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He notices my hesitation, stepping forward to gently grasp my hand. His touch is both a reassurance and a reminder of his control over this situation.
“I’ve spoken to your father,” he continues. “Your hand settles his debts.” The words are a cold splash of reality, reinforcing the power dynamics that have defined our relationship from the start. “Out of respect for your wishes, I let him live but he will never hurt you again, I swear.”
The priest begins, his words formal and foreign to my ears, as if we’re characters in a play I’ve not rehearsed. Xavier’s gaze never leaves mine.
“Do you, Jane Hennimore, take Xavier Rossi to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in marriage, to love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of a life I’m still struggling to understand. “I do,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. It’s a commitment made more to the moment than to the future, a surrender to the inevitable.
Xavier takes my hand. “And do you, Xavier Rossi, take Jane Hennimore to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in marriage, to love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
His answer is immediate, “I do,” spoken with a conviction that sends shivers down my spine. As the cold metal ring encircles my finger, I’m acutely aware of the finality of it all—I am his, by vow, by law, all because of a debt I never owed.
I can’t help but think about my past. The family that never really felt like one, the loneliness that cloaked my childhood. Can Xavier fill that void? I ponder, even as I fear the answer. Or will I just swap one form of loneliness for another?
He looks hungrily at me. “Every piece of you, from the heart that beats to the body that trembles, is mine now. Not just by law, but by a bond far deeper.”
The room spins, and for a moment, I’m lost in a whirlwind of emotions—fear, resignation, and a sliver of hope that Xavier’s promise of protection might be real.
There’s a whistle from the door of the church. Xavier looks that way. One of his men is giving him some kind of hand signal.
“We need to move out,” Xavier says. “We done here?”
The priest nods frantically. “I can do the paperwork. You’re married in the eyes of God.”
“Good. There a back door to this place?”
“Through there.”
“This way,” Xavier says, taking me by arm, leading me swiftly out into a parking lot where a black sedan is waiting.
He glances at me, eyebrows furrowed. “You always wanted to go to France, right?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because we need to be out of the country for a while.” For a moment, despite everything, I allow myself to feel a flicker of excitement. France, a dream long held but never expected to fulfill, especially not like this, bound to a man I’m still trying to understand.
“What about Emma?” I ask. “Will she be in danger?”
“She’ll be fine with Tony. He’ll keep her safe. It’s us he’s after.”
Another whistle from the church steps. “Get in,” Xavier says, pulling open the car door. “Now.”
Xavier’s POV
Two days later…
The sun warms my skin as we wander the grounds of Châteaudun Castle. Jane’s hand finds mine. Her gaze follows the intricate patterns of shadow and light cast by the towering spires against the cobblestone paths.
The air carries the scent of aged stone, mingled with the distant aroma of fresh bread and lavender from the village below.
All my troubles seem a million miles away. The armed attackers approaching the church as the wedding concluded are a distant memory.
“Why here?” I ask, genuinely curious about the magnetism of this place to her heart. “Of all the places in France, why did you want to make this our first stop?”
She turns to me, her eyes reflecting the azure sky. “My mother spent a whole summer here, researching for her medieval history book. She always said this place was where she felt closest to the past, like it was just a finger’s touch away from her.”
“How do you know she said that?”
“I have her research journals. She was always researching, traveling places. She brought back souvenirs, magnets, stickers, that kind of thing.
“She was going to give them to me when I was old enough. I asked my dad about them. He said he threw them all out when she died, said he didn’t want to look at them.” She looks up at me and manages a smile. “Guess he forgot about the journals.”
“How did those two end up together. They don’t exactly sound compatible.”
“Do we?” She smiles. “I don’t know for sure. I get the feeling Mom liked a bad boy.” Her smile turns into a broad grin. “I guess I can maybe see the appeal. He told me once he met her when he was on vacation in Italy. I don’t know if that’s true. She never wrote anything about him in her journals. For all I know, they met at a burger joint.”
“Any siblings?”
“Nope. Just me and my dad for most of my life. He told me once I look like my mom. I sometimes wonder if that’s why he seemed to hate me, because I reminded him of her.”
“I could still kill him for you. Offer’s open.”
She squeezes my hand. “I know you could, and romantic a gesture as that is, I’d rather you didn’t murder my father. For all his sins, he’s still my dad. I didn’t get chance to say in the church but I’m glad you let him live. Power isn’t about killing, you know? Real power is being able to but choosing when not to.”
My phone buzzes. I step away to answer it.