Page 94 of Twisted Prince
She’s asking me if I like the dress.
“It’s perfect,” I state, locking onto a measured tone to avoid my voice from breaking.
“Thanks.” Mel’s smile turns nervous once more, and her eyes shift to Silvia.
“Shall we?” Pyotr says.
“Yeah, of course.” Mel steps forward and scoops Gabby up from the ground along with the stuffed lion she was playing with.
The little girl, wearing a baby-pink tulle dress, looks halfway between a ballerina and a miniature version of her mother. Together, the pair are so devastatingly beautiful it punches a hole right through my chest.
Not mine. Not really.
I need to keep reminding myself of that to ensure I don’t lose sight of the truth.
Wrestling the surge of frustrated longing back under my iron control, I stalk toward the front door. I open it and step back so the girls can lead the way to the black Escalade already waiting for us at the curb—one of the several in Pyotr’s fleet that looks identical to the one I totaled.
It’s a short trip to the courthouse, thankfully, because we barely make it before they close. And the girl there only hesitates a moment before agreeing to squeeze us in before her day is done.
“Thank you so much,” Silvia gushes after having pleaded our case for us about how we went through so much to get here.
“It’s no problem,” the girl says, warming under Silvia’s irresistible charm. “So, this is the paperwork you need to fill out,” she says, turning her attention to me and Mel.
Silvia takes Gabby from Mel, so she’ll have her hands free to fill it out. Several papers pass between us as we write down our personal information and sign.
“Great. I’ll just be a moment,” the girl behind the counter says, collecting the last of the papers. She shuffles them into a neat stack and disappears into the back.
“We may need to get you to a church as well… just to make sure it’s sanctified in the Kellys’ eyes,” Pyotr states, chewing his lip.
“Really?” Mel asks, seeming less comfortable by the second. Her eyes cast to me, but only for a moment. “It’s not like they’ll be able to prove that we didn’t go, right?”
Pyotr shrugs. “All I know is they’re an old-school kind of Catholic that doesn’t deal in divorces, so it wouldn’t hurt when your safety’s on the line.”
“I’m sure we can find a pastor who will bless the marriage—though probably not a Catholic priest,” Silvia assures Mel. “Nothing big. Probably don’t even have to do a full ceremony if you don’t want to.”
Again, a tentative glance, and this time, I keep my lips sealed because this might be where Mel draws the line. Who knows how religious she might have gotten since going to work for the Kellys, and if she’s hoping this is temporary, I can see why she wouldn’t want to make that kind of promise in front of god. Just because I don’t believe in him doesn’t mean I’m willing to compromise her beliefs on the matter.
“Okay,” Mel murmurs after a moment.
“Alright, it looks like the paperwork is all in order,” the clerk says brightly, returning to break the awkward moment. “We just need a few last signatures on the license. That will be you, Mr. Lycaon, and Miss O’Mara, as well as your two witnesses. Then we’re all set.”
“Great.” Mel turns quickly to sign where indicated.
I do the same, noting her looping cursive scrawl and how it fits her bold personality. Then I slide the paper toward Silvia, and she offers me Gabby without even seeming to think about it.
Taking the little girl in my arms, I try to ignore the warmth that trickles through my veins, the feeling that I’m holding something entirely too precious—priceless, really. The trust Mel’s daughter gives me without hesitation fills me with a powerful protective instinct.
I can’t quite make out the meaning of Mel’s expression when she looks at us. But when I offer to pass her Gabby, the little girl makes no move to release her grip on my tie.
“You hold onto her for a bit… if you don’t mind,” Mel says, her voice quavering slightly.
The sound makes me wonder if she might not be upset enough about getting married that she needs a minute to pull herself together.
Swallowing hard, I focus my attention on Gabby, who’s watching the proceeds with silent fascination. Her tiny hand that rests behind my shoulder pats me gently, as if to bring me comfort, and it makes the knot in my throat that much harder to breathe around.
Why this little girl affects me so much, I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s because she represents so much in my mind—the sweet innocence Mel probably had as a child before too many men ripped it from her, the genuine trust I fruitlessly wish Mel might show me, and the possibility of a future I know I’ll never have with her.
My thoughts are taking a very dangerous turn, and I clear my throat as I force my eyes back to the paperwork.
