside, my smile drops. I turn my head towards the window, not wanting to see the faces of our guests, much less the man I just married. The car door slams a few seconds later, resulting in Tiernan’s looming presence eating up the oxygen in the small confines. I shift closer to the window as he gives a little knock on the partition, his way of telling the driver to head to our reception.
I count the beats of my heart, willing it to slow down, and quell my unexpected rising temper. Compared to my brothers, I’ve never really been known to have a foul temper to speak of. Rationally, I shouldn’t even be mad at Tiernan for the minor snub. Maybe the real reason I’m aggravated is that in the few minutes I’ve known him, he has been able to stir up unfamiliar feelings in me that I’m not too comfortable with.
Resentment.
Anger.
Curiosity.
And dare I say it… even lust.
When the car starts, I push all those idiotic notions away and keep my gaze on the passing cold buildings on the sidewalk. Grey. Lifeless. Unbecoming. My gut twists, yearning to see some warmth in the architecture passing by.
‘It’s an omen,’ my subconscious whispers, and to my chagrin, I agree.
This city will offer me nothing but cold winds and dull, empty days.
Can a flower bloom under such dire conditions?
How will I be able to give this man an heir when he won’t even open a simple car door for me seconds after I had pledged to obey, love, and honor him?
I shake that thought away.
No matter the striking resemblance, Tiernan is not the ruler of the Underworld. Or at least not a mythical version of it. He’s not Hades—even if I do share some similarities with Persephone’s plight.
He’s a man.
Made of flesh and bone.
With worldly desires and basic urges.
I’m his now. To do with whatever he pleases. He’ll take me, willingly or not.
Can a woman get pregnant on her wedding night, I wonder? Will one time be enough to solidify our union? Or will I have to spend my honeymoon on my back as he ruts his seed into me?
How long do most honeymoons last, anyway?
A week?
Two maybe?
Surely not more than that.
My head is still working out the math when I feel a little tug on my dress. My gaze lands on Tiernan’s thumb and finger that are currently rubbing a small patch of my flowing skirt in between them.
“You wore white.”
It’s not a question. More like an accusation.
I nod, my throat suddenly too dry to utter a word.
“I wasn’t expecting white,” he utters under his breath.
My forehead wrinkles in confusion.
“Don’t most brides wear white on their wedding day?” I ask after a long, insufferable pause.
“Most brides, yes. But you’re not most brides, are you, Rosa?”
Heat fills my cheeks at the sound of my name coming from his lips. My name on his tongue sounds obscene to my ears. X-rated and salacious even.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I couldn’t find a blood-red dress that would do the occasion justice,” I reply with a bite to my tone, not wanting him to pick up on the dirty images the sound of his voice saying my name conjured up.
He lets go of the dress and swiftly captures my chin in his ruthless grasp, his gaze, filled with such hate, holds all the oxygen in my lungs captive.
“Black. That’s the color I was waiting for. It would have been less of a lie than the white you chose.” He lets go of my chin and then turns his head away from me to stare out his passenger window. “Lie to me again and I’ll make sure that black is all you know from here on out.”
The threat lies heavy in the air as I take in his black ensemble with fresh new eyes.
I came dressed for a wedding.
Tiernan came dressed for a funeral.
Chapter 6
Rosa
“Can’t you stay just a little longer?” I blurt out and then inwardly cringe at the sound of panic in my voice.