Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig

Emma

Rett’s grip of my waist tightened as we continued our walk into the room with the golden glow, the one they’d referred to as his front office. This room wasn’t anything like the office I’d been taken to after my abduction, the one hidden within the bowels of this mansion. This room was as if, upon leaving the foyer, we’d stepped out of current time and traveled back to the days of kings and queens, exemplified by lavish castles filled with riches.

It was a sitting room fit for royalty.

Inhaling deeply, I turned to the man at my side. In that split second, I saw only the pressed white shirt from beneath his custom tuxedo jacket covering his wide chest. I dared not to look higher, beyond the bow tie, to see his dark gaze upon me or invoke his deep tenor that would remind me again of the promise I’d made. Instead, I turned back to the room, gaping at the opulence, not as a would-be queen but perhaps as a peasant who had been mistaken for royalty.

I couldn’t help but wonder how this was suddenly partly mine.

Standing by the entry and also in the far corners, similar to guards on sentry, were more of Rett’s men. They didn’t wear the uniforms and tall hats of the guards at Buckingham Palace, but rather dark suits, grim expressions, and beneath their suit coats, undoubtedly the firearms that had moments earlier been aimed at my brother and...Liam.

In the time that I’d been living within this dwelling, never had I seen so many of Rett’s men in one place. Then again, the night had brought many unusual sightings. Trying to ignore them—or more likely seeking a diversion from them—I took in the luxury around us.

While polished to perfection, the wood floor showed a bit of the age of Rett’s home.

How many people had stood in this room?

My attention was quickly diverted elsewhere. Beyond the fifteen-foot windows accented with heavy drapes, streetlights glowed. Their radiance created starbursts glimmering within the panes. And above us, the twenty-foot ceiling was covered in detailed murals surrounded with intricate trim and crown molding. In the center of the room, a large chandelier shimmered, sending light in prisms that flickered around the room and onto the extravagant furnishings.

Judge McBride, Ian, and Miss Guidry were gathered near an antique console table beautifully adorned with golden legs and a marble top. The judge’s eyes were wide, and Miss Guidry wrung her hands as we approached.

Despite Rett’s pressure moving me forward, each step I took was smaller than the last.

Earlier in the night, Judge McBride had asked me if I was marrying Everett Ramses without misgivings. In that moment, under the twinkling lights and standing before the fountain upon the pebblestone walkway that made up the Ramses family crest, I’d answered honestly.

That moment, maybe thirty minutes earlier—maybe an hour—now seemed like a lifetime ago.

The shutting of the large double doors behind us caused me to startle.

Rett tightened his grip, adding a little more pressure for me to move forward.

My first thought was to run, but run where and to whom?

“I believe,” Judge McBride said as he lifted a long fountain pen our direction, “that despite the interruption, all that is left to be done is to sign the certificate.”

Where was his question now?

How would I answer it if posed?

“It’s customary,” the judge continued, seemingly unaware of my new inner struggle, “for this certificate to come later from the courthouse; however, per our agreement earlier today, Mr. Ramses, tonight we’ll complete all the legal documentation. Mr. Knolls and Miss Guidry have already signed as witnesses. Once the two of you sign, I’ll add my signature and you two will legally be Mr. and Mrs. Everett Ramses.”

When I didn’t reach for the pen, Rett did. Releasing me, he stepped to the table and by the movement of the long pen, signed his name. It was then he turned to me, doing as the judge had done and extending the pen. “Emma.”

My breaths pushed against the fitted bodice as I tried to comprehend what had transpired.

Judge McBride called it an interruption. That seemed too simple of an assessment of what had occurred. An interruption was a blip of time, a sidetrack, or maybe an intermission. Kyle and Liam’s appearance wasn’t the intermission but rather the unexpected second act.

“Emma,” Rett repeated.

“Rett,” I said, finding my voice. “I don’t want to delay Judge McBride any longer than necessary, but before I sign, I need to speak with you” —I looked around the room— “in private.”

I would have had to have been blind to not see Rett’s jaw clenching, the tendons pulling taut in his neck, or his gaze darkening. While my experience with this man was limited by the length of our acquaintance, I had witnessed a full range of his emotions. Currently, he was not pleased. If I were one of his men, I might fear his next reaction.

To be honest with myself, I did have fear of his reaction. I simply refused to give it power.

Rett stepped closer with the pen in hand, then closer still, until I was craning my neck upward.

“You will sign.” His declaration came from between clenched teeth.

Swallowing, I took a step back and walked to the double doors. Another of Rett’s men was standing there. My neck straightened as I approached. “Open the door.”

The man’s stare darted from me to Rett.

Before anyone could speak, I turned to the room. “I am Mrs. Everett Ramses in every way with the exception of a signature. Do I or do I not have the power that accompanies that title?” I turned my blue stare toward Rett. “I would assume you’re the one to answer that.”

For a moment in time, the room took a collective breath. All eyes were on the man in command, the self-proclaimed king of New Orleans.

“Out,” Rett bellowed as he turned to the man at the door and back to others around the room. “Give us five minutes. And then everyone will return.” His gaze met the judge’s as Rett offered the slightest of a bow. “Thank you for your patience.”

My confidence built as one by one, the room emptied. The guard in the far corner was the last to move. It wasn’t until Rett assured him that we wouldn’t be long that the man finally joined the others. Once Rett and I were alone and the doors closed, I let out a breath.

It was a misjudgment on my part.

Before I could inhale, the man who was nearly my husband had me captive. With one arm around my waist and the other hand holding tightly to my chin, I was pinned against his solid body. Inclining his face toward mine, with our noses nearly touching, Rett’s tone rumbled through me with the ferocity of a lion’s growl, leaving goose bumps scattering in its wake.

“Never again.” His nostrils flared with each deep breath as darkness swirled in his almost-black orbs. “I am in charge in all things, Emma. Don’t forget that. That will be the last time you overstep your position.”

If I were a sane person, I would retreat, perhaps apologize, and accept where fate had brought me. It seemed that based upon the evidence at hand—Rett in a tuxedo, me in his mother’s wedding dress, and our marriage certificate upon the console—sanity wasn’t my forte.

My neck and back straightened as my shoulders squared. “What is that position?”

“My wife.”

I shook my head as much as his grip would allow as my eyes narrowed. “That isn’t the only title you offered.” His grip of my chin lessened. “You told me I would be your queen. A queen has her own power.” I smiled. “If this were a game of chess, it would be my job to protect you.”

“It’s not a fucking game.” Rett tilted his head toward the table. “You will sign the certificate.”

“First, I want you to answer two questions.”

Rett’s arm around my waist pulled me closer. “Never again, Emma. Not in front of my men, household staff, or anyone...” He allowed that word to hang in the air. “Never will you make a public spectacle of contradicting or questioning me. If you choose to take that risk in private, that is your choice, but never again will anything like what just took place happen. Are we clear?”

“I asked to speak to you in—”

Rett’s grip of my chin shifted to a finger upon my lips, stopping the rest of my sentence.

“Fucking say, ‘Yes, Rett.’” He glared down at me. “That is all that needs to come from those beautiful lips.”

As he slowly removed his finger, I acquiesced—sort of. “Yes, Rett, but that isn’t all I’m going to say now.”

Letting go of me, he exhaled and stepped away, heading toward the far side of the room. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Where are Kyle and Liam?” I asked. “What’s happening to them?”

Rett spun my direction. “They’re currently taking a ride with a few of my men. If you’re asking me if I plan to kill them, the answer is yes.”

I sucked in a breath.

“Don’t give me that fucking wide-eyed-doe look, Emma. I’ve told you that was my goal since the first night at Broussard’s. Isaiah or Kyle, I don’t give a fuck what name he uses, lied to you.” Rett gestured toward the doors. “He lied right out there in my—our—home. He lied about your abduction. He’s lied to you for four years. What do you think would have happened if you’d gone with him?”

I wrapped my arms around my midsection as I allowed myself to think beyond what had occurred earlier in the foyer. It was the pearl-studded bodice that reminded me that this was my wedding. A half hour ago I was happy and now...

I wasn’t certain where the new emotion came from.

Bewilderment and anger melted away as a sense of abandonment and sadness infiltrated my words. A rogue tear escaped my eye as I blinked away the moisture. “Maybe I’d meet my mother.”

Rett’s fingers combed through his dark hair. The styled gel from before had given way to his wavy mane. “It would be better if you didn’t.”

This time I went to him, the skirt of the wedding dress brushing the floor as the train followed in my wake. “You don’t have any say in who I see.”

“You’re wrong, Emma. I have total control of who you see and what you do.”

I wanted to argue that point, but based on the last month, I was without any solid evidence for an adequate defense. Instead, I asked the question Kyle’s announcement had prompted. “Why didn’t you tell me that Jezebel North is alive?”

“I never said she wasn’t.”

My lips pursed as I shook my head. “Stop it. I’m not stupid. You purposely misled me.”

“We can discuss this matter of interpretation later. Judge McBride has plans.”

“Life or death isn’t an interpretation.”

“You’re right. They are a matter of being and if you left this house with him, your life would be over.”

I laid my hand on Rett’s sleeve. As I did, the rings upon my fourth finger caught my attention. Exhaling, I offered a deal. “Rett, I’ll sign the marriage certificate. Hell, I’ll even work on what I say or don’t say in front of others, but I need some promises from you too.”

His dark orbs turned back to me. “Emma, that isn’t how I work.”

“You’re not working with me. This isn’t a business deal. This is a marriage. Remember what you said out in the courtyard?” I didn’t give Rett a chance to answer. “You said that Miss Marilyn told you that anyone could propose. It’s a simple question.” A grin threatened my expression. “I believe you offered three proposals this afternoon.” The muscles of his jaw loosened as I spoke. “She also told you that marriage wasn’t easy. It required commitment. You asked me to believe that you, that we, are worth the effort. Do you still want that?”

Rett lifted my left hand and turned it ever so slightly, watching as the light from the chandelier reflected off the large diamond. His shoulders straightened as his stare met mine. “What promises do you want?”

It wasn’t an answer to my question, and yet it was.

“Don’t kill Kyle...or Liam, not yet.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking. If it’s them or you, they will die.”

I knew better than to do more than make the request. I continued, “The other promise that I want from you is the promise that if I do as you want and hold my tongue while in the presence of others, you will give me the chance to discuss anything—anything at all—in private. I can wait, and I will wait, as long as I know I’ll have my chance.”

“I can’t promise anything. There are things you don’t need to know, things that would be safer for you not to know.”

“Legally? Is this back to me making a statement?”

Rett’s chest inflated as he inhaled. “Yes and no.”

“No.” My head shook. “The deal you offered wasn’t for me to only be your wife but also your queen. I can’t be a queen if I don’t know what’s happening. I’m not saying I need a report every night.”

Rett curled the ends of his lips in amusement. “That’s good because I have a long list of much better things for us to do each night than recite reports.”

I wanted to deny how with a simple change in Rett’s voice, his timbre and his pitch, that my body responded. He hadn’t even been direct, yet his innuendo had my insides twisting and warmth pooling between my legs. I wanted to hate that he had that kind of effect, but then again, it was part of his allure. Over the last month, I’d become addicted to Everett Ramses and what he was capable of doing.

Trying to ignore the rise in temperature, I clarified my request, “I’m saying that if I have a question, you’ll answer me honestly.”

Rett lifted my left hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I can do that...in private.”

“Tonight I asked to speak to you in private. That needs to mean something too.”

Rett nodded. “We both have work to do, Emma.” With my hand in his, he confessed, “I have many dealings, irons in the fire. My first reaction may not always be what you want to hear, but this” —he tenderly squeezed my hand— “is why you, Emma Ramses, are fit to be a queen. I’ll work on being patient with you if you’ll give me the same honor.”

I nodded. “And Kyle?”

“He’ll be spared tonight.”

My last request was the hardest one for me to make, to ask for leniency for someone who hurt me and left me without considering my needs. “Liam?”

Rett’s dark eyes narrowed. His face tilted as if he understood my quandary—he couldn’t and yet his response seemed as if he did. “What is the queen’s request?”

My stomach twisted. “They both live, for now.”

His lips landed upon the top of my head, just in front of the crown. “You will sign now.”

It wasn’t a question, but that inclination defined the essence of the man I’d agreed to marry—one who didn’t ask but rather who proclaimed his wishes.

“I will sign.”