His widow bride

Zariah’s POV I didn’t cry on my wedding day. I couldn’t find the tears, not when he slid the ring onto my finger, and not when his lips pressed against mine, his hot breath making me recoil. I wasn’t in love. Instead, I had just sold myself to a bachelor who had been in search of a bride. It was just for one year, as long as my mother got the surgery she desperately needed to live. Now, I sat in the empty dining hall of the Jackson Estate, taking down the last bit of my vodka. It stung my throat, and I winced slightly. The guests had all left, but I could still hear a few people laughing from the living area. I got out of the chair and wobbled slightly on my feet, the alcohol pulsing through my veins. My feet hurt, and I bent to take off my heels, tossing them into a corner of the room. And then, I saw him. Damian Rostov. He was standing in the hallway, a glass of whiskey in one hand. And for some reason, I froze. Damian hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words to me since I got engaged to his best friend. Hell, I’d only seen him once since then. But every time we were in the same space, I felt strange, like I couldn’t breathe. He made me nervous, made me feel like running in the opposite direction, and going closer to him at the same time. I headed towards him, at the same time, he brought his gaze inside, watching me make a pitiful attempt at getting closer. I couldn't read his expression. He masked it in layers. “Congratulations on getting married,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. His lashes…They framed his face perfectly. “Did you like my gift?” I forced a smile. “I haven’t had time to go through them.” My husband, Nathan Jackson, hadn’t let me have one minute to myself since we walked down the aisle. He only let me be when his parents asked to see him. “What did you get me?” “Something that won’t make you feel so alone.” I blinked, then laughed awkwardly. “I have Nathan. Doesn’t that mean that I am not alone?” Damian didn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes filtered through my features, too slowly. I rubbed my palms against my arms. “I should go look for him.” It would have been a dramatic walk-out if I hadn't tripped in that moment. I felt sturdy arms wrap themselves around me, right before I hit the floor. One hand held my elbow, and the other hooked around my waist as he brought me up with him. “You are drunk.” It wasn’t a question. Still, why did he look angry? “It’s my wedding!” I muttered, raising my hands in the air exasperatedly. “I am allowed a couple of drinks, am I not?” “No.” Something about his tone made me stop. I scoffed, trying to push away from his arms. He held me so firmly that I couldn't move an inch. "You are infuriating. First, you avoid me like the plague, and now you order me around, telling me when to drink and when not to." “I’ll take you to your room.” He didn't wait for my response as he picked me off the floor, holding me in his arms like I was a child. I let my arms wrap around his neck, pulling my head closer to his chest. My eyes fluttered closed, peace finding me with every step he took. “Hey, Nathan,” I heard him call. “She’s drunk. I’m taking her upstairs to her bedroom.” I couldn’t tell what my husband’s response was, but in a few minutes, I felt my bed dip underneath me. I didn’t know how long I was out, but suddenly, I felt heat creep up my body, choking me. I groaned and thrashed on the bed, my eyes opening in a jolt. He was still in my room, standing by the bed with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Damian, I need air. I can’t breathe.” “You can’t breathe in that dress?” That had to be it. It was a damn corset Nathan made me wear because he couldn't have his bride looking any other way than snatched. “I can’t breathe as long as I stay married to your best friend,” I almost said. Instead, I nodded, sitting up. The bed dipped again as Damian added his weight to it. I leaned into him, my back against his chest, as he worked at the ropes holding the corset together. My lips parted open slightly as his fingers grazed my naked back. Every rationality screamed at me to back off, to scamper to the opposite side of the bed and shrug off the dress myself. But I didn’t move an inch, as the wind teased my exposed skin, as his fingers unlaced every line, until I didn’t think I could bear it anymore. If I kissed him right now, I would regret it. But if I didn’t, I thought I would regret that more. Damian stopped moving, and I turned to look at him. That was when it happened. I kissed him. Or maybe he was the one who kissed me, I couldn't tell as his fingers found my hair, pulling me flush against him. I held on to him strongly as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t as chaste as the first time I was kissed. This was raw, hungry, passionate, two people who had no business touching each other this way. He bit the bottom of my lips, and his fingers held on tight to my waist, as if uncertain if he wanted to push me away or pull me further into him. I heard a door open in the distance, but that could have been my imagination. After all, I was doing something I knew I shouldn’t be doing. I couldn’t stop, even when I knew I should. I f*****g said “I do” to his best friend mere hours ago. But Damian did. He pulled away from me and stood up, his gaze dark as he walked out. “This never happened.” And in the doorway, I thought I saw a shadow of my husband, Nathan, watching.