THE VOWS

“Finish this, Father! Now!” Gabe barked. 

“Do you wish to call it off, Mr. Clifford?” the priest asked. “There’s still time!” 

“No, damn it!” Gabe shot a glare at my father. “Marry us already!” 

How far was Gabe willing to go to hurt my dad? What had happened that was so bad? How long would it take me to figure it out and fix everything? 

As the priest droned on with words that felt like background noise, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my gorgeous husband. I’d always had a thing for beautiful things—hot guys included. I’d never seen Gabe Clifford in a single photo online. I knew he was the CEO of the world’s biggest pharmaceutical company, but I pictured CEOs as old, ugly, and bald. Not this relatively young, intriguing man. 

“The rings…” 

The magic word—*rings*—snapped me back to reality. A tall, slender brunette, probably in her late 20s, stepped forward with a velvet pouch. Gabe snatched two plain, thin gold bands from it, grabbed my hand without asking, and slid one onto my ring finger. I reached to do the same for him, but he didn’t give me the chance—he put his own ring on. 

I lifted my hand, admiring the gold band glinting against the ring I’d gotten for my 15th birthday. I wondered if it was even real gold. But coming from a Clifford, I convinced myself it was probably some ultra-expensive, indestructible kind. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said, the cliché words hitting me with surreal weight. “You may kiss the bride.” 

I parted my lips, ready for my husband’s first kiss. Gabe gave me a look, then grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the side of the church, heading for the street. The brunette who’d handed him the rings scurried alongside, struggling to keep up in her skin-tight pencil skirt, barely able to move her legs. 

The upside? My husband probably wasn’t sleeping with his secretary at the office—she’d never get that skirt up over his desk. Unless she hiked it up beforehand. Or… unzipped it from the back, letting it slide down her legs in a sultry move. Then Gabe would grab her by the hips, hoist her onto his sturdy, shatterproof glass desk, kiss her fiercely, and—while she moaned in a husky voice, “Harder, Mr. Clifford! Harder!”—he’d— 

“Is your desk glass?” I blurted as he ducked my head down and practically shoved me into the back of a car with enough space to fit the entire Abertton family. 

“What desk?” His jaw tightened as he stared at me. 

“The one in your office, at Clifford Enterprises. The CEO’s desk…” 

Gabe narrowed his eyes, shaking his head without answering. The car started moving, and he pulled out his phone. 

“Ingrid, bury everything in the media about this damn wedding. Actually—” he shot me a glance—“make this entire day disappear. From the week, the month, the year… from my life!” His voice dripped with rage. 

I could tell the woman on the other end said something, though I couldn’t hear it. 

“Screw it!” he shouted, tossing the phone onto the leather seat. 

We sat facing each other. Behind Gabe was a tinted partition, probably separating us from the driver he hadn’t bothered to introduce. My heart was racing. My hand trembled slightly—I needed to eat something, fast, because of my condition. 

“You know you’re not famous like your brother, right?” I asked. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I’ve never even seen your face online. The press is obsessed with Jorel Clifford, not you.” 

“Unlike my brother, I don’t mess with prostitutes, drugs, or gambling,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Never—*ever*—compare me to Jorel.” 

He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. It was a wedding. It was supposed to be joyful, not stressful. 

“So why did I marry you instead of Jorel?” I finally mustered the courage to ask. 

Gabe let out a smug laugh before answering. 

“Jorel bailed! Right now, he’s in New York, laughing his ass off because I’m the one stuck with this sacrifice.” 

“I think deep down you wanted to marry me,” I said honestly. 

He laughed again, louder. 

“Spare me your nonsense. I’m tired, and I don’t need to hear your voice.” 

“Oh, you do. You married me. I’m your wife now.” 

He closed his eyes, his breathing heavy as he leaned back against the plush leather seat. 

“I know how to give massages,” I offered. “Want me to—” 

His eyes snapped open, and he leaned forward, inching closer until his gaze bored into mine. We were so close I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he grabbed my hand, yanked off the ring, and read the inscription inside. 

“Jorel Clifford.” He flipped on the overhead light, making it bright enough for me to see. “In case you’re not blind, it says the name of the man who was supposed to marry you. So no, it wasn’t me. I’d never marry a woman like you, Olívia Stick-Figure. You don’t attract me, you don’t interest me… you’re the kind of woman who blends into the background, completely unremarkable. But you’re Ernest Abertton’s daughter, and that makes you special… very special… perfect for making your dear daddy suffer until he breaks.” He sighed, tossing the ring into my lap and leaning back, as far from me as possible. “And apparently, my brother didn’t see anything worthwhile in you either, because he ran too. He’d rather face my wrath than touch you, Stick-Figure. As for the rings? I had them made. Cheap department store junk—something I’d never set foot in, because it’d taint my shoes with poverty.” 

God, this man desperately needed some warmth, some comfort to feel human again. He showed no emotion, ever. What a sad life my CEO lived. 

I slid the ring back onto my finger. 

“Doesn’t matter!” I shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts! And you didn’t want to marry me, but you did. You can file for divorce if you want. I’ll file too. I’m happy with how this turned out. I believe in fate… and ours was meant to be. You and me.” 

“There’s no ‘you and me,’ Stick-Figure. Got it?” 

“I, Olívia Abertton—no, Olívia Clifford now—take you, Gabe Clifford, as my lawful husband. I promise to be faithful, to love and honor you, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, all the days of our lives, until death do us part.” 

Gabe leaned closer again, his cologne flooding my senses, practically intoxicating me with raw, unfiltered masculinity. 

“What’s wrong with you?” His voice was so harsh it sent a chill down my spine, his warm breath grazing my skin. 

“I have type 1 diabetes. And vision issues from it, so I wear contacts. Not blind, though. And… aside from that, no other problems. A bit ‘lazy,’ as my stepmom sometimes says… but you’ll get used to my quirks. And love them.” I nodded confidently. “But if you meant the vows… I thought they were important to say, since we didn’t get to in the church. If you’re not planning on divorcing me, this is forever, Gabe. So ‘you and me’ exists… and always will, whether you like it or not. I’m your wife now. And… if you want to say your vows here, I’d be pretty happy.” 

“Go to hell and take your damn vows with you. I don’t give a crap about your fidelity, your respect, or your love.” 

“Like I said, I’ve been to hell, and I’m never going back.” His words stung, dragging me back to a part of my past I’d buried in a dark corner, hoping never to revisit. But the pain was my own doing, not his. Gabe didn’t have the power to hurt me. Only I could, by remembering what I’d lived through before I was ten. 

“Do me a favor: stop talking. Stop looking at me. Stop breathing.” 

“Then I’d die!” I shot back, hurt. 

“And wouldn’t that be perfect?” 

I crossed my arms, fuming. 

“If I die, I’ll come back as a ghost to haunt you.” 

“What?” 

“You think I’d leave my gorgeous, rich, delicious husband for another woman? Do I look crazy to you?”