Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

Between hiring a PA to take some of the load of remote marketing off my shoulders, fending off Harry’s pushy texts, and sending him small sums of money to hold him off and buy myself time, December came in the blink of an eye.

Saint gave me the space I didn’t ask for, and I was a rolling mess of nerves on my wedding day. The two baths with Epsom salts I’d already taken didn’t help me out at all. This would be the first time I’d see my groom after a week because giagia had deemed it inappropriate for us to be together before our wedding night. Little did she know that I could run around with my skirt up, begging to be fucked, and Saint’s steely resolve wouldn’t falter.

I was scared of staying at my old place alone, so I crashed at my parents' house. It wasn’t all that bad, plus Irena and I needed some time together. I missed my sister or skatouli as I called her—little shit in Greek.

“Aria, stop sweating, you’re going to ruin your makeup,” Daphne ordered, fanning my face with her hands as mom and giagia tried to squeeze me into the French Belle Époqueinspired wedding gown. A strapless, lavish number with layered petals, decorated in silver threads, rhinestones, and pearls that increased in density towards the edges of each leaf-like surface.

I knew this dress was the one the second I saw it in the Falco archives. Designed by Marie Arsenault in the fifties, a legend with a penchant for innovation and leading the way with her pioneering ideas. We were taught about her in fashion history class, so I had a mini freak-out moment when Celia toured me about the place where they kept their crowd favorites.

“I can’t control my bodily fluids.” I groaned, holding on to the edges of the mirror with both hands as they buttoned the corset. You didn’t alter a Falco wedding dress to fit you. You altered yourself to fit in it.

“Can someone turn up the AC here?” Daphne’s request went ignored into the room of about twenty girls. All my female relatives had collectively decided to show up and watch me suffer as I was pinched and prodded the whole day, sprayed with enough hairspray to suffocate a small bear.

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside.” Irena, clad in her blue bridesmaid dress, wrenched the curtains in my mom’s closet open. “See? Snow!”

“Then someone get me some powder.” Daphne snapped her fingers, and I sighed, sitting down after they were done with the dress and letting them pamper me while I drowned in champagne. I stopped when mama gave me the side-eye, and I also didn’t want to show up drunk at my own wedding.

Swallowing hard, I scribbled on the bottom of my white heels with a pen as the stylist weaved my hair into a romantic twist, with braids and wisps littering my temples.

“What are you writing there?” Irena hovered over me, peering down.

“Your name.”

“Mine, why?”

“It’s a tradition, Irena,” mom said, rummaging through her purse. “The day of the wedding, the bride writes the names of her unmarried friends on the soles of her wedding shoes, and the one that will fade out completely is the next to get married.”

“Make sure you write mine in the middle.” Daphne jumped in from her spot on the creme couch. “Phillip better propose soon, or I’m dumping his ass.”

“Ah, you can’t cheat fate. Your time will come eventually, but you can’t rush the process.” Ironically it was mom that replied.

I shot a warning look to Grandma Chloe, who was standing on the far left of the room, away from my mom’s family. I was already stressed enough as it was. I didn’t need them fighting.

“It’s funny. I’ve come to the conclusion that when it comes to relationships, it’s always the ones that aren’t looking for one that get hitched first,” my cousin pointed out.

“Yes, funny how the world works.” Grandma Chloe scooched off the windowsill and straightened up. “Shall we go now? Everyone is waiting. The pews are filled to the brim, and there’s an army of paparazzi that’s getting bigger by the minute outside right now.”

“Just one moment…” Mom pulled out something shiny from her purse after rummaging through it for minutes.

“Another tradition?”

“Not that we need it, but you can never be too sure.” She stole the heel from my fingers once I was done writing. “A gold coin goes inside the shoe. To symbolize financial fortune for the lucky couple.”

Everyone in the stuffed room snickered as I slipped the heels on. I didn’t. I had more than I'd ever need after the merger, but I wanted to hold on to it. Spend it and donate it however I liked. I wasn’t willing to give anything to Harry, and he upped his price after I told him I couldn’t help him get his job back.

Being blackmailed was like trying to breathe underwater. My lungs burned with the effort it took not to claw his eyes out when he had me in the palm of his hand. I needed a way out. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I refused to.

“Oh, and we made some adjustments to the wedding menu. Your pappou wasn’t thrilled at the thought of eating escargots, so we shifted some things around to make him happy too. Not too much, though.” Mom rushed to explain, and I swallowed a curse. “I hope you don’t mind, my love. You’re the first of your cousins to get married. Understandably this is huge.”

Yeah, we’d already established this was everyone’s wedding but mine. Saint got full control of Falco and Fleur. Grandma Chloe got her billions. And mom fulfilled her dreams through me. And it wasn’t like I was involved much with the planning either, save for choosing a five-tier fruit cake and the venue, I left everything to the experts. I had enough on my plate already.

“That’s fine.” My smile was strained as I stood up, gathering everyone’s gaze. I resembled a sparkly puff-ball in this dress, but I loved the artistry of it too much to go for something else.

“You look like a fairy.” Irena came next to me, and my smile turned genuine as I laced my arm with hers.

“Thank you, Ina.”

“Now, let’s go get you hitched.” She patted my hand. “I hope you’ve prepared the groom for the madness that will ensue in the reception.”

“I might’ve saved a few tricks up my sleeve to reveal later,” I muttered conspiratorially.

“Oh boy, can’t wait to see how the Astropolis’s golden boy will react when pappou drags him to dance Zeibekiko.”

“It will be a sight to behold, that’s for sure.”

And so, with my family ushering me forward, I started for the wolf’s den, hoping the loyalty in his blood would encompass me as well.

* * *

Saint

“Who would’ve thought?” Killian asked, standing two feet behind me.

“We’d be standing here.” Leo continued, second in line.

“This snowy December day.” Ares finished last, a stupid grin on his face as I glared at them.

It had started snowing this morning, and if that wasn’t a bad omen, I didn’t know what was. Flakes stuck on the glass roof of the conservatory. The outside, to inside contrast, stark. Our guests sat amidst lush tropical foliage. Green plants spilled from floating pots hanging on European trusses, koi ponds gurgled with artificial water streams, and toddlers tried to lick the rose gold marble archway when they entered because it reminded them of cotton candy.

Kids were dumber than rocks, but somehow people were mystified as to why I didn’t want to have any.

“Thinking is not your strong suit, Killian,” I said just to spite him, and he winked at me, unfazed.

“Overthinking makes you miserable, and I chose to be happy.”

“He has a point, though.” Leo picked some lint off his suit. “Out of all of us, Ares was the most likely to get married first, and look at him still single and ready to mingle.”

“What happened to Sonia?” I raised a brow, continuing when Ares dropped his gaze. “Got the boot, eh?”

Killian turned toward him, the tattoos on his neck dancing with the movement. “Damn, man, you’re like a closeted manwhore.”

Ares’s hazel eyes went hard, his lips tipping up in an arrogant smirk. “Someone has to take your brother’s place now that he’s getting married.”

“Well, you just got a lot more interesting, Alsford.” My brother mirrored Ares's expression.

“I’m glad I’m not getting married in a church. We would’ve probably been struck by lightning,” I mumbled under my breath when a red-faced officiant glared at us from his place on the stand.

“Ah, I think God is way more lenient than you’re giving him credit for.” Leo’s eyes glazed with a look I knew all too well as he stared at Eliana on the second row, rocking a squirming Bella on her lap.

“I’m not even going to ask.” I shook my head, facing forward when a hush settled over the crowd. Scandalous displays of affection were Leo’s thing. He stopped an entire graduation to profess his love for Eliana. Go big or go home was his motto.

Here Comes The Brideby Richard Wagner rolled through the speakers, and everyone scrambled to their feet, sending my pulse into overdrive. There wasn’t much that could affect me. I’d lost my ability to care about bullshit at a young age and rolling with the punches had become a personality trait at this point.

But getting married?

That shit had me sweating like a nun in a brothel every time I thought about it this past week. Not seeing Spitfire for seven days hadn’t helped either, much to my dismay. I used my lust for her as a backdoor to escape the persistent thoughts of tying my life to another person for the immediate future. Taking a break from imagining her voluptuous body stretched out beneath me, twisted and turning to accommodate my thrusts had allowed for the harsh reality to creep in.

I was marrying for money, legally bound by a contract that didn’t allow for any wiggle room unless I planned on losing everything I’d stolen from my father. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not when I just got my opportunity to gloat.

My muscles bunched with the effort it took to stay rooted in place and not run for the hills. Ignoring the way the black tux constricted around my torso, I fixed my eyes on the patch of white peaking on the start of the aisle, working my way up the layers of tulle and silk, until the subject of my obsession filled my view, her hand clenched tightly around her father’s arm.

My nails cut into my palms when a shot of warmth spread like slow poison from my chest up to the crown of my head.

So pure, so innocent, such a pretty liar.

She was hiding secrets behind the veil that acted as a protective film, disguising her reluctance from the world. I saw through it. Aria gnawed on her bottom lip, her steps down the walkway, scared and small. She had a white-knuckle grip around a cluster of pink peonies, keeping her posture straight, ready to take on the world, and perhaps that was what I admired most about this girl.

Ariadne annoyed me to no end, her reactions had me wanting to throw hurdles, but I also fucking loved how she didn’t back down. She always had a response on the tip of her tongue and if anything, I knew I was going to enjoy making her lose her words for however long this marriage lasted.

The bitterness on the back of my throat ebbed away when Darian kissed Ari’s temple, glaring at me over her head, his gaze heavy with the promise of imminent death if I hurt his daughter before he handed her over.

“Take care of her.” Darian’s voice carried the tone of a concerned father.

"Yes, sir." I nodded half-heartedly. I wouldn’t let anyone harm her, but I couldn’t promise to be the white knight in shining armor.

I disregarded him pretty quick, finding my way back to Aria like a moth to a flame. She tilted her face up when I offered her my hand, staring at me through shadowed eyes, the brown swirling like malt in her irises. Placing her small hand on mine, Aria climbed the two short steps to the stand, her heels allowing her to reach my forearm in height.

“You look beautiful,” I complimented her, and the guests awed, as if on cue.

I made sure my voice was loud, partly for them, but I meant what I said. She was gorgeous. Her skin was smooth and tan, the wedding gown a mere accessory on her. Ariadne carried the show, and if this wasn’t reality, I would have scooped her in my arms, and had her down on all fours before she could blink, all that pretty tulle ripped to shreds.

But it was, and I’d made a verbal contract I was honoring.

She gave me a forced smile as Minister Parker started his speech, not fooled by my public camaraderie. I kept Ariadne’s hand firmly in my grip, lacing my fingers with hers, and didn’t let go even when our hold turned clammy.

We were navigating this side of hell on earth together. Intimate or not, she was mine for the next five years. I wanted to know her secrets before anyone else, and I wanted her complete submission—not an easy feat to tackle, but I vowed to make it work. If there was anything I wasn’t going to allow ever again was making tabloids richer by profiting off our lives.

They’d done so for as long as I’d been alive, prompting spirals, capturing meltdowns, and making fun of tragedies.

“Please repeat after me,” Minister Parker instructed, and Aria and I faced each other. She seemed oddly pale underneath her veil like she’d welcome the ground opening up and swallowing her whole over tying her life to mine.

A far cry from the woman that was begging for my dick while her whole family was having dinner a few rooms over.

“I Saint Astor, take you, Ariadne Fleur,” I spoke over Parker’s voice, my lines already memorized. “To have, and to hold.”

“For better or for worse.” Ari’s frail voice bled into mine, our vows intertwining as our lives linked with golden bands proclaiming ownership.

“For richer and for poorer.” I held her shaking palm steady as I slid her tiny ring on.

“In sickness and in health,” she echoed.

“To love and to cherish as long as we both shall live.” I finished the lie.

Now’s your chance to run, Spitfire.

Ariadne bit her lip, the guests blending into the background as she focused wholly on me for the first time. She matched the challenge in my eyes, her acrylics cutting into my skin as she arched her brow ever so slightly, making sure I was the only one that could see it.

I never bow first, Astor.

“I do.” Her lips said one thing, but the words I want this floated in her eyes.

There was something very poetic about the connotation of desire versus compliance. Raw lust, the epitome of what led most couples to marriage.

It usually came before dinner with the parents or meeting the dogs, but Ariadne and I had a knack for doing things the unconventional way. And while she hated my guts, and I wanted to fill that mouth until the only sounds she was producing were gags, I wouldn’t play dumb and deny my attraction towards her. The strain in my pants every time she entered a room wouldn’t allow for a lie of that degree.

She wanted it; she’d get it.

But not in the way she dreamed. Reality had a terrible habit of not meeting expectations. I would protect Ariadne by becoming her lesson.

“I do.” I mirrored her statement when the officiant asked if I consented to the marriage too.

His gaze bounced from me to Aria as he went through the speak now or forever hold your peace portion of the ceremony. When no one spoke or melted in a puddle of jealous tears, Minister Parker gave me the green light. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

I didn’t understand the concoction of sensations that swam in my chest right after the reverend finished his sentence. Dread, fascination, and worst of all, excitement took over as I removed Ariadne’s veil, brushing my eyes over her fresh face with a newfound urgency for my wife.

Wife.

She was the tiniest thing, so young it felt wrong to even touch her, but I’d never been one to stick to the rules. Cupping her cheeks, I lowered my lips to hers, going for a slow burn of a kiss that would linger until I knew the pads of my thumbs would heat up by the intensity of her blush.

“Make no mistake, Spitfire. This isn’t a vow of love.” I whispered into her mouth, making her eat my words as our teeth clashed, prompting cheers and claps. “Keep that in mind, or it will turn into a vow of hell.”

Ariadne grinned, fabricating a false narrative while providing me with the bite I’d found myself becoming attached to. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be guarding your own heart, Lucifer? I’m small, and I can squeeze into places I don’t belong in.”

“And I’m big and could crush you just as easily.” I made my point by digging my fingers into her skin. She retaliated by leaving crescents on my neck.

A display of affection among newlyweds, a dance of dominance amongst predators. There were two sides to every story, and manipulation came easy when you craved to fuck your burden as much as you wanted to get rid of her.

“Let the games begin, my dear husband.” Ariadne got the last word, sealing her fate with brash boldness.

I looked forward to making her bend.

* * *

A party was thrown despite my initial denial of having one for our sham marriage. I’d suffered through enough family moments to last me a lifetime in our engagement. A man’s opinion was trivial on matters such as this, I’d come to find out, though, and my wife’s stubbornness, I was already aware of.

They should call me a seer because, in typical Astor and Fleur fashion, the reception had been a melting pot of undercutting remarks, sprinkled with a healthy dose of sarcasm, and tiered with a thick layer of resentment. One of the wedding planners had the bright idea of sitting our parents on opposite ends of the same table and the only one that had a good time was my father, who thrived on chaos.

The commitment to which my new mother-in-law and mom were going at it, ping-ponging sentences with double meaning the entire night was slightly admirable since they didn’t get tired for a fucking second. The plot twist came when Chloe Fleur sided with mom on many occasions. At least for me, Aria, who was too busy playing a game of critique the outfit with her sister, didn’t blink an eye.

Her grandpa, or pappou as I found out she liked to call him, was the true star of the whole ordeal, coordinating the dance floor better than a paid choreographer, dragging both of us with him like our asses were on fire and we needed to dance in circles to traditional Greek songs to set them off. The budget of the wedding quadrupled when I factored in the cost of how many broken plates we had to pay for.

My feet thanked me for hiring a limo on the drive back home. In all my years of grueling football training, it was pappou Nico’s insistence on not letting me rest for a single minute that killed me. Okay, I might’ve been avoiding rest a bit myself too, because Ari’s giagia swooped in like a bloodthirsty mosquito whenever I sat down, eager to talk to me about all things that had to do with babies.

I’d rather go to rehab for a second time than have those kinds of conversations.

“Which word do you hate the most?” I asked Aria, who lounged next to me, mirroring me and removing her own shoes. I loosened my tie as the car skidded past busy streets, filled with fake Santa’s spreading holiday cheer for a quick buck.

She gave me an inquisitorial look, rubbing her ankle to keep some of the swelling down. “I don’t think I have one, why?”

“Mine is fucking opa.” Even saying it myself brought back nightmares.

Aria laughed as if I told the funniest joke in the world, but her grandfather only screamed the word in my ear while jumping up and down, confusing seventy-one, his actual age, for seventeen.

“That is not a word. It’s an expression.”

“Whatever the fuck it is, I don’t want to hear it again.”

“I quite like its versatility.” She flung herself back on the seat with a heave, turning her body so she was staring at me. “Greek people use opa on a number of occasions, in marriages as you experienced. They say, opa in bad moments, where it’s usually followed by re malaka, which roughly translates to you asshole. opa is also used to warn someone to watch out, and—”

Maneuvering quickly, I drew her head under my arm, holding my hand over her protesting mouth. “Are you repeating it to get me even madder?”

I let go when she licked my palm. “Wow, you’re so bright.”

“Doesn’t marriage usually make women more agreeable? How come I’m stuck on the other side of the aisle.” I jutted my lip out, delivering a savage bite on it when I realized what I was doing—pouting.

“Mind-blowing sex might make women more agreeable. You’ve yet to deliver on that, hubby.” Aria challenged me, and coincidentally, stumbled forward when the driver took a sharp turn.

Her curls spilled over my arm, and I steadied her with my hand on her back, not ready to let go yet. This walking, talking destruction was officially mine, and this was the first quiet moment I got with her since the altar.

“Are you holding your breath on breaking in your mattress tonight, Spitfire?” I skimmed my lips over her hairline, her shudder reverberating down my side.

“I’d much rather be at a hotel in the Bahamas, but since you’re too busy for a honeymoon, my bed will do.”

“So lenient of you.”

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. My expectations are high.”

“Are they?” My brows rose. “Then I hope my wedding gift doesn’t leave you as sordidly disappointed as I will.”

“What are you talking about?” Her upper body detached from mine; her face is dumbfounded by my statement.

I found myself second-guessing my decision in the first place. I could follow her home, and sample everything my wife had to offer like a person in their right mind would, or take the scheduled flight to France, and bore myself to death, listening to shit I didn’t give a rat’s ass about, and that Darian could handle by himself.

Staying meant standing in the ashes of my previous conviction. At least by leaving, I’d exhausted all options of not giving in, which would definitely happen if I stayed. She had a body I wanted to enter and never leave; a trip wouldn’t stop me. Maybe she’d be mad enough to tell me to fuck off when I returned like a smart girl should.

I had an inkling Aria was as dumb as me when it came to us, but I’d exhaust all my options, so at the end of the day I could say I went down fighting.

“I’m afraid we’re spending our wedding night separated, Spitfire. I have to attend a conference in Paris that was planned ahead of time, so you’ll have to take care of your own needs.”

No part of her connected to me now, her eyes rounding like they were ready to shoot laser beams at me. “You’re leaving me alone? On our wedding night?”

“Well, look at who’s not that bright now,” I drawled, and I was sure she’d slap me.

Ari’s nails dung into the seat, a silent current of anger spreading around the empty space and bouncing against the partition. “And oh, so disposable, I guess. You couldn’t have postponed this conference? Or fucking canceled it.” My silence was enough of an answer, and she snapped her head to look out the window when our driveway filled the view. “I see how it is.”

She scrambled to get her hair tie and bag, and never had I felt like a bigger asshole than when I saw her eyes shining with unshed tears. I jerked forward, but she was out the door before the vehicle had fully even stopped yet.

“Have fucking fun then, and break a fucking leg.” She slammed the door on my face, and something told me her wish was verbatim.