King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 22

Stella

“CALL ME OLD-FASHIONED,” Cordelia says to Tally, as if I’m not standing right in front of her. “But if I were Stella, I would’ve chosen a wedding dress that wasn’t so blindingly white.”

My fists clench in preparation to punch her freckled face every time she opens her damn mouth.

It’s been nearly six weeks since our engagement party and I’m getting married today.

It’s my wedding day.

I’m marrying a criminal trafficker against my will.

Cordelia’s smart mouth isn’t doing anything to comfort me as I prepare to meet my fate. She puts a cold hand on my shoulder.

“You know, it has nothing to do with your darker shade of skin, Stella. The white looks lovely with your olive complexion. It’s just that I’ve always subscribed to the belief that you should only wear white to your wedding if you’re a virgin.”

My jaw clenches and I cock an eyebrow as I speak through gritted teeth. “And what makes you think I’m not a virgin?”

She laughs. “Murphy may have bad taste, but at least he picked a girl with humor.”

My knuckles ache to collide with her cheek, to make sure she doesn’t say another word to me the rest of the day.

Tally giggles along with her as she throws back the rest of her mimosa in a single gulp. “Delia, you’re such a bitch. Leave her alone.”

“What?” She tosses her straight orange hair over her shoulder, walking away from me. “I said she had humor.”

I turn my head to look back at the bitch over my shoulder. “What did you wear on your wedding day, Delia? I’m certain the groom wore black in mourning.”

Tally tosses her head back and laughs as I face forward again, regarding myself in the oversized mirror from where I stand on a round, raised platform.

“I’ve never been married,” Cordelia replies.

“I’m not surprised.”

I press my eyes shut and try to forget Cordelia’s existence. I breathe deeply to center myself as I try to ignore Tally’s obnoxious cackling in the background. I try to imagine myself happy, preparing to walk down the aisle to the version of Murphy I’d fallen for before I found out the truth about him.

I can picture it for a moment, and it nearly brings a smile to my face. But then the vision of him standing in a tux at the end of the aisle becomes tainted with the faces of nameless women filling the rows of seats. They watch me travel down the aisle, and though I don’t recognize them, I know who they are. They’re the women—the slaves—he’s trafficked and sold.

The vision makes me gasp and I shake my head to come out of it, brushing my hands over my soft skirt. The dress gives me some comfort in a strange way. Murphy asked me about my preferences for colors and cake and food, but I refused to help plan our wedding. The only thing I selected myself was the dress, and I’m glad I did. Wearing it now gives me the false sense that I still have some control, some ability to decide.

My fingers curl around a swatch of the tulle ball gown, holding it for comfort as a child would their blanket. The hems of the various layers are cut at an angle, rippling down in soft, flowing waves.

The top is a separate piece—a crystal-beaded, long-sleeve crop top that meets the top of the ball gown at the smallest part of my waist. The hand beading covers the entire top, across the bodice, over the shoulders, and down the organza sleeves.

It sparkles when it catches the light, making me feel like sunshine in its glow. The back is cut low in a deep V, and the front sweeps across my chest as a boatneck, the combination of white organza and beading allowing skin to show beneath.

Bridget suddenly appears and puts her hand on my shoulder, making me jump. I didn’t even notice the reflection of her approach in the mirror, but there she is, beside me, holding out a champagne flute.

“To calm your nerves?”

I glance at the drink and nod, taking it from her and tossing it back.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Just try to ignore them. That’s what I do,” she says with a friendly smile.

“They’re awfully loud.”

“Volume doesn’t equal power, my love.”

“Someone should tell them that.”

“That would only make them louder. You, love…you’ll keep your voice quiet.”

“Excuse me?”

“The less you speak, the more power your words have when you finally do. Be careful not to go the way of the other women in the four families. You’re not like them, and I’d be very sad to see you change.”

I’m taken aback. Her tone seems sincere. The smile and tender touch as she squeezes my palm makes me miss my mom. I wish she were alive so she could be here for me on my wedding day. Equally, I’m glad she’s not, because then I’d have to lie to her about Murphy. She’d be so ashamed of me and what I’ve become.

My eyes burn and I try to sniff back my tears as there’s a knock on the door. Fiona—poor, sweet Fiona—goes to answer it.

The less you speak, the more power your words have when you finally do.

I don’t know if Bridget’s right about that. For me, being quiet means complacency. I’ve always raised my voice to shout above those of obnoxious men who think their words have more power. But perhaps I’m wrong. Murphy has tried to give me a voice. He wants me involved; he wants me to be his partner. If he’s willing to grant me the power of being his wife, then maybe I should accept it and find the best way to wield it.

Accepting this life means being complacent in their horrific trade, but maybe temporary complacency is necessary to grow my power and do some real damage to their so-called business.

I steel myself with the rising tide of strength that straightens my spine. I pull back my shoulders and lift my chin.

“Stella,” Declan comes into the room. “You look stunning. You might give Murphy a heart attack.”

“Would serve him right.”

He crosses to me and holds out his hand. I take it so he can help me step down from the podium. He looks handsome in his black tux. His dark hair—like his mother’s—is smoothed and styled with precision.

“You look nice,” I tell him.

“I could’ve looked better, but I didn’t want to upstage the bride.” He grins, which makes me grin, too. “I have a surprise for you. Actually, I should say Murphy has planned a surprise for you. I made the arrangements, but it was his idea. He wanted to come tell you himself, but I reminded him that it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

My eyes narrow. “What surprise?”

“Before I show you, I need to be perfectly clear about how this has to go. You’re a very lucky, very happy bride marrying her beloved Murphy O’Shea…by choice, not by force. You know nothing of the four families. If anyone asks, the O’Shea family are wealthy barley farmers.”

“Barley farmers?”

“It’s important that you don’t slip up, Stella.” He grabs both my hands and leans forward, granting me unflinching eye contact. “Their lives are still very much at stake if you fuck up and tell them you need saving. If either of them think you’re in trouble, they won’t leave Ireland alive, do you understand?”

My eyes widen as awareness strikes. “Cora and Josh? They’re here?”

Declan nods and smiles. “Now tell me you understand so they can come in.”

I nod. “Yes, yes, I understand.” My heart pounds double time with the knowledge that my best friends are here… and for the fact that their lives are in danger if I can’t convince them that this is a happy affair for me.

Declan heads back to the door and opens it wide. A familiar flash of cerulean hair makes my heartache fade away for one brilliant moment.

“Cora!”

Her shoulders relax as she spots me and the widest grin I’ve ever seen spreads across her cheeks as we rush for each other. I throw my arms around her and hug her hard as Josh appears behind her.

“Oh, my God, you look so beautiful!” She half-sobs into my neck. “I’m sorry I’m crying on you. I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“Ruin my dress, you’re already making my eyeliner run.”

I don’t know how long I hold her, but I don’t want to let go. When I finally do, I run my knuckles under my eyes, hoping my tears didn’t make too much of a mess, before giving Josh a hug, too.

“I’m so sorry I left the way I did, Cora, I feel awful—”

“No, don’t. Not today. We can talk about it some other time.” She lets out a heavy breath. “You’re happy, you’re alive, you’re safe, and that’s all I care about.”

I work through a stuttering breath, forcing myself to focus on her in front of me so my smile doesn’t fade. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Me, too. Honestly, I was surprised when Murphy called and asked us to come. I know things were rough between us when you left. And I was so rude to you when you called and told me you were engaged and you weren’t coming back. I mean, okay, it was pretty rude of you to leave me behind with your shop like that.”

We both laugh. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s good, actually. It’s going really well. We had to hire another artist. She’s not as good as you are, but who the fuck could be?”

“I’ve missed you. I really, really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Stella, I just…Are you happy? I just wanna know that you’re happy.”

I feel my face twist as I fight back the swell of tears that threaten to spill. I nod, pinch my eyes shut, and open them again with a smile. “I’m happy, Cora. You don’t need to worry about me.”

My chest aches, but she looks relieved, her shoulders slumping as she releases tension with a long exhale. “Good. That’s all I care about.”

“One more surprise,” Declan says, approaching with a garment bag. “The maid of honor needs her gown.”

“You’re gonna be my maid of honor?”

“Of course, I am. I’ve got you, boo.”

“I really need you today. This…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “It’s not an easy family to marry into.”

I glance at Declan, and he shrugs, recognizing that my statement is true but not telling. “No lie there,” he agrees. He nods in the direction of Cordelia and Tally across the room who stare and whisper. “Bunch of bitches over there trying to play bridesmaid to a queen.”

Cora grabs the garment bag from him. “No worries, queen. I’ll make sure you get down the aisle to your king without anyone stepping on your toes.”

I sigh. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Breathe…just breathe.

My hands are shaking.

My stomach is twisted in knots.

I stand just behind the French doors leading out to the gardens at the back of the castle. They’re covered with fabric to conceal me from the guests seated outside…from my husband, who is waiting for me at the altar.

One breath at a time.

Cora stands beside me, our arms linked. I asked her to walk me down the aisle because there was no one else I would’ve wanted by my side.

“I might throw up,” I tell her as the last of my appointed bridesmaids makes her way up the aisle on the other side of the doors.

“You’ve got this. You’re amazing, you’re fucking gorgeous, and you’re about to marry the man of your dreams. Just forget about the rest. The other people out there? They don’t matter. Eyes on the prize, babe.”

I flash a tight grin. “Eyes on the prize.”

The prize…my captor, my husband.

He’s going to be my husband.

“Cora, I—”

Two servants pull the doors open wide as the pianist outside plays Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.

I look at Cora and the sudden urge to tell her everything and ask her to help me escape washes over me. And then she smiles at me, reaches over to squeeze my hand, and I remember…I can’t. I can’t risk her life. I can never tell her the truth.

I smile at her as she tugs on my arm, encouraging me forward. We step down onto the stone tiles that create the patio overlooking the green hill. I can see the pink and purple flowers dotting the green in the distance, giving the illusion that this place is happy, that this place is bright.

But the illusion only draws out my anxiety. My pulse races as I force myself to look at him, and when I do, his eyes are waiting for me to find him.

Murphy smiles at me from the end of the aisle. There’s a beat—a single beat—where the music seems to pause, where the world seems to fade, and I just see him. I see Murphy—the one I longed to see for long, lonely months.

The man I fell in love with.

And then it all comes rushing in—the music, the people, the lies, the rotten fucking truth.

I stop halfway down the aisle, unable to move forward, tugging Cora to a stop with me.

“Almost there, babe,” she whispers.

But I can’t take another step.

I can’t catch my breath.

I can’t breathe.

My chest hurts.

My fingers tingle and an anxious numbness ripples through my limbs. My grip around the bouquet loosens, and it tumbles from my fingers, falling in slow motion to the ground. I watch it land, and it’s as though all other sounds have been muted, except for the crushing, imagined thud of my flowers hitting stone. I place my hand over my thudding heart, swallowing the rising bile in my throat.

“You okay?” Cora asks, but her voice sounds faded.

I bend my knees, crouching toward the ground so I don’t fall over. A gentle breeze rustles my gown and sweeps the murmurs of the concerned crowd around me, encircling me, caging me in. Cora crouches beside me, one hand on my back as she leans in close.

“Stella, are you okay, babe? What do you need?”

“I need…” I gasp. “I need…”

“Murphy,” I hear her say.

I try to protest, “I don’t—”

But he’s there before I can say more, crouching in front of me as Cora stands and steps back, letting him take care of me. Two gentle fingers touch beneath my chin.

My whole body trembles as I lift my head slowly. “I can’t.”

Transcendent gray-green eyes meet mine, and there’s a softness in them I haven’t seen since the first time Murphy visited me after two months of phone calls…and we made love.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “It’s still me. I’m still here. I never left you.”

I stare at him, searching his eyes, knowing that his words are true. He’s telling me that the Murphy I knew is still there, that he didn’t leave me when the disgusting truth was revealed.

“Eyes on me,” he says. “See me, Stella.”

I nod slowly, trying to grab hold of something, anything that can steady me. I grab hold of the vision of who I thought he was—who I thought he would be—and I refuse to let go.

“Take my hand and let me lead you.”

I look down at his palm as he turns it over for me.

Taking it is the only choice I have.

I place my hand in his and meet his eyes again, forcing myself to see the Murphy I fell in love with, because I can’t do this if I let myself see the rest. But I can do this—I can do this for me, and I can do it for Cora and Josh—if I forget about the monster inside him, if only for a little while.

Murphy helps me slowly to my feet and Cora hands me my bouquet with a smile, none the wiser. She must think I was just an overwhelmed bride seeing the man she loves at the altar.

“You okay?”

I nod at her and smile.

With my hand securely in Murphy’s grip, I step up to the altar by his side and become the reluctant queen of his violent empire.