Four

CHAPTER FOUR - CATHERINE POV

I woke up to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance.

Paris.

I was in Paris.

My head pounded like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull. My mouth tasted like alcohol and bad decisions. My body ached in ways that were both pleasant and alarming—muscles sore, skin sensitive, between my thighs a delicious soreness that made heat flood my face.

What the hell happened last night?

I tried to sit up and immediately froze. There was a heavy arm draped across my waist. A very male, very naked arm attached to a very male, very naked body pressed against my back.

Oh god.

Memories crashed through the hangover fog:

The bar…. The gorgeous older man… Dave… His hands on my body in the elevator. His mouth on mine…. The hotel room—no, his suite then champagne and so much champagne. His fingers inside me while I begged, His cock—oh god, his cock—

I was going to be sick.

No. Worse than sick, I was going to die, Luna was going to kill me. Anderson was going to—

Wait.

I lifted my left hand slowly, dreading what I'd see.

A wedding ring.

Its White gold, delicate, with an expensive beautiful stone that caught the morning light and threw rainbows across the unfamiliar bedroom. I was grounded enough to know this was definitely not the ring Anderson had chosen, he'd picked something small and cheap, said he didn't want to waste money on someone who'd probably lose it anyway.

This ring looked like it cost more than a car.

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," I whispered to the silent room.

"If it is, we're sharing it."

I yelped and tried to bolt from the bed, but the arm around my waist tightened, pulling me back against a wall of hard muscle and warm skin.

"Easy." Dave's voice was rough with sleep, but even gravelly it sent shivers down my spine. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Let me go." I struggled, suddenly hyperaware that I was completely naked. The sheet had fallen to my waist, exposing my soft stomach, my heavy breasts, everything I spent years trying to hide. "Oh god, let me go, I need to—"

"Breathe." He didn't let go, but his grip gentled. His hand splayed across my stomach—my fat, disgusting stomach—and shame burned through me. "Catherine, breathe."

"Don't look at me." I tried to cover myself with my hands, with the sheet, with anything. "Please don't look at me, I'm—"

"Beautiful." His mouth pressed against my shoulder, and I shuddered. "Fucking beautiful. Especially like this."

"You're lying." My voice cracked. "You have to be lying. I'm fat and broken and—"

"And mine."

The word stopped my spiraling panic. I went still, my heart hammering.

"What?"

Dave shifted, and suddenly he was propped on one elbow, looking down at me with those intense brown eyes that had gone black last night. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, silver strands catching the light. He looked unfairly gorgeous for someone who'd drunk as much as I had.

"You're mine, Catherine." His hand moved from my stomach to my hip, possessive and warm. "You've been mine since I bit you last night."

Bit me?

I touched my neck and found a mark, raised and tender, right where my shoulder met my throat. A claiming bite.

"No." The word came out strangled. "No, that's not possible. I'm blood-bound to the Anderson family, I can't be claimed by anyone else. The oath would—"

"Wait. Anderson?" He sat up abruptly, and I noticed the shift in his expression, something guarded replacing the warmth. His muscled chest was bare and tempting but that wasn't the issue. Focus, Catherine.

I stared at him, trying to come up with a simple explanation. My heart sank as I realized I had to tell him the truth. "I wasn't cosplaying a runaway bride yesterday. I actually did run away from the altar, I'm blood-bound to the man I publicly rejected."

"So your ex is Anderson Anderson." His voice had gone flat. Not a question it was a statement.

"Yes, but how do you know—"

"I'm an Anderson, third generation and your ex is fourth generation." His jaw clenched, and I watched something shuttering in his eyes. The warmth from moments ago was evaporating like morning mist.

"This is a weird joke, right?" I bunched the sheet around me and put as much distance as I could between us. I didn't miss the bloody evidence of my virginity on the bed—we could both see the proof of what happened overnight. "Your name is not Anderson. You're—"

"Dave McFanger." He stood up, and I tried very hard not to notice the expanse of his chest, the muscles, the few scars that marked his skin. His movements were stiff now, controlled. "Originally Davis Anderson. I changed my name twenty years ago when I left the family."

The room tilted. "Anderson. You're—"

"His father." The words came out cold and emotionless.

No.

No no no no no.

"I'm going to be sick." I scrambled out of the room, clutching the sheet around my naked body, and barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up everything in my stomach.

Which wasn't much. I'd barely eaten yesterday. Or the day before. Or—

Strong hands pulled my hair back from my face. Dave knelt beside me on the cold tile, holding my hair like it was the most natural thing in the world while I vomited and cried and wished I could die.

For a moment—just a moment—his touch was gentle again and almost tender but when I finished heaving and he handed me a warm washcloth, his face was a mask I couldn't read.

I cleaned my face with shaking hands, unable to look at him. "I married my ex-fiancé's father."

"Technically, you married me before he was your ex." His tone was dry but there was an edge to it now. "So really, he's your husband's son's almost-bride. Or—fuck, the grammar doesn't work."

"This isn't funny!"

"I'm aware." He stood, and I made the mistake of looking up. He was still naked, still gorgeous, but he was looking at me differently now. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Like I was a problem instead of—whatever I'd been to him last night. "But panicking won't change it."

"I need to go back." I stood too quickly and had to grab the sink for balance. "I need to explain to Luna that this was a mistake. She'll understand. She'll—"

"She'll what?" His voice went hard, and I saw his shoulders tense. "How close are you with Luna Thorne?"

"Luna Anderson, not Thorne."

"We never mated officially. Bearing my child doesn't make her an Anderson, you're the only true Anderson bride." Something bitter crossed his face.

"That's disrespectful."

"But it's the truth."

My mouth opened in shock at the information, but before I could ask more questions, his next words had me frozen.

"I don't know your relationship with Luna Thorne, but based on my past experiences with her, I think it's better we annul this marriage."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I watched him close off completely, I saw the exact moment he decided I was a threat.

"Annul—"