or forever hold your peace

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/54818365.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Relationship: Mare Barrow/Tiberias "Cal" Calore VII
Additional Tags: more of my usual tropes, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Protective
Older Brothers, but not in the brotherly way wink wink, Rating May
Change
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-03-30 Updated: 2024-05-14 Words: 20,166 Chapters:
7/10
 or forever hold your peace
by neverthecanonOTP

Summary

Something blue. The color of her fiancé's eyes, who seems to have vanished from the face of
the earth.
Something old. The money of the Calore family, from their luxury hotel empire. Or the
grudge between Mare and the best man.
Something new. The revelation that Mare receives just minutes before her wedding.
Something borrowed... the bride.

Notes

This violin only plays two tunes, either enjoy the music or run along. Here's more of my
romcom addled, marecal brainrot. Don't forget to leave a comment if you have a good time
and bon appétit!
Of course Speak Now by Taylor Swift is the load-bearing song for this story.
 Something borrowed

It was a bright, white morning that hallowed December day. Snow fell with sugary laziness
before melting against the faces of the country’s most sophisticated, exclusive crowd in the
short trek from their Lambos or armored BMWs to the grand entrance of the Calore Grand
Hotel.

Red roses, black ribbons, silver details spilled from every polished marble and mahogany
surface.

The press had been barricaded three blocks away, but it didn’t stop them from pressing their
bodies, heavily bundled-up in winter clothes, to the metal barriers and aiming their long-
range lenses toward the entryway. Announcing, tweeting about every illustrious guest. This
was the wedding of the year.

Which one of the Calore heirs was getting married was irrelevant. Maybe, not irrelevant but
not nearly as interesting as the real-life Cinderella story of one mysterious Mare Molly
Barrow. Whose name had leaked to the press a week ago and now they were all in a frenzy
trying to gather as much intel on who they had first assumed to be an obscure heiress. As
soon as that theory had been disproved, the gossip became even juicier. New money
socialite? Nope. Ivy league intellectual? No Amal Clooney 2.0 to be found there.
International model? Not with that height. Influencer? She didn’t even have social media.

The elusive bride-to-be was the news outlets’ latest addiction and the one-percenters’ ugliest
nightmare. A run-of-the-mill, middle-class woman. Average and unworthy to the bone.

An electrician turned engineer turned community college professor. And now, in her latest
Pokemon evolution a trophy wife for one, if not the most emblematic Nortan family.

“I have visual Harvey! I have visual confirmation! Our drone operator just sent confirmation
she’s in the top floor, in the Empress suite, and that she is in fact wearing a white gown! This
is Vicky Valenti informing for Channel 6 news.”

“Thank you for your brilliant work, Vicky! Let’s look at the live footage from the drone-cam.
And there she is, folks! What do you think Charly? It sure looks white to me ha ha.”

“Oh Stan. How very male of you to not recognize a classic Sarah Burton gown. The intricate
yet subdued bodice with high neck and delicate pearl details, with the A-line skirt, and... I
think a chapel train length? Could be Cathedral train, I’m not sure from this angle. She’s
serving some Grace Kelly realness mhmm. Can we get closer? Ah, is that slight glimmer
embroidery perhaps? Gorg! That and the short sleeve style is making me reconsider my
initial guess, now I’m leaning more toward a Ralph Lauren. Is that one of her bridesmaids
coming toward the window?! Argh I’m gagging with that light blue silver dress... aw no!”

“Ha ha looks like the red headed bridesmaid isn’t too fond of us. We just lost visual.”

🌹👰🏽🌹
“Creeps,” Gisa muttered after pulling the heavy velvet curtains closed. “Are you done
playing the staring game yet?”

Mare had been playing the staring game for so long her eyes were starting to burn, causing
the horrendous, white-washed version of her in the gilded mirror by the arched window to
blur.

“I look like a Victorian ghost. Or a nun.”

“You look the best you’ve looked your entire life. Like a Disney princess.”

“Liar. I’m a- a stuffy clown. Fuck I can’t breathe!”

“Stop! Stop fussing with the neck! I already fixed it like a million times. It’s loose enough.”

Mare whipped her body— and the two-tone wedding gown —around in a feat of strength to
grab her sister’s shoulders.

“Loose?! I’m in a silk prison! Why would Maven do this to me?”

“And tulle, don’t forget.” Gisa sighed, placing her hands on top of the ones clawing at her
shoulders to both comfort and pry them off gently. “Listen, Maven has lovely taste. He chose
a beautiful dress for you, Mare.” She supplied earnestly and added with less conviction,
“and... he... loves you.” The I guess was implicit in the doubtful downturn of her mouth.

Sibling telepathy was a curse. Mare heard it loud and clear anyway.

“I need to talk to him.”

“No no no. It’s bad luck!”

“Gee, he fucking handpicked this monstrosity, remember? If there’s some cosmic punishment
for it, we’re done for.”

Mare lifted her skirts, marching toward her betrothed way ahead of schedule.

The much awaited ceremony started in an hour but it felt as if she were standing on the death
row. This wasn’t right, she wasn’t supposed to feel like this when she was marrying the love
of... her life? Damn Gisa! Her sister’s freckled face looking away with a skeptical side eye
hovered beside her like a tiny angel-demon spawn.

All she needed was to talk to Maven for a few minutes. That would calm her down. It always
did. That was the beauty of their relationship, he made the world make sense with his words.
Although, he’d been acting weird the past few months. Withdrawn. But it could be partly
because his father and mother had gone full helicopter parenting mode once they announced
they were getting married.

Getting married had been Maven’s idea. In a way it was meant to gain his freedom from the
clutches of his manipulative, overbearing mother, but Mare had been fully on board with the
idea. It made sense for taxes and health insurance reasons. She was no romantic.
Mare spotted a blonde updo in a flowy blue dress exiting the groom’s room. She dove to the
side and pressed herself to the wall, behind a pillar, holding her breath.

“Where is my son?” Elara’s haughty voice carried across the semi busy corridor.

The wedding planner let out a little squeal before replying. “He must be taking some fresh
air. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Don’t tell me whether I should worry or not and find him. I did not organize this entire farce
to dignify my son’s union to that wretched girl only for things to start going wrong at the last
minute because you couldn’t be worried to do a basic job.”

Her mother-in-law’s dislike of her was no surprise, and it was mutual. This hateful hag whose
bones were made of pure evil would soon become— she shivered —her family.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The wedding planner power walked past Mare without noticing her. Obviously too concerned
with following Satan’s command.

Where was he? He clearly wasn’t in his room, if Elara was looking for him too.

Mare turned the corner to take the elevator furthest from her mother-in-law’s approximate
location.

Only to run into her father-in-law.

“Watch where you’re going,” he grumbled, a faint scent of wine in his breath already. Great.

Not that Mare cared, Tiberias senior was the sort of high functioning alcoholic who ran on it
24/7.

“Who gave you permission to run about?” He asked once his gaze fixed on her. The man had
made no attempt to hide his mistrust of her intentions, shielding the family money with a
tight prenup, and hiring a bodyguard six months ago to trace her every move. That last one
was more of Elara’s doing.

The fact that the bodyguard/spy, Thomas, had turned out to be an absolute sweetheart and
great guy all around didn’t make up for it.

Her stomach twisted. How could she marry into this family who hated her and saw her as less
as human? Did she love Maven enough for this?

“I asked a question, girl. Don’t you have hair and makeup stuff to do?”

Mare startled out of her resentful grimace and gestured with a circular motion to her classy
soft makeup and her hair styled in a braided bun. There were enough pins stuck into her skull
to supply a small army.
“This is the best your fancy French stylist could do with my plebeian face.” She pushed past
him. “I’ll have Mavey pay for a facelift for the next big family event! Hopefully your
funeral.” She muttered under her breath and beelined for the elevator.

“The lobby,” she abruptly indicated to the bellboy inside. “Sorry. The lobby, please.” She
corrected her tone, sagging back, pressing her back to the wall. Feeling physical relief when
the doors closed.

“Right away, miss.”

“I’m not one of them, you know.”

“Of course, miss.” The boy’s pupils darted to her reflection on the polished brass elevator
doors.

She was about to insist on her moral and class divide from the Calore clan when the elevator
stopped and the worse of them all materialized behind the doors as they slid open.

Her back shot ramrod straight, her fists tightened at her sides, her chest was punched with
that... something. That mighty, disorienting something that hit her every time she was in his
presence.

The firstborn Calore raised his gaze from the button he’d been fixing on his tuxedo. His eyes
like molten pools of gold slowly took her him.

Immediately, she wanted to disappear into the wood paneling behind her, but it was
inevitable. He was inevitable. Heat rose in her cheeks.

His gaze snagged on hers and stayed there, holding time in a standstill. Because that was
what he did. With his deep pensive eyes, his severe brow, herculean figure, he emanated raw
power that bent the world around him to his will. And yet, the frustratingly gorgeous angles
of his face flashed with some unguarded emotion that almost made him seem human.

It lasted less than a second.

I can’t marry Maven.

The elevator doors started to close, but Tiberias’s hand shot forward and stopped them. His
expression solidifying into his usual stern, sulky demeanor like a line of soldiers falling into
place.

Of all the members of Maven’s vile family— and extended family— the one that unsettled
Mare the most, the one she hated with visceral fervor, was the robot now quietly standing
beside her. His mammoth shoulder leaning against the opposite wall, as far as possible from
her, his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Have you seen your brother?” Mare snapped. The silence was making her skin itchy.

“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom—”

“As if you care about my good fortune,” she almost laughed, turning in his direction. “As if
you weren’t sprinkling legal incentives all over the prenup to get us divorced. Yeah, I have
my sources. You’re not as sneaky as you wished.”

He did the military robot version of a chuckle: a quick straight-faced expulsion of air through
the nose.

“I was merely looking out for your wellbeing.” He turned to face her. “Making sure you don’t
walk out empty handed.”

Her jaw dropped. What was this talk of walking out? On the very day of her wedding, no
less.

“Could you be any more of a self-righteous, elitist prick?”

“Yes, I could.” He took a step forward, towering over her. Darkness swirling in his bronze
gaze. “You think I’m having a field day with all this? It brings me no joy to try to talk sense
into my brother.”

Unable to back down, Mare tilted her chin up and asked in a challenging whisper. “And what
sense is that?”

They were so close, when his spoke his hot breath caressed her face, contrasting the
vehemence of his next words.

“That this wedding is a catastrophe. That he’s not right for you.”

That you’re not good enough for him.

He didn’t say the last part but that’s what his whole spiel was about. Wasn't it? The polite
gentleman act had come to an end. What he’d always thought was finally out in the open
after all these years.

“Too. Fucking. Bad. ‘Cause guess what, Cal?” she spat his nickname mockingly. “In less than
an hour there will be a golden band around this finger-” she aggressively lifted her ring finger
to his face in a tight fist “- and I’ll be the shiny new Ms. Calore. And your new sister.”

Some inner constrain in him shattered, because Tiberias lunged for her, his palms pressed flat
on either side of her head. He leaned into her, crowding her. Eyes as bottomless as Tartarus,
heat emanated off him in waves that sent shivers down her spine.

“Don’t ever say that again.” His voice was low and gravely. “You’re not and will never be my
sister.”

Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could see its pulse in her neck, sure he would
bite it off. Up until now she’d never seen the depth of his hatred for her.

Well, she had teeth of her own. Whatever he gave, she could return tenfold.
“Cute threat. Unlike you, I’m not all bark, Tiberias,” she said derisively. “You do not want to
know my bite.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, with the sliver of a smirk so barely there she could’ve just
imagined it. What she didn’t imagine though was the way he leaned even closer, his heated
eyes dropping to her red lips.

“Oh miss Barrow. Please do test that theory.”

Her breath caught; her stomach tilted as if she’d been turned upside down. Her body hummed
with the promise of violence, of inflicting herself upon him. Until his perfectly coifed black
hair was a wild mess, his face contorted with animalistic emotion, his inhumanly broad,
muscular back bleeding with trails left by her nails.

They were still threatening at each other, right?

The bellboy loudly coughed into his gloved hand in a timely coughing fit, then chirped with
excessive glee. “We’ve reached the lobby.”

Cal straightened up away from her.

As the air around her cooled down, she regained her senses.

And because she wouldn’t let him have the last word, she seethed. “See you at the altar,
asshole.”

Him being Maven’s best man, he would get a privileged view of her winning this twisted
battle they had going on.

Still, she couldn’t get out of the elevator fast enough.

🥀
After a brief game of ‘Where in the world is Maven Calore?’ she tracked him by asking about
her bodyguard instead. The two men had become good friends in the past months and
Thomas seemed to have a calming effect on her fiancé. If Maven was feeling a quarter of the
anxiety she was feeling at the moment, it was safe to bet they would be having a heart to
heart.

And what good friends they’d become...

“Where will we go?” Maven asked raggedly.

“Anywhere. Anywhere that’s far and they can’t find us.”

“That place doesn’t exist. My mother will track us down.”

“You’re safe with me, Maven.” Thomas’s voice cracked with emotion. “I’d do anything for
you.”
“I’ll murder anyone who tries—”

“I know. I know. I love you too.”

Mare covered her mouth with both hands too hold back the scream building at the back of her
throat.

Her heels didn’t make a sound as she backed away into the corner she’d just turned in the
greenhouse. Where, hidden among the flowers and greenery, in the artificial humid warmth,
her fiancé and her bodyguard were tangled up on a stone bench. Their formal suits half
undone, hands all over each other, their mouths meeting over and over. As if the world was
ending. As if the rest of the people didn’t exist.

As if she didn’t exist.

Son of a bitch.

Cold shock was slowly but steadily replaced with boiling, sputtering outrage. Maven was
about to leave her at the altar. That fucking traitor!

She stumbled out of the greenhouse but as she traversed the opulent hallways of the Calore
empire her steps became more certain. Her head cleared and she knew just what to do. She
grabbed a bottle of champagne from a spooked waiter’s tray just outside the restaurant and
started chugging it down to quench her thirst for vengeance.

A few blocks away, Norta’s journalists were clamoring for a crumb of the Calore secrets and
she was just about to give them a whole damn meal.

In the name of love she’d endured hours of painfully awkward and degrading interactions
with Elara... And Maven had let it happen. Let her swallow the moldy core of that rotten
family of his. They were lunatics. Evil lunatics and she would never be a part of their
wickedness.

It was time the world knew.

 Walk down the isle of doom
Chapter Notes

💕
Guys! It makes me so happy to read your reactions to this story! Nothing like a little
loathing to spruce up a good love story

“The things we have to do for good press these days,” Mr. Calore sighed, puffing out smoke
from his cigar. “I miss the days when you could pay the two existing newspapers to say
whatever and be done with it.”

Elara eyed him with a venomous glint, rose from the loveseat, and folded her arms gracefully
as she pranced about the room. “You are not doing anything. It is my poor son shackling
himself to that girl. And I am the one making it into something useful.”

“You’re just happy her lack of PR training makes her so easy to manipulate.” Mr. Calore
chuckled humorlessly.

Cal’s hand tightened around his whiskey glass. He looked out the window, to the wedding
guests crowding the courtyard, huddling in furs around the heating lamps.

“Happy is an overstatement. Merely pleased, that if used right, Mare Barrow can be an asset.
We must think ahead.”

“Next thing I know you’ll be scheduling her pregnancy.”

“Father,” Cal warned him. Incapable of standing there, listening to the way they were talking
about Mare.

“What? I don’t see you putting much effort into preserving our bloodline.”

Elara’s malicious smile didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Cal downed the rest of his drink and went to refill his glass.

This day was a nightmare. He’d known it was going to be hard, but after seeing Mare in the
elevator... Cal wanted to get drunk enough to black out. It was worse than hard, it was
Dantesque bone-grinding torture.

His mind kept torturing him with what-ifs. Oscillating between the burden of immorality if
he had acted out every carefully concocted plan during sleepless nights— stealing her away,
conquering her mind, her heart, her body —to the bliss of ignorance if he’d never met her.
If he’d known who she was, whose girlfriend she was, he would’ve never started examining
her so closely that long ago night at the subway. He would’ve never struck up a conversation,
never joked with her, or switched seats to be next to her, made her laugh only to become
inevitably enamored with the sound. They wouldn’t have missed their stop. The stop to
Maven’s house, the night of the dinner planned precisely to introduce them. But he had done
all those things.

“So? Did you like her?” Maven asked him after his girlfriend left in a cab.

Way too much.

“Actually, don’t answer that. She’s my best friend. I intend to marry her, so get used to the
idea of her. Whether you like her or not.”

“When?”

Maven had shrugged then, looking into his eyes as if he were reading every deplorable
emotion underneath his skin.

“Soon. When the time is right.”

“Should I start writing the best man speech?” Cal joked, to try to uproot the irrational seeds
of jealousy throwing baby roots in him.

Maven smiled, his wiry frame letting go of some tension. “Who else?”

Damn him. Damn him for all eternity. As if he could have predicted how his attraction
toward his brother’s girlfriend would grow. From curiosity to sympathy, to infatuation, to
longing, to soul-destroying obsession.

Obviously, he’d had no other choice than to stay the fuck away from her.

True, sometimes he was weak and dug himself deeper by sharing precious brief moments
with her. The more he knew Mare, the harder it became to stay neutral and distant. But then
he would remember Maven’s existence and where his loyalties lay and do the brotherly thing.

Still, sometimes, like that time in Ischia when they’d run into each other at the gelateria, in
their bathing suits. Like that time at midnight on New Year’s Eve, half-drunk and fully
unplanned. or like a few minutes ago in the elevator, Cal feared he would lose his mind
entirely and make her understand what she was missing. What they could be and do to each
other. Especially what he could do for her. Until she was begging for more—

“Sir. I’m afraid we have a situation.” The hotel manager broke into the room, pulling the
three family members out of their reveries. The bald man swallowed and patted a
handkerchief to his forehead.

“Runaway bride,” Elara guessed, the speckle of happiness she’d just displayed swiftly
extinguished.
“Not precisely,” the man’s eyes darted from her to Mr. Calore. “She’s trying to leave the hotel
to approach the press to... ehem ‘denounce her fiancé and his family’s crimes’. Something
along those lines. She won’t specify. Nor will she let us reason with her. Although, the staff
has managed to contain her to the Edwardian room.”

“The room where the ceremony is taking place? Couldn’t you contain her somewhere less
inconvenient?”

“Wou- well- the flower arrangements and vases being used as artillery compromises the
staff’s safety, ma’am.”

“For Christ’s sake! She is the size of a malnourished parasite!”

Mr. Calore rubbed his temples. “Hasn’t Maven tried to pacify her?”

The manager went even paler and sweatier if that were possible.

“A- a- about that. Our security camera operators just informed the groom has fled the
premises. Accompanied only by the bride’s bodyguard.”

🌹👰🏽🌹
The drop from the second floor wasn’t that high, Mare tried to convince herself. If she tied
knots with her veil and ripped the train of her dress, she could rappel down the side of the
hotel.

A little girl from across the street noticed her in the window and started waving at her as if
she were a Disney princess.

Run away babygirl! It's a scam.

Perhaps, if she was loud enough, she could say her piece out the window like a Latina Snow
White singing out the balcony. She tapped her chin pensively with the lip of a champagne
bottle.

Her third champagne bottle. This Dom Perignon shit was really good. After she razed the
Calore empire to the ground, she would only miss this and nothing else, she promised herself.

There were muffled steps on the carpet behind her. Someone was trying— and failing very
badly —to sneak up on her. Ha! She used to sneak into the principal’s office back in high
school to tamper with her records and steal from the confiscated items during office hours.
You couldn’t play the player.

Lighting fast she reached out for the nearest floral pillar, yanked a deadly bouquet of roses,
snapdragons and Queen Anne’s lace, and wielded it like a weapon as she turned around to
face her foe.

“Stay back!”
The devil in a tux had arrived to drag her to hell.

Tiberias’ infernally gorgeous, maddeningly authoritative expression remained calm as he

raised his palms.

“I come in peace.”

“But I don't. I’m going to destroy you and your entire family. Sadists and liars all of you!”

“Destroy seems a bit harsh.” He took a measured step forward, and she took a step to the side
to keep their distance. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“What do you care?”

“I happen to care somewhat about my family. Come on, you’re a reasonable woman.”

“I’m beyond reason. That’s what you provoke in people.”

“You’re better than this.”

As they spoke, they circled each other in a calculated dance that took them to the center of
the lavishly decorated room.

“Am I? Maven was planning to leave me at the altar. He’s fucking...” her voice wavered.
Even now, furious as she was, she wasn’t about to out him. He’d broken her heart, not her
morals. “...someone else. How’s that for motive?”

Breathing heavily, her eyes stinging with tears, she struggled to remain in one piece. The
reality that she’d been betrayed stabbed her again.

It must’ve been her blurry vision that made it seem like Cal’s gaze softened into something
human.

“I’m sorry.”

One blink and there he was again, the perfectly sculpted emotionless robot she knew and
despised so well. Weren’t Queen Anne’s Lace poisonous? Maybe she could stuff the flowers
in his mouth to murder him.

“I take it that you’re not my sister-in-law after all.”

Mare squinted her eyes with a sardonic smile. “Seems like it, general. Congrats. You won the
war.”

“Not yet,” he murmured with sudden iron determination, his eyes drawing a straight line
across the meters of carpeted floor separating them.

Oh shit.

“No!” Mare flung the bouquet at his face.

She barely managed to run an arm’s length before two ginormous claws grabbed her waist,
making the floor disappear beneath her heels and the world turned upside down. Like the
brute he was, Tiberias slung her over his shoulder.

“You can’t do this!” She screamed clasping the back of his jacket, kicking and trying to
squirm from his grasp. But he was as unyielding as a rock.

“I can and sadly, I have to.” He said as if this was a great sacrifice, the arm banded around
her legs clasped her more securely.

Her screams of protest filled the grand hallways as he carried her to god-knows-where.

Class traitors. Mare thought, fuming, as the staff of the hotel witnessed her being kidnapped
— proclaiming it too —and lowered their gazes as they continued to do their tasks. If only
one of them would take a goddamn picture the world would see her getting manhandled.

Into the limousine she went, not without putting up a fight and screaming at the top of her
lungs that she was being abducted. The whole ride, he restricted her by holding her from
behind.

She didn't know what was more unbearable, this excess of contact where for years there had
been none, or her helplessness against his strength. Probably the latter. She spent the whole
ride dreaming of getting super jacked, enough to escape from his grasp and knock him out
with an uppercut.

The limousine parked inside a hangar. An assistant opened the door for them, and Tiberias
exited the car, immediately poking his torso inside, with the intention to drag her once again.

"You don't need to go King Kong on me, Tiberias. I have legs." She seethed, stamping her
bare foot on his shoulder extending her leg, keeping him away.

The dress had bunched up to her waist, so her calf was exposed. Thankfully, there was so
much silk and tulle, her intimates were covered by the kilometers of puffy dress.

So close to his face, Tiberias regarded her ankle intently for a moment then his eyes climbed
up her leg to her face. The heat in them could leave second-degree burns on her skin. He
rolled his jaw, as if he was struggling with his words he didn't want to say. Most likely an
insult of some sorts. Mr. Calore was too refined and polite for good, old, honest
badmouthing.

"Will you use them to go into the plane?" He asked though gritted teeth.

Mare smiled wryly and folded her arms like a brat.

"Not in a million years."

With a sigh, Tiberias clasped her ankle and pulled her out, slinging her over his shoulder
again.
Inside the plane, he dropped her into a seat, taking the one across from her as if they were
about to chat about their day. Ever so stony-faced, seemingly severe like everything was both
beneath him and of the utmost importance.

“Sir! We weren’t expecting you until—”

“You can take off, captain.”

When Mare tried to leap for the door, he pushed her back down and locked her seat belt.

The flight attendant monumentally ignored the distressed woman in a ridiculous wedding
gown and shut the exit with a decisive hiss and click of the mechanism.

All the adrenaline released during her struggle drained as she stared at Maven’s brother in
cold shock.

“This is really happening.” She panted, astray strands of her hair sticking to her sweaty face.
“You’re illegally abducting me.”

“We’re just going for a ride, Mare. We need to talk before you do something you could
regret.”

“The only thing I regret is dating your piece of shit brother.”

“You and me both.” He muttered.

“What? You dated Maven too?” she fucked with him, because what else could she do?

Rather than getting annoyed, his eyes lit up with mirth and he dedicated her a dashing
chastising smile.

Seeing Tiberias smile was always a surreal experience. Rare bursts of sunlight that warmed
you down to your toes and turned you mushy inside. But he never smiled at her. Why was he
doing it now?

“Glad to see your sense of humor is intact.”

“My fists are too. If you care to have a fair fight with someone who isn’t afraid of your evil
Superman bullshit.”

At that, he laughed. A real laugh that wrinkled the corners of his eyes. A deep velvety sound
that ensnared her and trapped her with its masculine beauty. Her stomach was filled with
frenzied butterflies.

What the fuck?

Mare looked to the window, blinking to wipe the image from her mind.

In a few minutes, the plane was taking off toward some unknown destiny. In an anxious
gesture, Mare twisted her engagement ring around her finger. The overwhelming feeling of
needing an escape, to talk to someone reminded her of who she’d lost. It seemed that as miles
of sky widened the distance between her and Maven, her anger toward him partially cooled
off as the rest of her complicated feelings about what had transpired resurfaced. She had been
just about to call off the wedding, she reminded herself, before she found him with Thomas.

The gaudy engagement ring Maven had picked out for her didn’t feel like a manacle
anymore, like it had from the very moment he’d slipped it around her finger. It felt like a
fresh bruise. And yet she wasn’t even considering taking it off.

“May I know where am I being trafficked to?”

“We’re following your schedule. You’re not being trafficked anywhere.”

At her skeptical frown he explained matter-of-factly. “Ascendant. Your bags were already
packed and loaded with that destination in mind.”

“My bags are here?”

He nodded. “At the back of the plane, in case you want to change into something more
comfortable.”

As soon as the light that indicated seatbelts could be unbuckled, she did so and angrily
shuffled out of it, stomping over to the curtained back area of the cabin.

She didn’t know her strategy yet, but as soon as they were back on land she was getting him
arrested by international police. Maybe the Calores owned Norta, and maybe they had a
dozen luxury hotels around the world including Montfort, but they weren’t powerful enough
to silence her there.

👗✈️👗
If Cal didn’t know that emergency parachutes were at the front of the plane, he'd bet she
would jump out, wedding dress and all.

He listened to her huffs and puffs and the swishing sound of fabric for a couple of minutes
until the plane went quiet.

More minutes went by and she didn’t return. What was taking so long? Paranoia kicked him
to his feet. The chances she found a way to jump from the plane even without a parachute
were low, but not non-existent…

He moved the curtain aside and saw she was huddled on the floor by the leather seat along
the side of the cabin. A perfect Baroque painting of a weeping lady, her face hidden in the
slender crook of her elbow.

What was his family doing to her? If he had a heart, if he hadn’t followed his father’s
example of numbing himself to petty moral dilemmas, he would have ordered the plane land
immediately and let her go to ruin his family’s legacy.
Instead, Cal just swallowed the knot of guilt and callously observed. “I wondered what was
taking so long.”

The soft shaking of her shoulder blades stopped immediately. Her posture becoming rigid as
she got to her feet without turning to face him, she wiped her tears with her hands. She would
not let him see them, or her pain for that matter.

He smiled despite himself, feeling a budding tenderness just beneath his breastbone. Mare
was so strong and stubborn. It was one of the things he liked the most about her.

“I can’t reach the fucking buttons at the back.” She explained partially twisting her neck to
explain in a proud tone that almost managed to disguise the fact she’d been crying.

Say no more.

In a heartbeat he was behind her, lightly putting his hands on her shoulders to let her know he
was there. She flinched and glared at him with mascara-rimmed eyes that still glistened, now
alight with her animosity for him.

Good Lord. He had to have some repressed death wish to find so beautiful those eyes who
clearly wanted to kill him.

“Let me help you.”

“I won’t owe you anything if you do, Tiberias.”

Inevitably, his eyes dropped to her pouty mouth twisting downward as she spoke. Was she
kidding? He would do it for the dark pleasure of being the one to get her out of her wedding
dress. Hell, he would fist-fight a grizzly bear for the privilege.

“It’s nothing.”

He exhaled, the breeze fanning the baby hairs that had loosened from Mare’s intricate
coiffure at the nape of her neck. Slowly, mentally recording the feel of her delicate shoulders
under the pearl-colored lace, he took one tiny silk-wrapped button and carefully unfastened it.

The air around them turned electric with every inch of golden-brown skin that was revealed
by the careful motion of his rough pale hands. Button by button, inch by inch he saw how her
skin prickled with goose flesh, making it harder to breathe. Much more substantial things of
his body hardened as well. Her scent of Jazmin, morning dew, and vanilla sent his thoughts
down a spiral of the vivid daydreams Cal had masochistically used for the last weeks as a
drug. He hadn’t known the images— the entirety of her would be so damn addicting.

“Don’t marry him”, whispered into her neck as he claimed her skin with open-mouthed
kisses.

“Give me a reason not to. We must go back soon.”

She would be soft and pliant in his hands as he pushed the heavy skirts of her dress up and
buried himself between her thighs. He would make her forget the cathedral full of guests just
outside the door of the small alcove he would’ve stolen her to...

Oh right, because as if he wasn’t depraved enough already, for fantasying about fucking his
brother’s fiancée, the scenario was Caesar’s square cathedral.

With one last gentle tug, Mare’s skin was exposed all the way to the tantalizing curve of her
lower back. He was so consumed by the sight, by her perfume, by the overwhelming need to
touch her his hands nearly shook.

Like a siren song, Mare stole the air in his lungs with her breathy challenge.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

 The old ball and chain
Chapter Notes

I had such an exhausting shift at the hospital, I slept around 5 hours out of 48 total, my
body feels like an evil, painful entity separated from myself and I have a headache. I'm

brush over them lol 🤭

saying all this so if this chapter has weird editing issues, you'll be kind to the writer and
All my love babes!<3

😘
I was jamming to "we can’t be friends (wait for your love)" by Ariana Grande when
editing. If anyone cares

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.” The words left her mouth before she thought better
of it. What was she even thinking? Why had she said that? She meant to say the phrase
ironically, bitingly. As in: you were against my wedding and now look where we are.

But where was she? Thirty thousand feet in the air, practically alone with the wrong brother,
getting undressed by the wrong brother, and feeling all sorts of wrong things under the rough
pads of his finger undoing the row of buttons of her Grace Kelly gown so delicately. The
back of his fingers lightly grazing her skin, sending heat shocks into her flesh like a fire iron
stoking a hearth.

Whatever irony she’d meant to convey it sounded more like a question. A lingering question
mark in the stifling air around them.

“That was my cue.” His deep baritone voice said so close to her she felt his breath brushing
the shell of her ear. “Aren’t you glad it didn’t come down to that?”

“Exactly. It didn’t. So why am I here? What more do you want with me?”

Never turn your back to the predator. Rule one of survival and she had forgone it after a
deceitful smile from him. She felt his knuckle running down her spine in a tender caress that
made her stop breathing abruptly.

“So many things.”

Mare whipped around, hugging the front of her dress fiercely to her chest.

“Touch me like that again and I’ll break your fucking finger.”

He seemed to snap out of a trance and clenched his jaw, looking at his feet for a second. The
color of his high cheekbones gained a bashful red tint as if he were capable of remorse of any
kind.

But his gaze hardened again as he raised his domineering bronze eyes to her face.
“I’ll leave you to finish changing.”

And he was gone, tugging the partition curtain closed with more force than necessary.

Gone to leave her fuming at his audacity and at the restless buzzing underneath her skin that
clamored for things she should not— wait.

Holy fucking shit.

The realization shoved her into a vortex as if the plane had spun in the air like a jet in an Air
Force parade.

Tiberias wanted her.

Her betrothed’s brother- his goddamn best man -Mr. Roman-god-statue-given-breath-by-

Jupiter-himself wanted her. Carnally.

He had regular, mortal, straight man needs for her .

The revelation should have frightened her, but somehow it rekindled her spirit. It evened out
the battleground. How? She wasn’t sure yet.

With that in mind, she chose an outfit from her suitcase.

✈️👗✈️
The whisky burned nicely down his throat and served to wash down the unholy thoughts he’d
been possessed by minutes ago. He was usually better than this unsubtle, drooling beast.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was the lethally efficient, iron-fisted, yet decent, head
of a world-renowned company. Not a traitor to his brother, and an ass to the woman he liked.

Forget her. He told himself, as he usually did.

Who was Mare Barrow to him anyway? An unobtainable dream, the incarnation of desires
both known and unknown . Enough of that!

She was, first and foremost a grieving woman, thanks to his brother, and the whole family by
extent. Nothing more. He would be respectful, explain the contractual situation, and not try
anything…

Mare pulled the curtain aside and strode into the cabin wearing a short off-white dress with a
flattering structured top that emphasized her feminine curves, and a flare skirt that tastefully
displayed her gorgeous, toned legs. High heels dangled from her fingers as she plopped down
on the opposite seat, and crossed her legs.

His heart was doing the extravagant musical number it used to do when Mare entered the
scene. Meanwhile, his face did its best to remain neutral, though it probably looked stiff. The
eternal battle that ended with him looking like a caustic tyrant.
She regarded him with undisguised curiosity and a smart hint of caution in those big brown
eyes that had always given her the deceivingly adorable naïve look he was crazy about.
Especially because of the perception switch once she opened her mouth to be her usual
prickly self.

God, how alive he felt when she looked at him, when she talked to him.

Suddenly, her eyes flashed with recognition as if she’d found what she was looking for.

His body tensed in high alert, belligerence rising in his chest to protect himself against what
was coming.

“I see you decided to follow the outfit agenda as planned,” he said coldly because the best
defense was an offense.

“I figured I might get probation if I comply with the prison’s dress code.” She extended her
bony wrists forward, the vulnerable inner sides facing upward as in surrender, yet her gaze
was fierce. “Did you bring the manacles too?”

For a second, he wanted to kiss the soft skin. Then he gritted his teeth against the onslaught
of tender feelings.

“You’re not a prisoner, Mare. For god’s sake.” His scowl deepened at the revolting idea.
“This is not ideal but you’re here for your protection.”

“You have quite a magnanimous view of yourself. Don’t you? Okay.” She slapped her hands
over her knee and rested her posture. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

“When you signed the prenuptial agreement, it wasn’t just that, you also signed an NDA and
a code of conduct. As you can imagine, it penalizes any actions or words you may share with
the public that could negatively affect the family's interests.” His measured tone filled the air
with a sense of dire injustice. Even though he was just stating the facts.

“Fine me. I’ll gladly pay down to the last penny if it means I never have to see your faces
again.”

“The sums were calculated so you’ll never be able to afford them, Miss Barrow. All your
savings, the house you bought for your parents, their retirement funds, your niece’s college
trust. All of it. Your generous heart put you in a corner.” He had meant that last part in a
sympathetic fashion but, from the way Mare’s face went from sickly pale to a bloodcurdling
snarl, Cal guessed it didn’t land right.

“Who would even go through all the trouble of drawing those numbers?” her voice shook
with rage.

He had. But to be fair, he wouldn’t have if he’d known she was actually going to sign it!

Cal had felt such satisfaction the night he finished crafting the monstrosity along with the
family’s legal team. It was a perfect trap with a blaring red alarm, the walls covered with
radioactive signs and ‘don’t come in’ labels, wrapped up with a pretty barbed wire bow. No
one in their right mind would sign it.

But Mare had signed it.

Cal had watched in abject horror, across the kilometric table in the meeting room at the top
floor of the lawyers’ buffet.

Maven had been by her side sitting so close their arms were pressed to each other's. He'd
tucked a stray piece of her wavy chestnut hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek when the
last dotted line was completed.

They had looked at each other as if they shared a promise and a secret. Which they literally
did, they were engaged after all.

And Cal witnessed it all feeling like the last bit of hope inside him shriveled up and died. Oh,
he’d gotten so drunk afterward.

“Who signed the contract?” he snarled back.

“Clearly, this was in the fine print. Don’t blame the victim, you fucking psychopath.”

“The fine print is also there to be read, Mare. Why did you sign it? Even at a surface level,
you got a pretty constricting deal. Why?”

“Because love requires sacrifice!” Mare declared defiantly, sinking her nails in the armrests.
“Because it was supposed to be temporary! Do you think Maven wanted to remain in your
shadow forever? I was going to save him from your horrible family.”

Cal flinched.

“You would know that if you were capable of feelings. Of love.”

That’s the thing. He’d felt too much for her, so he fucked up with the contract. And still, he’d
loved his brother enough to stay away and suffer in silence.

But not anymore. The game had changed.

“After we fulfill our obligations, you’re free to go.”

She blew a breath through her nose, crossed her arms, and looked out the window.

“Can’t wait.”

🔗📜🔗
The musky fragrance of a bonfire in the middle of the woods, the sweetness of dark
chocolate, a hint of freshly picked mint leaves. The scents cradled her dreams which were a
tangle of memories and things that had never happened.
“I’m sure that guy will love it when he finds his bag has a huge cut through the underside of
it.”

“Maybe next time he’ll think twice before creeping on schoolgirls.”

“Oh, I’m not condemning your actions. The little girl looked grateful.”

It was autumn. The AC was broken and she was freezing, yet the guy sitting across from her
in the emptying subway car only wore a half-open aviator jacket, and the most dashing
crooked smile she’d ever seen. His eyes were the most amazing golden red color, like early
morning sun peeking through the canopy of maple tree leaves in autumn. Fitting.

She huddled into her layers, burying her nose in her purple scarf, even though she was
having a full body blush at the warmth in his gaze.

“I like to make them paranoid.”

“Very smart. I usually just tell them to back off. I would have if I hadn’t seen you had it under
control.”

“The women of Norta are grateful for your secretly noble intentions.” She deadpanned
sarcastically. Even though, somehow, she knew he wasn’t just saying that. He emanated the
sort of wholesome energy of those who didn’t understand the evil in the world. “Easy to be
that guy when you’re built like Thor.”

“Easy to sneak up on people when you look like Catwoman.”

She tried not to. But in the end, an ugly snort-laugh left her lips, and she shook her head.
Subway guy didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he smiled fully this time, so warmly you
wanted to curl up next to that smile to survive through a cold night.

He got up from his seat and Mare was overcome by a short-lived wave of disappointment at
his departure, until he sat down next to her, taking up so much space she should’ve been
annoyed, but she wasn’t. She was delighted.

“I’m Cal.” He said extending his big hand toward her.

“Mare,” she replied shaking his hand once with her gloved one.

And the memory would start again, except this time he had the solemn face of a marble statue
and wore a dark suit.

Tiberias clicked his tongue and gave her a disapproving once over. “Some savior you are.
You were going to leave Maven at the altar. Humiliate him in front of hundreds of guests.”

The lights flickered and he was sitting at her side, whispering in her ear. “Not to mention
some of those dreams you have about us. I doubt Mavey would like the things you want me
to do to you very much.” Tiberias twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “The things
you crave…”
She batted his hand away and tried to move aside but suddenly the cart was full of wedding
guests all clad in black, looking at her with haughty expressions.

“They were nightmares.”

“Really?” he chuckled boyishly as if this was mutual entertainment. Then he dragged a

knuckle up her knee, her thigh, all the way between her legs. “Then why do you sneak a
pretty hand here after waking up?”

And the dream would reset. The subway never reaching its destination.

Mare opened her eyes, the unfamiliar setting slowly coming into focus. The cabin lights
have been dimmed so as not to disturb her, and a warm, stiff blanket covered her curled-up
body. She squinted at the man sitting across from her. The rolled-up sleeves of his white
button-down displayed his corded forearms as he typed on his laptop’s keyboard. He’d lost
the bow tie, and his inky black mane was lightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through the
soft curls several times.

She couldn’t help comparing him to Maven then.

Her ex-fiancé had a pretty face with a mysterious sadness about him that pulled one into his
aura if you were into that kind of thing. His older brother however was a different story.

The eldest Calore was magnificently, unbearably gorgeous. Every hard line of his dignified
frame exuded masculine strength, divinely given power. His gravitational pull didn't spare.

He may look like a god, but he was a freaking demon though. The shitty, ass-kissing minion
of his father (the actual devil).

“I hate you so much,” she mumbled, not fully awake.

Tiberias’ hands stopped moving and his gaze went to her.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked amicably.

She replied with a noncommittal hmm , and sat upright stretching up, causing the blanket to
fall to her lap.

It wasn’t a blanket; it was his suit jacket. No wonder she’d had all those nightmares, it reeked
of him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Calore. We have reached Ascendant.” The pilot announced through the
speakers.

Mrs. What? Mare shot a questioning look at Tiberias but he was too busy ignoring her and
buckling up his seat.

Whatever. Once they were there, she would be safely away from Norta’s press, by Calore
family standards, and free to get the hell away from the beast, lay low for a couple of weeks
until the world forgot about the wedding and her aborted fairytale.
Gisa would probably force her to go to therapy…ugh.

Then this would all be in the past.

 Marriage by capture
Chapter Notes

Does anybody have a video essay for why romcom films are so bland these days? Even
the ones with a decent cast and budget feel like a minimalist beige and grey showroom

😘
apartment: soulless tools of capitalism. Keeping that in mind, that's why I like my stories
a little bit chaotic, a little bit campy. Here's more of that babes .

Ascendant was so picturesque it made her forget how mad she was on the way to the hotel.
The narrow cobblestone streets lined with gable roof houses that should house fairytale
characters, but instead housed Dior and Rolex boutiques, evoked a sense of nostalgia that
transported one to another era. The artisan chocolate window displays and cozy coffee shops
they drove by made her mouth water; a reminder she hadn’t eaten anything in the past 24
hours.

They rolled up to the grand hotel’s courtyard, where several ice sculptures were displayed.
The one closest to the entrance depicted a veiled bride, one hand raising a flower bouquet in
the air, the other lovingly intertwined with the groom’s.

That should have warned her.

But Mare was too distracted pressing her nose to the glass, breathless at the sight of the literal
royal castle behind. Le Château Ardent made the already impressive Archeon Calore Hotel
where the wedding had not happened look like a government housing building.

It sat atop a hill looming over the city like a jeweled crown. With steep, pitched roofs,
circular and polygonal towers, and ornate gables and dormers. The red brick walls were lit up
by a multitude of windows like a Christmas tree wrapped with twinkling golden lights.

“It’s snowing”, Mare said in wonder. Forgetting who she was with for a second. Her childlike
grin fell when she turned around and the sight of him reminded her.

“A good omen,” Cal’s voice was soft, and he was looking at her in some kind of way she did
not care to examine.

“Didn’t you hate snow and all things wet? Like showers?”

The sparkle in his eyes extinguished as he stared at her unamused.

“Indeed, I’m not the biggest fan of snow—”

“Then it is a good omen.”

The car stopped and a doorman came to open the door with a smile. “Welcome back Mr.
Calore, and congratulations!”

A gust of icy wind made her huddle in Cal’s jacket which she had pettily appropriated. Her
justifications were: A) Too lazy to look for the white coat that went with the dress. B) She
needed to cut it down a bit with the girly fashion, it made her feel like a Polly Pocket Doll. C)
He now wore a heavy wool overcoat. Maybe she should have stolen that one instead.

“Thanks, Gaspar,” Tiberias said in a slightly conflicted tone.

The thought started taking shape as she shuffled over to the open door, and it gained striking
clarity as she placed her hand in Cal’s expecting one, as he helped her out of the car. He
displayed the resigned determination of one who was about to do something very, truly
shitty.

“Welcome, Mrs. Calore!” Gaspar beamed at her, taking off his top hat in deference.

A red carpet had been set before them, leading up the steps of the wood and glass double
doors, framed by the same style of floral arrangements as the ones she’d wrecked a few hours
ago.

“Wait!” she shout-whispered with increasing panic and tried to plant her heels.

But Tiberias was a locomotive throwing smoke into the night air, with her hand firmly griped.
It didn’t hurt, it burned.

She was inexorably dragged to the entryway, the doors parting for them.

Before they stepped over the threshold, before she knew what the hell was happening, he
twirled her into his broad chest like a yo-yo, hooked his arm at the back of her knees, the
other around her back, and gathered her up like… Well, like a bride.

His face turned toward hers, so their eyes met as he took the symbolic steps. It was such a
clichéd tradition, yet she couldn’t help feeling the gravity of it in her bones. The pure red
gold of Cal’s eyes reminded her of wedding bands being forged.

“Yes, that’s perfect! Lovely!”

Flash flash flash.

Mare instinctively shielded her face against Cal’s shoulder.

Once the flashes stopped Mare chanced a look.

There were two photographers, one taking pictures and another one recording.

“Thanks, guys. But Mare and I are tired.”

“Of course,” the bald guy with three types of professional cameras hanging from his neck
acquiesced. “Your mother was very insistent on getting the shot of the newlyweds walking
into the lobby. Any chance we get a few tastefully intimate ones of you going into the Royal
suite? No?” He held his palms up, placating whatever Cal had conveyed silently with a face.
“Just asking.”

Mare cleared her throat. Tiberias seemed to remember her, and put her back on the ground,
keeping a casual arm around her waist. Casual for those who looked at them from the outside.
To her, it was clear what it was: containment.

She breathed deeply and slowly to hold back her increasing, maddening wrath.

“We are truly honored you picked us for your honeymoon, Mr. And Mrs. Calore.
Congratulations.” A posh middle-aged man with grey hair, clad in an impeccable grey suit
shook their hands.

“About that,” Tiberias’ lowered his voice, and the man took the hint, leaning closer in
confidence. “We want to be treated as regular guests. We don’t want to draw any attention to
ourselves. Actually, the less people notice us, the better.”

“Ah. I see. I will need to discuss with you a few details whenever you’re available, sir. But
say no more, I’ll see to it your wishes are respected.”

Cal clapped a hand over the manager’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Dane.”

Dane gave a polite nod and with a hand gesture called a porter to guide them to their room. A
trolley was already loaded with their luggage.

Mare was aware of the unrest hidden behind Cal’s seemingly collected demeanor at her
suspicious compliance despite the role being forced upon her.

Damn right, he should be scared. She clasped her hands beatifically before her as the elevator
took them up to the top floor and down a carpeted hallway to their suite.

As soon as the porter exited the room after unloading their bags, Mare let the mask fall.

“You are so fucking dead.”

“It’s all in the contract,” he quickly argued, standing behind the tea table. Probably to add an
obstacle on her path to him. “The wedding section states that the Barrow-Calore association
will be used to reflect positively on the brand’s legacy and that any action or lack thereof
from your part will be considered an infringement of the terms.”

“It was like three hundred pages!” she shouted, zipping open her carry-on bag and shaking it
upside down to franticly look for her phone. She’d been sent a copy of the cursed contract to
her email. She needed to read it with her own two eyes. How could she have been so stupid
to sign such a thing? She couldn’t have. She couldn’t.

Makeup, passport, and mints scattered over the cherry oak surface.

“You are lying,” she repeated over and over again as if that could shield her from the obvious
fact that he was not.
Fuck! Her phone had been on the bed in the bridal suite back in Archeon.

“We’re not having this discussion. We already established you should have read it
thoroughly.”

“The discussion isn’t over.” She gripped the mint tin as if she could magically transform it
into her phone if she wished hard enough. Glaring at him, she hissed. “Tell me now. Who was
behind this?”

“Mare…”

“It was you? Wasn’t it?”

His silence and the downcast of his gaze were a resounding confirmation.

It was good she’d maintained a healthy lifestyle so far because her blood pressure spiked to
the point she felt the capillaries of her eyes nearly bursting.

“You demon! You did this! You crafted this legal torture device just because I wasn’t good
enough for your brother!”

She climbed over the table to reach him, but he sidestepped her clawing hand.

“And now you’re trapped in it with me.” Mare laughed hysterically. “That’s some poetic
justice right there. Everyone here thinks you were the groom in a wedding that never
happened.”

She launched the mint tin at his face for dramatic effect. Even though she knew he would
avoid it, with his freaking Spidey senses.

“I never had bad intentions, believe me. I did it for Maven.”

“Do you know how little a Calore’s word means to me right now?” Jumping down from the
table, she started to pace in front of him; a tigress looking for an opening to attack.

He approached with measured steps, again turning their violent interaction into some form of
dance she seemed to fall into like it was second nature.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Mare scowled so hard at him she could feel age lines etching around her eyes. Fucking
Tiberias the third or whatever. He’d always been an honest jerk to her, but honest,
nonetheless. The old money version of a jerk, which included lots of ignoring your entire
existence and condescending tight-lipped smiles.

“Come to think of it... you can’t hide your feelings for shit.”

Tiberias snorted and looked down at his feet as if he found it funny.

Mare felt so much vengeful energy gather within her, that she could almost feel the air
crackling around her closed fists.

Sure, It was funny that he’d managed to hide that he had wanted her for so long. However,
she’d figured it out on the plane. His lust had stifled her like walking out of a building in the
midday during a heatwave.

If something she’d learned from the Calores, was that secrets existed to be exploited.

🚪~🚪~🚪
How could he not laugh about the irony of the statement?

Were he as transparent as she said, Maven would’ve never asked him to be his Best Man.
And Mare wouldn’t have these conspiracy theories of him hating her.

Was he proud about his tiny manipulation down at the lobby? No. But was it truly
manipulation if your whole body was aching to perform the ritual? He would have carried her
across hell, barefoot over hot coals, if it were up to him. Carrying her through the threshold
had felt so momentous he was still trying to slow down his heart to its normal rhythm.

Cal cracked the tension from his neck, trying to do his best not to give too much away. As
usual, it probably made him look heartless.

“Whatever you may think of me, know I’m doing it to protect you. My family owes you as
much.” I owe you as much.

In horror movies, you know the person about to be eviscerated by the monster is doomed the
moment they step on a twig. The crack serves as an inauguration of the gory display.

Cal’s use of the word ‘protection’ had the same effect.

Mare's chin quivered with fury, the knuckles of her fists whitened, her beautifully lethal
frame shook. A black and grey jumble of clouds signaling a Category 5 storm about to punish
the earth.

For some reason, he was eager for it. He’d never been the sole focus of her attention for so
long and so intently as now. It was intoxicating.

“To protect me,” she sneered taking a step closer. “That’s what you’re going with? You’re
doing this for me ?”

“Yes,” he said in a low voice, imitating her so they were toe-to-toe. “Although you will not
admit it to me, you will act in your best interest too.”

For a minute, or maybe a few seconds, they locked their gazes as if they were about to start
arm wrestling. A final match. Cal recognized in her eyes the cunning gleam of someone
developing a strategy in real-time.

Yes, please. Challenge me. Fight me.

Mare did the opposite. She lowered her lashes slowly, heaved a sigh, and stepped back.

She seemed more relaxed though. And that was more dangerous somehow.

“I’m going to use the bed, you can use the couch, or a doghouse, whatever suits you.”

When she was gone, he let out a shaky breath.

For someone so bad at pretending, he had a full performance ahead.

~🚪~
Cal had always had trouble sleeping; knowing she was just across the double doors put it
out of the realm of possibility. Normally, an aimless walk around empty streets would help
him, but since they were supposed to be on the first night of their honeymoon, it would raise
some questions. Or maybe not, still he preferred to stay put.

The silence in the adjoining suite was so deep he could hear her tossing and turning in the
bed, kicking off the covers, and walking around the room.

Some time around 3 am her movements ceased. He hoped she’d had more luck than him
falling asleep.

He simply lay on the couch, too small for him to find a comfortable position, hands folded
over his stomach as he stared at the shadows of the intricate molding of the antechamber’s
ceiling. The ever-present tug under his sternum pulled him toward her. Eventually, the
shadows were replaced by pale light, then the pinkish glow of dawn.

How would it look if he went to the gym for his morning workout? Despite the sleepless
night, his body ached to let out some steam. Because, naturally, contrary to reality, his mind
had been inside the room with Mare. Was she crying? Was she angry at him? Who was she
thinking of as she tossed around the bed? The realistic part of him knew it’d probably been
Maven and the tainted love, the loss.

However, the insufferable part of him driven by his hopeless ‘crush’ wished it was him she
cursed. Even if she hated him, the thought of him taking up all her mental space was a
madman’s desire. Then, this rejection of hers made him feel like a kicked puppy and would
circle back to the ache to be liked.

He groaned and decided to ring for breakfast. His usual high protein fuel, and a bit of
everything for her.

The waiter showed up a few minutes later, pushing in a cart loaded with stuff that smelled
amazing. The man efficiently set the table by the balcony doors lightly dusted with snow,
making minimum noise.

He would eat and then go to the gym, ridding Mare of his presence. Also, it would help him
clear his head. But he was pleasantly surprised when he heard the room’s door opening.

His heart leaped.

Just so he wouldn’t seem too eager, he shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth and
pretended to read the newspaper for a few seconds before looking up.

Holy mother of god...

He choked but forced a hard swallow to hide it. Hide the fact that his blood was suddenly on
fire, rushing south so fast he almost fainted, his heart on a wild gallop trying to keep up.

Mare was slowly walking toward the table, doing the worst acting of the century by faking a
yawn, clasping her hands behind her back, and arching forward enticingly. It would be
adorably funny, if it weren’t for the fact she was wearing the best PJ set he’d ever seen. The
worst PJ set he’d ever seen. Lace and silk cream-colored shorts with a matching top that left
her midriff visible. The top was so sheer he could make out the shape of her small, perky
breasts and the puckered... oh fuck.

God help him, he was wearing sweatpants.

“Morning,” she said sweetly and grabbed a croissant. Rather than sitting on the other chair,
she stood by the table and leaned her hip against it, crossing her ankles. She tore off a piece
of the pastry, dipped it in jam and luxuriously put it in her mouth. “Raspberry!” she moaned.
“My favorite. How did you sleep, Tiberias?”

He was sure there was an answer to that, but all he could think of was dipping her in
raspberry jam.

“Not a morning person I take it?” she asked, smiling smugly.

She knew. Of course she knew. Her cheery eyes started traveling down his torso.

He cleared his throat and crossed a leg over his knee, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and
not-so-casually dropping it over his lap.

It was clear what she was doing but... why?

“What are you wearing?” He grumbled and sipped his tea, forcing his eyes to stay chastely on
her sweet face.

“I am— as you said on the plane —adhering to the outfit agenda.” Her earthy brown eyes
blazed with barely concealed fury beneath the act of acquiescence. “Although, if we were
really sticking with the program, this would be rumpled on the bedroom floor.”

After hitting him with that she twirled on the spot, hugging her short lace robe to herself, and
went to sit down.

Thank god, because he was overcome with a surge of lust so potent he exhaled through his
nose, closing his eyes trying to will away a very painful hard-on.

“I will do as the contract says.” The playfulness of her tone was gone. She was all business as
she piled her plate with waffles and bacon. “I admit it, I fucked myself over with the bullshit
I signed— that you wrote. But you’ll admit that you aren’t doing any of this for me or
Maven. And after you admit it, you will be the one to break the story of how the powerful
House of Calore toyed with an innocent woman.”

He chuckled incredulously. “I’m not agreeing to any bets with you, Mare. I’m not playing.”

Her hand stomped on the table making the plates clatter. “If I’m playing my part then so are
you. Be a dutiful husband, honey.”

The butterflies in his stomach didn’t care one bit for her obvious sarcasm.

“My duty is to my family.”

Mare poured herself a cup of coffee, ignoring his last firm statement as if she didn’t hear it.
However, when she raised her gaze to his face again, there was a mocking certainty in the
way she regarded him that unsettled him.

“And are we not family now?”

No! he wanted to flip the table... Yes? They were pretending to save her pretty ass. He was
neutralizing her as a threat. She was trying to tear him down. They were allies. They were
trying not to kill each other.

He had no idea what the fuck they were to each other, except a forecast of doom.
 Equally Yoked
Chapter Notes

I'm the least sporty girl on the planet, so whenever I have to write anything slightly

😁
sport-adjacent I go through the five stages of grief... just so you know. TTPD both gave
me the strength to publish today and emotionally devastated me

It was simple. Once she broke him— and oh, she would absolutely destroy him and his sanity
—Tiberias would confess to himself that he was a selfish tyrant like every other Calore man.
There was nothing noble about what he’d done and was still doing to her.

The only way to make him see it would be to make the underlying motivation explicit.

So explicit it would make Hugh Heffner blush from hell.

So carnal it would push his hypocritical ass into catholic levels of guilt.

She just had to keep professional about the whole ordeal. No big deal. If she had been a bit
heated, gotten the tiniest bit wet as she got dressed thinking of his reaction, and then even
more when she saw it, it was because she was lustful for revenge.

“I checked the ‘suggested’ activities in our schedule.” She took a sip of coffee, the strong
bitter taste fortifying her so she could go back to the saccharine sexy voice. “They left our
morning fairly free. I wonder what for.”

Cal’s chair scraped the wooden floor as he pushed away from the table.

“I left something else for you to wear in the bathroom sink. I’m going to the gym.”

He was not getting away that easy.

We are going to the gym.

So there she was, in her sluttiest— ehem, most form-fitting tights, and sports bra, her hair in
a bouncy ponytail. Wedding band around her ring finger too. Because that was the something
else she had to wear. She’d glared at the sickening piece of jewelry for a good ten minutes
before swallowing back her pride (and a bit of vomit) and sticking it unceremoniously on.

Why did it surprise her the best man had the wedding bands? Stupid Tiberias. There had
never been a worst Best Man in history. Still, best or worst, she had to seduce him into doing
her will.
She wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was watching her doing her routine, and she
wouldn’t risk her ego by turning in his direction to check. But she had a feeling, a prickling
sensation at the back of her neck as if they had attached an elastic rope to the other; it tensed
when they were far, relaxed when they were near.

Just in case, she made sure to look extra good during warm-up. Like Scarlett Johansson in a
workout montage by a male director. No funny or unattractive faces as she stretched.

Then she jumped on the treadmill and went at it as if she could physically run away from this
nightmare.

She knew her dad and Shade sharing that look back when she’d announced her engagement
to Maven had been an early warning sign. The fact that her traditional family-obsessed,
religious mother had been so lukewarm about it had been an even bigger one. From every
angle, she felt played for a fool. She upped the speed of the machine.

If she ever got her hands on Maven ever again, that motherfucker was a dead man.

Raising her face from the beach footage that the screen on the treadmill displayed, toward the
mirror wall in front of her, her eyes immediately found the only person on this earth she hated
more than Maven at the moment.

She wanted to weep. Because god fucking dammit. How did he look like that while working
out? He was on the rowing machine, staring straight ahead, a damp curl falling over his
handsome, slightly furrowed brow. Furrowed enough to know he meant business, yet not so
furrowed one would think the highest weight setting bothered him in the slightest.

He wore black gym shorts and a black, dry-fit T-shirt that clung to his redwood-sized torso
like a second skin. Back and forth, back and forth his biceps strained and relaxed with every
repetition.

Mare didn’t realize how long she’d been staring as in a trance until he was done with the
exercise, got off the machine and his golden gaze snapped to hers across the crowded room.

Okay, time to switch it up.

After turning off the treadmill, she went to the weight bench.

“Want me to spot you?” A blond guy who looked like a young Jude Law offered with a
charming accent.

Knowing Cal was watching, she smiled angelically at Jude.

“That would be very helpful, thanks.” She touched his lean forearm. The oldest trick in the
girly book of basic flirting.

To her luck, the bar already had the weights she meant to lift, so she laid back on the bench as
Jude stood behind her for exactly four seconds before...

“I’ll take it from here, man.”

Jude seemed annoyed. “No need, I already spoke to the lady.”

Mare sat up to witness the exchange unobstructed.

“The ‘lady’ is my wife.”

“And? It’s not like I’m asking her out.” The cocky way in which he said it and the sly gaze he
shot at her, made her think he was skipping over the ‘yet’ at the end.

Normally she would find this type of sleazy behavior cringey, but the way it made Tiberias
flush and tense up as if he was about to incinerate the guy, had her biting back a smile.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband. He’s been very insecure about us since the accident left
him impotent.”

Jude lifted his eyebrows and his demeanor changed toward Cal. The latter was staring at her
with a deeply unamused expression.

“Aw merde, je suis désolé.” Ah, so that was the accent. The guy touched his chest and gave
them both an apologetic grimace as he backed off.

“Impotent,” he muttered as he stood in position.

“I’m coming up with reasons why we’re not locked up in the bedroom on our first
honeymoon day.”

Tiberias closed his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, obviously counting to ten in his head.

Mare allowed herself a snide smirk before lying down on the bench.

She did her repetitions trying not to focus on his closeness, on the way his freaking crotch
hovered centimeters above her, and his gaze locked on hers as she tried not to die since her
hands were sweating way more than usual. There was no dignified way to do this. Her second
set wasn’t even halfway done when an image came unbidden to her mind. Of her lying like
this on the suite’s bed, which was higher, so it left her at the perfect height to crane her head
back for him to thrust—

Her arms gave out. With a groan, the heavy bar started to come down on her, but Tiberias’
hands caught it easily and lifted it to the metal holders.

“You good?”

Mare sat up with an admirable display of nimbleness to not bang her face against the bar. She
wanted to get away from the image and the man who’d inspired it.

“Yup,” she nodded without looking back. “I’m not feeling the weights today.”

Tiberias scoffed. “You’re giving up just like that?”

“I’m not giving up. I simply don’t want to keep doing this.”
“Exactly, so you’re giving up.”

Now she did whip her face back to glare at him. His pompous smirk was unacceptable.

“Pushover,” she cursed him and laid back down on the bench.

She destroyed her last set with such efficiency, she almost wanted to add more weights and
go for a fourth one.

“Good girl,” he smiled at her and she felt an invisible golden star being slapped on her
forehead.

A gratifying shiver skated down her spine.

Standing up she slapped her long ponytail off her shoulder and placed her fists on her waist.

“I don’t see any girls here.”

“Tell me, how would you prefer your praises?”

“From you? In silent contemplation, from as far away as possible.”

“Then you should’ve come to the gym at a different time. When I wasn’t here.”

“You don’t own the place.”

As soon as she said it, she realized the stupidity of the sentence. He literally was the owner.

He cocked his head to the side with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Forget it. Just— you do your thing and if I need someone to spot me, let some other guy
help me.”

She was walking away but his hand shot forward, and seized her arm firmly, tugging her into
him so fast she gasped.

“Mare,” he murmured with a waning tone so deep she felt it rumble in his chest, pressed to
hers as they were.

“Yes, my darling?” she purred with utter contempt.

“You seem to have vastly overestimated my softer qualities.” As if to prove his point he
grabbed her other elbow as well, his thumbs brushing over the soft inner part of both arms.
“I’m at my limit.”

Yes. That was exactly what she wanted. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. She wondered how
such a masculine man could walk around with lips like those, hand-sculpted by Lucifer
himself to rule over others yet so damn kissable.

Sometimes she dreamed about that one time on New Year’s Eve... if it had been real. The
phantom of that kiss haunted the nerve endings of her lips.
“The limit of what? Your intelligence? No one was overestimating that, Tiberias.” She shook
him off before she ruined her seduction plans by punching his stupid mouth with her own in
the middle of a crowded, sweaty gym. “Fuck off. The only soft thing about you is your
spine.”

Needless to say, she evaded every exercise that required someone’s supervision for the
remainder of the morning.

👟👠👟
Cal spent a few extra minutes in the shower trying to get rid of the emotions Mare had stirred
in his pants... damn it, there was no elegant phrasing that made the fact that he was jerking
off thinking of her less reprehensible. But he was just a man, and she was outright torturing
him for indiscernible reasons with her lingerie/pajamas that morning, or those tights, and her
sounds of effort while exercising. Of course his mind was in the gutter. And it would remain
there all day unless he did the decent thing: taking care of the problem in private.

It was a good thing he did it, it cleared his mind enough to function during his meeting with
the hotel manager.

Dane Davidson awaited him at his office. While the room itself had the same refined
grandeur as the rest of the hotel, the man to whom it belonged hadn't placed a single personal
decoration despite being in the position for over 10 years. There were a lot of fresh flower
arrangements though.

But then again, Dane was probably ever ready to get fired, since he was the only worker at
such a high post, who was also an active member of the worker’s union.

Mr. Calore hated him, but the excellency with which he managed one of their most
emblematic hotels made him sort of untouchable. The Montfort labor code didn’t help much
either.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries before Davidson, sat down behind his desk and cut to
the chase.

“We were expecting your brother. The menu choices and the scheduled entertainment-
detailed by the minute by your mother -were adjusted to his tastes, I believe.”

“Who else knows which one of us was getting married?”

“Just me. The staff didn’t need the information... However, I am confused. What are you
doing here with the bride? Are we still hosting a honeymoon or...”

He made a vague gesture with both hands.

“Think of our presence here as a marketing strategy that changed one of the actors.”

“Does she agree with this?”

“She understands the importance of our stay.”

“Hm.”

The way he lowered his gaze to the table and examined the engraved pen in his hands so
intently, let Cal know Davidson had some thoughts about it. Given their respective roles, he
would never voice them.

“I see. So, we go through the program in a less ostentatious way than originally intended.
And in ten days, she’s free to go back to Norta unburdened by whatever transpires here?”

Cal hated that phrasing. Hated the underlying disapproval oozing from the manager. He was
just there to make sure guests had a good stay. Who was he to insinuate Mare was being
oppressed somehow? And even worse, that Cal was somehow the villain here. Davidson
didn't understand the nuances. Neither had he any right to it.

“Let me worry about Miss Barrow’s future.”

“I’m just trying to ensure the full happiness of every single one of my guests. Especially such
an esteemed guest as the Newblood Queen.”

“The what ?” He barely contained a snort-laugh.

“I gather you haven't been reading magazines lately. People gained an interest in her
charming little tale. You and your brother, the blue-blooded princes, and she, the red-blooded
modern woman, breathing new life into a venerable family. I understand the role this hotel
fulfills in that fantasy, that ‘advertisement’ as you called it. The Chateau is the castle, so
we’re acting as such. She is royalty, in that way, and I believe she’ll do her part, or at least
that you will ensure that she does. I guess I’m trying to understand your role, Mr. Calore.”

Meaning, are you the prince or the jailer?

Both men regarded each other, one trying to get an employee in line, the other looking for an
excuse to rebel.

Cal saw it plain as day, Davidson saw Mare as one of their own. At the barest hint of distress
from her, he would rally to her cause. This was another country, after all, people had other
rights in Montfort. Was the contract solid enough? Davidson could start an international
human rights scandal and remain untouchable in his position because of those very same
laws. Or maybe not untouchable, but so powerful that getting rid of him would be shooting
themselves in the foot. And the catastrophic damage would be done.

He understood why his father had looked for excuses to fire this man for so long.
Davidson was a freaking mole with a ticking time bomb as a backpack.

Damn it, they should have gone to the Bali resort.

Whelp, here goes nothing...

“There’s the whole cold business side of our stay here, and making the press think the
wedding happened. But can’t two people fall in love in adversity? We—” he made sure to
paint the picture of a united front. “—are trying to be happy together, and fulfill the
obligations left by her engagement to my brother.”

Davidson leaned back on his chair with a poker face that Cal had the intuition hid a deep
skepticism.

Only the truth would work with this man.

“I’m in love with her.” There it was. The words that poked a hole in the dam of his
repression. “Her wellbeing is everything— and I do mean everything to me.”

The manager smiled almost imperceptibly and nodded. He pushed forward a tablet with an
Excel spreadsheet of activities and tasks.

“Let’s revise the schedule then. Make sure everything is to your liking?”

Cal tugged the neckline of his sweater, subtly trying to catch the sweat drops falling down the
back of his neck.

When they were done, Davidson accompanied him toward the door.

“I’ll trust you’ll share it with Miss Barrow, yes?”

Something darkly possessive curled in Cal’s stomach at this man’s nerve, to even think for a
second, she was on their side, or that he knew her best interest.

“We discuss everything. And, one last detail you should keep in mind these following days,
Dane.” He sentenced. “If the press gets hold of any piece of information, truth or fabricated,
that negatively impacts Mare, I will hold you personally accountable and no Union in this
world will save you from utter ruin.”

For the first time since they’d met, Davidson seemed fazed.

“Of course, sir. Don’t let me keep you any longer from your wife .” Now that they were
standing in the hallway, the game was officially on.

“Good day,” Cal marched away in victory.

As soon as he turned the corner he sped up to a jog-walk.

He had to find her.

“What do you mean she left?”

The photographer’s assistant cowered at his brusque tone.

“Was she... not allowed to?”

Cal ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm down. This girl didn’t know anything. “She
can do whatever she pleases. Where is she?”

“She and Lucas went to the city. He’s covering her, and I’m covering you— if that’s okay
with you, sir.”

“Ask Lucas where are they.” He tried to sound casual, but for all he knew, Mare could be
chaining herself up to a public monument as they spoke. “I miss her already.”
 Tricky waters
Chapter Notes

It's hard to write cute romance when you have Taylor Alison Swift singing the most

🧍🏽
miserable, unhinged songs in your ears. My sanity hangs by a thread made of "So high
school" lyrics lmao ♀️

She was all puffy-faced, sweaty, and disgusting. There was no reason for the onslaught of
clicks of a camera shutter nearby.

“Dude,” she spun on her heel in the direction of the sound, placing a hand on her cocked hip.

The bald guy with a million cameras (three) around his neck, lowered the weapon.

“I look like horse shit. Why the hell are you taking pictures?” In the past weeks, she’d had
her picture taken more times than her entire life. At any rate, those had been planned shoots
with makeup and wardrobe prepared beforehand.

“Besides, Tib— my husband isn’t with me.”

“As the official honeymoon photographer, I have to stay nearby at all times and catch every
unique moment of you enjoying the Calore experience as a new family member.” He said in
all seriousness as if his living depended upon it.

It did, but it was annoying all the same. “And don’t worry about your looks. Women in Norta
can see themselves in a real woman such as you, who’s not afraid to go around with messy
hair and barefaced.”

Click . Another picture.

“Translation: I look as disgusting as I feel and you’re a snitch with a camera.”

“Is there something to snitch? I found it odd Mr. Calore left in such a hurry and in such a
peculiar mood earlier. Without you. Trouble in paradise?”

Mare shrugged and started walking toward her room. “We’re married, not Siamese twins.”

“I’ll be accompanying you to your daily activities, Mrs. Calore. I’m Lucas Samos.” He
followed, just one step behind.

“Please, just call me Mare.”

“If you authorize me to do so...”

Mare turned abruptly. “Wait. So you work for me?”

“I work for the family. And I have orders from above.”

“But can I ask things of you?”

He doubted for a second before replying. “Yes, as long as it doesn’t contradict my main task
here.”

A devilish smile formed on her face. “Good. You keep taking your silly little pictures, I just
need you to lend me your credit card. We’re going out for a walking tour.”

* 🍫*
Cut out from the world as she’d been, Mare was desperate to contact her family.

“Shade?”

“Who is this?” For some reason, she’d expected the cheap burner phone she’d bought at a gift
shop to produce her brother’s voice through thick static and bad signal. No such sound effects
were added. “Mare?!” She heard him loud and clear and missed him so much she wanted to
hug the phone and curl up in fetal position.

“Yes!”

“Fucking hell, sis. You’ve truly done it this time. We almost had to take Mom to the ER when
they told us you had eloped.”

“Who said that?”

“That creepy wedding planner, Skonos, I don’t know. She made us all— like, every single
person in attendance, sign an NDA.”

“Those fuckers.”

“Wait... you didn’t elope?”

Shit. She couldn’t tell Shade everything. It would be a breach of contract. Contracts had been
handed out like Halloween candy lately.

“I’m on my honeymoon!” she said way too cheerily.

“Mare, what is going on? Are you okay?”

“Don’t be stupid, Shade. Of course, I’m okay. How else would I be calling you? Can’t a
woman talk to her family without turning it into an interrogation?”
“You’re calling me from an unfamiliar number and your phone... Gisa had your phone. And it
had a million missed calls from Maven before that woman, Elara, took it from us. Sneeze
twice if you’ve been taken against your will.”

“I’m fine! I lost my phone in the midst of everything, okay? That’s all there’s to it. I’m in a
beautiful city, on my honeymoon, just as planned.”

“Is Maven with you?”

Did the fact that he was still in her heart count? Spiritually, he was with her. If she convinced
herself of this strongly enough, she could lie to her closest brother without him noticing.

She took too long to answer.

“Yeah. Not at this very moment—”

“Where are you?”

“Shade, you’re reading way too much into a little miscommunication.”

“You’re being weird. Do you need rescue?”

“NO. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been!” she barked.

“Alright. I’m coming to get you.”

“You’re not. Let me sort my shit out with the Calores... my husband in peace.” Through the
window of the tiny gift shop where she’d bought the burner phone, she saw a tall dark figure
walking through the crowded alley leading to her location. He was taller than most other
tourists, so he was easily identifiable. She had to end the call. “Quit being such a spoilsport.
We’ll talk later.”

She exited the shop with a bag of randomly purchased souvenirs and stood over Cal on the
shop’s steps.

Aware of both photographers raising their cameras at them, she and Cal had the same idea.

They reached for one another’s gloved hands as they stared into each other eyes.

He was suspicious. She was playing dumb. Still, when their fingers intertwined, a warm thrill
sent her pulse skipping into the air like a hummingbird.

“Baby,” he said, faking affection.

Ugh. Mare cringed inwardly but managed to smile as she leaned forward and pressed her lips
to his cold cheek.

Tiberias went so still she thought the chill of his soul had finally spread to the rest of him.
His skin was freshly shaven smooth, his smoky cologne filled her nostrils and she almost
wanted to lick to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. Just a little taste. But she held strong,
gliding her lips to his ear instead, and murmuring.

“If you ever call me that again I’ll chop off your balls. Okay, Cal?”

She swore she felt him shiver before he took a step backward.

“As you wish, princess.”

His eyes gleamed with too much amusement for her taste. She hated how those bursts of
emotion seemed so frequent lately, and how they made his golden eyes seem like the candle
that lit up a dark night. Making her never want to look away.

The uptight asshole version of him was easier to deal with.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he lied quickly and easy. Then tugged on her hand lightly, so she jumped
from the steps to the cobbled street, losing the high ground. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying gifts for my family.” She shook the bag in his face.

“With what money?”

“Lucas was kind enough to lend me his credit card. We’ll add the sum to his paycheck, with a
nice bonus for his troubles.”

“You could have asked me.”

Mare’s eyes rolled so back into her skull that she pulled a muscle.

“First the gym, now this. Stop being such a possessive ass.”

He grunted with such deep displeasure it made her grin, which irked him further.

Tiberias started walking without letting go of her hand.

“Let’s go buy some proper gifts for your family.”

*🍫*
They spent the rest of the morning going from one ridiculously overpriced chocolate
boutique into another, feeding each other sweets with passive-aggressive vigor beneath
seemingly sweet gestures for the photographers’ sake.

She picked the ugliest sounding flavors for Tiberias, and ‘playfully’ bit his finger when he
fed her a frozen raspberry covered in dark chocolate in return. The explosion of delicious
flavor wasn’t half as satisfying as his pained huff.
“Thank you.” She smiled adorably. “I want three boxes of that.”

He covertly glared at her, flexing his wounded hand as he walked to the cashier.

In the crowded shop, it was easy to lose sight of Mare between the tourists and candy towers.
She overheard the female photographer speaking to Lucas.

“They truly do make such a dreamy couple.”

“It’s our job to make them seem like it, Mariella.”

“Yeah, but they make it easy. With the energy between them,” she squealed. “You can feel the
sparks.”

There were no sparks! What was this woman smoking?

Her proximity with Tiberias was a solid unit of bland nothing. Like hospital food, insipid yet
necessary.

Mare’s brow furrowed.

You couldn’t go around sparking up anything with anyone less than 48 hours after losing
your other half. And yet... even though it was acting the warm pressure of Tiberias’ hand
around hers anchored her mind and body to the here and now. His voice banished frantic
thinking, and his proximity settled a need so deep, so primitive it had to be a dent in her DNA
from a past life.

Probably her need for violence. Yup, that sounded about right.

“There’s definitely some intense friction,” Lucas muttered.

She had to agree with the snitch photographer.

🍽️*🍽️*🍽️
The second night there was a dinner to honor the newlyweds at the main dining venue of the
hotel.

Cal checked his watch and tapped his foot as he waited for Mare. They were 10 minutes late.

With the small changes he and Davidson had made to the itinerary, no one was waiting for
them but he still detested tardiness. The dinner in their honor was now just a regular formal
dinner with a small strings orchestra playing winter-themed songs for no particular reason, as
far as the rest of the hotel guests were concerned.

Based on previous recent experience, Cal was expecting Mare to wear a high couture outfit
hand-picked to enhance her beauty. The knowledge didn’t save his heart from stopping
beating for 10 seconds before starting again when he saw her exit the room.
She wore a long-sleeved crimson velvet dress that clung to her frame luxuriously, turning her
into a golden-age Hollywood star, with her generous hips and tiny waist, and her long,
luscious waves of chocolate hair falling over one shoulder.

If he was honest, he liked her in everything.

Once, during a family vacation she’d gone to, he ran into her as she was going to the
bathroom. It was so early in the morning she'd been too sleepy to be mean to him. Her hair
had been pure anarchy, she had red pillow marks across half of her face, and a bit of drool at
the corner of her mouth. Even then, he’d wanted to do unspeakable things to her.

You’re so damn gorgeous. "We're late.”

“I know it. My stomach knows it.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, which he hid by looking at his feet, then offering his arm to
her.

She quirked a brow at him before he reminded her.

“For the pictures.”

Her delicate hand hooked around the crook of his elbow. The feeling shot to his head, making
it impossible to hide his smile. But he didn’t need to, since Mare stared ahead with
determination.

The Orange Court got its name from the planters distributed around the room with orange
trees.

Warm hues and a mixture of delicious food and citric plant scents enveloped them as they
walked in. The live music flooded the room, turning the ambiance into a dreamlike painting.

Cal’s mood started dampening as the evening and the plates progressed. Sure, the music and
the food were exquisite, and from a distance, Lucas was getting all the proper shots of them
dining as a Vogue cover-worthy duo. However, from up close he was a witness to Mare’s
unusually quiet demeanor as she ate, barely looking at him, downing her cabernet franc
glasses way too fast.

He felt a pang of guilt and desperation. If he could take her heartbreak into himself, he gladly
would.

She could never love you. She loves Maven. You were too late.

“Talk to me.” He begged as nonchalantly as he could.

Mare narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that an order?”

“I’m trying to understand what you’re thinking.”

She propped her chin on her fist, resting her elbow on the table. “Why?”
“Because I suspect your silence covers up some form of scheming that can’t be good.”

“How very catholic of you.” She cut a piece of Welsh Lamb from her plate and then asked
with her mouth full. “If you truly got married would you do it at a church?”

He nearly choked on a bite of tomato. A wedding. She was talking about his potential future
wedding.

“What?”

“I’m making conversation. Like you asked.”

Cal sat back and blinked. He didn’t consider himself a saint but it was true that even when
he’d been fantasizing about... ehem her in various positions— romanceable situations, it had
often been in the context of a wedding at Archeon’s emblematic Saint Victorie’s Cathedral.
He didn’t care to examine the reasons behind it.

Mare was happy to do it for him though.

“You would,” she answered her own question with a wry smirk and sipped her wine. “You
have a weird fixation with following old as fuck rules. With discipline.” The way she rolled
the word around her tongue made him look at her plum-painted lips for a beat too long.

Cal cleared his throat and looked at the center of the room, where a few couples had started
slow dancing.

“You're right I like tradition." He shrugged. "But you’re pretty transparent yourself. You’re a
contrarian with a heart of gold.”

Mare opened her mouth as if she was about to laugh at the outrageous statement, but went
serious at the last second. Why did she act as if she wanted his hatred? Maybe it made things
easier for her.

“You’re kidding, right? What could possibly make you think that?”

I’ve paid attention to you over the years. Obsessively.

“The trip to Turkey. Kekova.” He replied, baring his soul out for her. One of his most
precious memories with her laid out on the table for her to tear apart.

Her eyes widened with recognition that she promptly tried to hide by putting up an indifferent
front. He’d seen it though.

She remembered as well as he did.

🚤⌚🚤
“What’s wrong with you?” Mare asks. She’s in full tourist gear, her hair collected in a long
braid that exposes the row of earrings along her ear glinting in the early morning sun.
Adorable.
Cal swears on his life the fact that he and Mare booked the same tour is a coincidence. It has
nothing to do with the fact that Maven isn’t going, or that the Mediterranean sun makes Mare
gleam like a gem these days. It’s as though she absorbs the energy and transforms from
within into an ethereal being made of sunlight, fertile earth, and pomegranates. He won’t go
too deep into what those images mean from a psychoanalyst's point of view.

Uncle Julian, the closest he will ever get to therapy, would advise against signing up for a
tour to the tiny Turkish island of Kekova. But he’s not here and Mare going doesn’t
necessarily have to mean anything. He’s always wanted to see the ruins of Simena. What he
didn’t consider, too distracted by the prospect of great historical places and Mare’s presence,
was the bumpy boat ride to get there.

“I’m—” about to throw up . “—fine. But that boat doesn’t seem too safe. We should take a
helicopter.”

Mare arches her brows and lowers her sunglasses, giving him a funny look. “It’s a regular
inflatable boat. Besides, they give us life jackets.”

“Yeah, I‘m not too sure about this...”

This is when he expects teasing, at best, or outright mockery if their past interactions are
anything to go by. A grown man scared to go into the sea on a perfectly tranquil morning? It's
prime-quality bullying material. Instead, her eyes soften, and her mocking smirk falls into a
sympathetic line.

“You’ve been going on about this tour for two days. C’mon, I used to work summers as a
lifeguard back in high school.”

Only one thing sears onto his brain about that day and it’s not the historical ruins, though they
are very nice. But sitting on the boat’s floor at her feet with her delicate calloused hand in his,
not flinching away as he holds on to her for dear life. His forehead pressed against the side of
Mare’s infinitely smooth thigh, his eyes squished shut when a wave aggressively rocks the
boat.

He remembers a couple of other tourists looking at him questioningly and Mare telling them
to fuck off and then rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. It is physically impossible
to play it cool, being on the verge of throwing up. That leaves him exposed to her in a way
he’s never been before. And rather than mocking him or getting revenge on all the million
ways his father, which to some extent included him, is awful to her. She supports him and
keeps him sane during the long boat ride.

To Cal, at that moment, Mare’s scent of salty wind, mixed with the sweetness of the coconut
lotion on her skin, along with the fact that she’s the only thing keeping him from a panic
attack, turn her into the most amazing human being on earth. Actually, that doesn’t begin to
cover it. She is a goddess granting mercy. It’s fitting they are visiting some ancient pagan
temples because he’s feeling something very spiritual indeed as he breathes her in.

He may have t halassophobia , but to be near her he may very well turn into that guy in the
bible who tried to walk on water and sank.
All the mystique evaporates once they set foot on land.

Mare lies to Maven about where she spent her morning when he asks. As if she too had felt
the intimacy in the firm contact of their hands, the brush of skin as they sat so close to each
other at the boat not a thread could get between them.

They never bring it up again.

 I wanna dance with somebody

They never brought up the Kekova tour back, until now.

Mare looked like she was about to argue something to disguise the fact that she remembered
as well, but a singer went up to the stage and the conversations around the room were
replaced with polite, expectant silence.

The singer looked like one of Hercules’ muses from that animated movie, all glitzy glamour
and confidence.

“Thank you for that warm welcome,” she pressed her hands to her heart dramatically. Her
voice was smooth and sultry. “My name is Tonya and tonight I’ll take you on a musical
journey for lovers. If any couple wants to share the magic on the dancefloor, please do.”

The orchestra started playing in crescendo a version of Something Stupid by Frank Sinatra as
Tonya ran her sparkling gaze over the crowd… then she extended her arms toward them and
the blinding spotlight aimed at them.

“What do we have here? The Calores! Just married and looking like a dream.”

Goddammit Davidson. Cal waved and raised his hand, politely acknowledging the round of
applause after the singer's introduction.

“A little birdy told me you didn’t have your first dance yet.” Tonya winked. “The floor is all
yours, honeymooners.”

Ouch! Five fingernails dug into his thigh under the table.

Mare leaned into him so he partially hid her panicked face from the world.

“We can’t,” she whispered furiously. “We never practiced. Do you know how much I
trampled over your brother’s feet practicing? We’ll look stupid as shit.”

Cal found her sudden insecurity surprisingly endearing. He lowered his palm pressing it over
the back of her hand, so tiny and delicate it made him lightheaded. Her nails dug deeper.
Fine, maybe not so delicate.

He leaned so it looked like he was kissing her cheek.

“They’ll be too distracted with how gorgeous you look in that dress.”

“Cal…” she pleaded desperately and he couldn’t help grinning. Fuck, how he loved to hear
her call him like this and not ‘Tiberias’.

“Trust me.” He stood up with her hand firmly clasped in his, urging her up.

She smiled so beautifully toward their audience he wanted to kiss that smile.
Through gritted teeth, she replied, “I’d rather trust a piranha with a baby.”

Encouraging.

~ 👠~👠~
She let herself be elegantly dragged to the center of the dancefloor, under the gentle, dimmed
light of chandeliers.

Tiberias stood for a moment, perfect posture, one hand behind his back, the other twirling her
into his chest like he’d been possessed by Fred Astaire’s ghost.

She curled her hand over his shoulder and now they were face to face. Her mind flushed
down the drain every agonizing hour of the stiff dance lessons with Maven. Tiberias was so
much taller and bigger than him, it was like thinking you knew how to ride a monster truck
because you knew how to ride a bike. Heat bloomed on her cheeks.

Not the best of analogies to be thinking of in the middle of a full restaurant.

“Trust your body,” he murmured with a velvety voice as his free hand spanned over her bare
back, burning her skin.

Fat chance, pal. Her body was public enemy number two to the rational part of her. Public
enemy number one was him, and number two was way too okay with lascivious acts with the
former. An association of evil.

“Not likely.”

“Sweetheart, you have to trust in something .”

Mare scoffed and found the courage to raise her eyes from Cal’s chest to his eyes.

The certainty there was pure, stainless steel.

She swallowed. Well damn, it seemed like she was going to trust him after all.

Tonya started singing and the music pushed them into motion like a gentle sea wave.

His foot pushed forward at the same time hers slid backward. Cal’s crooked smile as he
raised his brows with a silent ‘see?’ belonged to the silver screen.

They glided over the floor smoothly, in perfect synchronization. Mare was surprised by how
well they were doing. The waltz choreography slowly stopped feeling like a painful exercise
of memory, instead morphing into something as natural and easy as breathing.

It reminded her of Kekova. Of course she remembered the day when Cal had almost seemed
human to her. Human enough to need a comforting hand, human enough to touch. The itch to
do so had been there from the moment they’d met.
In his arms, the restaurant disappeared beneath her feet. There was the solidity of him, his
smell of pines and smoke, his eyes as warm as summer and nothing else.

Applause broke her out of the spell. The song was over. The floor started crowding with other
couples.

She smiled politely at the room and walked toward their table.

“That was lovely!” A white-haired woman with the biggest emerald necklace Mare had ever
seen bouncing over her ample bosom cooed as soon as they were within earshot.

“And we were sad we couldn’t make it to the wedding! Turns out we didn’t miss anything
after all.” An elderly man with a bushy horseshoe beard said smiling.

He had the glassy eyes of the sort of old person with one foot in the present, and the other in
the glorious times of their youth. Or maybe he was well into his cups. She wasn’t about to
judge him.

“Welle! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Tiberias greeted him without missing a beat, shaking his
hand once, while Mare got her cheeks air-kissed by Mrs. Welle.

“It has. I missed seeing you and your old man at the club, but I understand planning a
wedding takes a lot of time. Although, I didn’t know it was you getting married. I thought it
was you brother. Marvin?”

She and Cal laughed too hard and instinctively stuck together like magnets, imitating the
Welles’ posture. His arm over her shoulders, her arm around his waist, her other hand resting
over his hard abdomen. The latter was a little bit of Mare’s own improv. They didn’t want to
look too much like the couple before them.

“No. It was me. I was— am the lucky guy,” Tiberias replied stiffly.

They were so going to get caught.

“Oh, don’t mind an old man’s faulty memory. Did I run into you two a few years ago? At a
Samos’s launch party?” Mr. Welle stroked his chin, squinting his eyes at them. Remembering
something very badly.

What he’d run into, now that Mare placed the man’s face, was her and Tiberias glaring
daggers at each other. Right after Mare’s drink had spilled over his plus-one (some Swiss
model without an ounce of personality in her 5'9" gorgeous body). The Barbie doll had
allegedly tripped and kicked Mare's heel hard enough to break it.

Mare was certain it had been on purpose, but slapping a bitch was slightly frowned upon in
these hoity-toity settings. Cal had shown up at the room she was fuming in, with super glue
and the will to argue. Sure, he’d fixed her heel, but he’d been a massive imbecile about it.

While he clasped her ankle and shoved her newly fixed shoe back on her foot, an old man
had interrupted their loaded cussing match. The very same man in front of them.
“Yup,” Mare conceded quickly. “Two lovebirds. Having a lovers’ quarrel.”

Cal coughed into his fist to hide a laugh, prompting her to dig his heel into his foot. At least
one of them was trying to make this work.

Mr. Welle nodded sagely. “Differences are what make marriages stronger. Greta and I argue
every day.”

“From what I heard on the news recently, you have differences in spades! I didn’t know you
were a teacher, Mare. I’m so glad you made it out of there.” Mrs. Welle touched her apple-
sized emerald as if the mention of poor people would automatically vaporize her wealth.

Out of where? A well-paying job? A loving family? She held back from giving her the stink
eye, instead smiling without teeth.

She had to be grateful they'd run into inoffensive elders and not, say, one of Cal's deluxe
groopies.

“Tiberias Calore. Funny running into you here.”

Goddammit, who was it now?

Oh shit. Even Mare knew who these people were.

The Welles, Cal, and she bowed their heads in respect. Mrs. Welle went as far as to do a full
curtsy, which required her husband’s assistance to get back up.

“Very fortunate, father.” Iris Cygnet smiled at them like a snake who’d just found the slowest,
fattest mouse in the grass.

Iris and her father joined the conversation as if they’d been invited. Being royalty sort of
enabled them to do as they pleased.

“Congratulations on your nuptials,” Iris said with a perfectly polite expression Mare saw
right through.

Not a Tiberias fan, but a Maven hater.

Iris wasn’t dumb. She remembered perfectly well which Calore she used to date.

Her ex-fiancé (it still seemed weird to call him ex anything) and Iris had been classmates at a
fancy boarding school and had gotten along badly since then. Maven’s version was that she
sabotaged his student council president re-election during their senior year. Even so, etiquette
demanded that he said hello the few times he run into her over the years. And by extent, Mare
had to as well. A small bookstore in Paris, a Veteran’s Day fundraiser, an easter egg hunt at
The Lakelands Royal Palace. Enough occasions for the princess and Mare to recognize each
other.

Truth be told, Mare had considered her nice overall... also kinda hot, but out of solidarity for
her then-boyfriend, she’d decided to hate the princess out of principle.
Iris had seemed pretty inoffensive then, but now her presence here sparked Mare’s fight-or-
flight response.

Tiberias, ever so proper, introduced the newcomers to the Welle couple. Behind the
pleasantries, he seemed off-put by Iris’ presence too.

“Our invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” Mr. Cygnet good-naturedly joked. Or was he
Lord Cygnet? Shit, Mare didn’t know the proper title for a consort king whose wife recently
abdicated in favor of his eldest daughter.

“It was a small event, Your Grace,” Cal interjected, clearing things up on the title question.

“Don’t fret, Mr. Calore. My wife was adamant we came to ski this week, and we don’t have
the excuse of running a country anymore, so our agenda was full.” Orrec’s easygoing,
approachable demeanor made it easy to forget how authoritative and violent the
parliamentary monarchy of his country was to its people. “You’ll find out soon enough how it
is. Happy wife, happy life.”

“That’s what I always say!” Mr. Welle beamed. “We’re here celebrating our 50 th
anniversary. And we had our honeymoon here as well, so I think there’s something fated
about our encounter here.”

“Fated or staged,” Iris joked but not in the same lighthearted tone of her father. More
cunningly.

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Your Grace.” Mare had to hold on to Cal’s arm in what
seemed a gesture of intimacy, when actually, she felt dizzy. If her family lost everything
because of a few random encounters with some princess, she would personally smuggle
herself across the border and incite a rebellion to overthrow her meddling ass.

“Pardon me being so blunt,” she looked straight at her with her grey eyes like icicles “But I
thought you were betrothed to Maven?”

To Mare’s surprise, there was something like solidarity in them. Had Iris just correctly
guessed that she was being forced into this?

“I dated him briefly— It’s awkward to talk about now. We broke up amicably. Cal and I were
simply a better fit. Right, honey?”

“Yes! It’s water under the bridge. It was such a long time ago. Besides, when I look at her, all
I can think about is how happy she makes me.” Cal looked at her intensely, the candor in his
gaze seemed genuine. His hand rubbing up and down her should was a nice touch too, acting
choices wise. It was fucking with her head how her body responded, like a sunflower turning
to the sun. “And I can only strive to do the same for her.”

“Well said!” Mr. Welle pumped a fist in the air.

“Aw look at the love in their eyes, Heron.” The old lady clung to her husband’s side. “We
used to be just like that.”
“We are, pumpkin pie,” Heron replied taking his wife’s chubby hands in his.

“You were right about fate, Mrs. Welle.” Iris smiled sweetly at the old couple. “Look at that:
Mistletoe.”

Mistle— what? Mare looked up and there it was. The proximity to Christmas meant
landmines like this would be scattered around the hotel. But this one in particular hung
ominously over the newlyweds' table. Over their group.

Over Tiberias and her.

He must have noticed as well, because he started emitting so much heat she could feel it
through his suit.

The Welles were so disgustingly in love with each other; they chuckled like kids and after
sharing a tender look, kissed each other on the lips.

Mare broke into a cold sweat for the second time that night. Surely that didn’t mean...

None other than the recently abdicated Queen of The Lakelands approached the group and
after accepting the courtesies in stride, slid her hand into her husband’s and asked. “What did
I miss?”

“Nothing, dearest. You’re just on time to save me from the bad luck of ignoring a Christmas
tradition.” Lord Iral tilted his chin up to the mistletoe.

The former queen smiled adoringly at him and they kissed too. Leaving only one remaining
couple without honoring tradition

The two couples stared expectantly at them. Mariella and Lucas had approached the sidelines
too, cameras aimed and ready to shoot

Behind her spooked expression, Mare was this close to hyperventilating. Just because she
was planning to fuck Tiberias didn’t make it okay to kiss him! How did the saying go? It was
one thing to allow a dick into your panties, and another to let a tongue into your soul.
Actually, she’d just made that up, but the concept remained.

Tiberias chuckled and held her closer to his side. “We’re just very private people.”

Mrs. Welle did not like that one bit. She pouted. “Aw, you’re young and beautiful. You
should be flaunting your love! Kiss!”

Heron repeated that last infernal word encouragingly. Then Lucas joined from the back, then
Mariella, then the singer with the mic, and then the entire restaurant full of nosybodies was
clapping at the rhythm of a single word.

Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

There was fucking royalty in front of them, expecting them to comply with the people’s
demands.
Mare and Tiberias turned to each other like actors in a play.

The roar of her violent pulse was deafening. It was just pretend.

She placed her palms on Cal’s chest, then slowly raised her gaze to meet his, lingering a
second too long on his slightly parted lips. He had no right to such a plush, sensual mouth, a
full lower lip, and a defined upper lip with a rounded Cupid’s bow. Baby angels could use
that mouth as a pillow. She wanted to touch them. She wanted... to kiss him.

Her stomach dipped with anticipation. Just pretend.

His hands cradled her face, forcing her to look at him straight on. No distractions from the
depth of the black in his bronze eyes, regarding her with such fierce intensity she couldn’t
breathe. What was she supposed to do with the evident want in his eyes? She had a plan.

She had to use this to her favor. Even if it felt like playing with fire.

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

His mouth covered hers, and heat poured through her body. One of his arms came around her
back, so steady and firm, her breasts flattened against his strong chest. The hand that cradled
her face continued to stroke her cheek, but lower, approaching the corner of her mouth so that
the sensations blended, heightening the tenderness of the kiss.

Because that’s what it was. So infinitely tender as his lips captured hers and let go. God, she
wanted him so badly her knees went weak.

They broke apart, startled by Heron Welle cheering, “To the newlyweds!” He lifted a glass of
champagne into the air and the rest of the restaurant did too.

When had they received glasses?

Willing her lips into a bashful smile, she leaned for a second against Cal’s chest to regain her
footing. Then she patted his abdomen and stepped away as inconspicuously as she could. Her
entire body clamored to return to his embrace. She wouldn't even look back up to his face,
afraid of what she might see there.

Whatever it was, it was convincing enough that Iris looked bored rather than suspicious as
she politely lifted her glass, to then take a sip.

Mare ambled for their table only to take a detour for the exit as soon she was out of the
spotlight.

There wasn’t enough air in here. She could breathe over the smell of him clinging to her
memory, her fingers remembered the infinite softness of his hair as she had soothed his
phobia with tender touch years ago, and ached for a repetition. A repetition that included a
kiss like the one they'd just shared. Is this how addicts felt after their first hit of the drug that
would ruin their life?

The ache spread to her chest, to her lower belly, to her core like a candle melting too fast.
She went into the elevator knowing he was close behind. Pressing her back against the
mirrored wall, she saw Cal follow. A multitude of the two of them. A million universes. In
one of them, he was not such an infuriating brute.

In one of them, she had met him before his brother.

Yes, she could work with that. She would look at one of his reflections and do what she had
to without feeling like a betrayal to herself.

“Are you okay?”

She chuckled. “Kissing you isn’t that earth-shattering.” Her breathy tone made it pretty
obvious it had, in fact, been earth-shattering.

Cal bit back a smile.

“I never said it was. Just another day at the job.” His low teasing tone was driving her crazy.

She tilted her chin up and he took a step forward.

“Same for me. It was like kissing a wall.”

“Really? Then why did you run away?” he quirked a brow. He was onto her, facing her at a
respectful distance as she pressed the button to their floor and the doors slid shut. “It’s getting
old.”

She heaved a deep sigh, her bosom rising and falling.

“I’m not. I wanted you to come with me.”

Static energy filled the air. Neither of them was breathing.

He slammed the stop button, effectively trapping them together in a four-by-four prison of
destiny.
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