The Forced Bride of Cole Ashford

CHAPTER THREE

When she was eight, Kendra attended a wedding for the first time.

It was an older cousin’s wedding, and eight-year-old Kendra had been the flower girl. She loved flowers, so it was a delight to sprinkle petals down the aisle in her pretty dress.

It had been a summer wedding on a private beach in the Hamptons. Her cousin wore a ruched mini-dress and had a single peony petal tucked behind one ear. Her face was bare of makeup, and her brilliant smile competed with the sun as she walked barefoot down the aisle.

The wedding was simply beautiful; people laughed and drank and wished the couple a happy married life. Later that evening, with the horizon painted in streaks of gold and blue, the groom had scooped his bride into his arms and spun her in a slow circle, her delighted laughter dancing into the wind like music.

It was the kind of wedding Kendra had always wanted. To marry a man who made her laugh like that. To be surrounded by only people she loved. To be radiant.

If only wishes were horses.

Now, the dress she wore had originally been bought in her sister’s size, so it was loose in some areas. She had to hold it up to avoid tripping as she walked. To make matters worse, the material was itchy it might as well have been made of rye. The veil’s comb snagged painfully in her hair, yanking a strand without mercy. Strangers’ faces peered at her from the crowd.

She would give her parents props, though. The hall was lovely. Lilies lined the aisle and filled the air with their delicate, powdery scent. Soft golden light bathed the space from ornate chandeliers, casting a gentle shimmer over every surface. When she had delivered the flowers, she had no idea she would be the one walking through them.

The altar was framed by cascading white roses and purple hydrangeas, with pale silk drapes falling in folds behind it like a curtain drawn between two worlds—one she could never return to, and one she was being pushed into.

And as she stiffly walked down the aisle beside her father, Kendra felt like screaming for help. Her father’s arm was hooked with hers. His steady grip on her hand kept her feet moving until they reached the altar. Then he bent low and whispered in her ear, “Do this for us, Kendra.”

Any watchful eye would have noticed her uneasiness as she nodded at her father and climbed the podium to face her husband-to-be.

She had seen him a few times before but never spoken to him. From what little she’d heard, she hadn’t cared enough to.

In a deep blue double-breasted three-piece suit, the man looked debonair, Kendra would admit that. But his expression was the last thing she had imagined on the face of the man she’d marry.

His eyes locked onto hers with a questioning look as she stepped onto the podium. Then, the corners of his lips tilted into a derisive curl. When she nearly tripped on the itchy dress, he remained as still and cold as France’s gift to the Americans, offering no hand, no help.

Despite the air conditioning, Kendra felt a bead of sweat trail down her back. Her hands were clammy, her throat dry. She took her place beside him, and the priest began the ceremony.

As he spoke, Kendra drifted.

Was it too late to back down? What would Christian think if he found out that just hours ago she had been begging him to take her back? And now, at 11 a.m., she was marrying a frowning billionaire to erase her father’s debt.

Surely, he would understand. Right?

Being in this dress wasn’t her choice. Standing at this altar hadn’t been part of her morning plans. But she had to do this. For her family.

Christian would understand, wouldn’t he? He would text her back, right?

A warm hand closed over her sweaty one.

“Miss Stone?” the priest said.

She blinked herself back to the present. “Uh… hmm… yeah?”

“I asked you to say the vows after me,” he said gently.

She glanced at her groom. His scowl had deepened. She swallowed, gripping her bouquet tighter. “Okay.”

The ring was passed to her. Her fingers trembled as she took it. She managed a look in her parents’ direction, her mother gave her an encouraging nod, she tore her eyes away and focused back on the priest.

He gave her a long, searching look, as though he could see her distress. Then he said, “Hold his left hand.”

Cole held it out, and Kendra took it. His hand was much bigger and far less sweaty than hers. Too warm. Too steady. Too put-together. She hated him for it.

The priest continued, “Now, repeat after me. I, say your name, take you, say the groom’s name, to be my lawfully wedded husband…”

He paused.

Kendra spoke, voice low but clear. “I, Kendra Stone, take you, Cole Ashford, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness or health, in wealth or otherwise, until parted by death.”

Slowly, painfully, Kendra repeated the words.

“Now, place the ring on his finger.”

Kendra slid the ring onto his hand.

Then the priest turned to Cole. “Now, say after me.”

It was the first time she’d heard his voice. His deep baritone exuded calm confidence as he repeated the vows with ease. Unlike her, he was composed. At peace.

Could someone be at peace with an arranged marriage?

He held her hand and slid the ring onto her finger.

Kendra’s heart sank. The band sat oddly on her skin, too tight in all the wrong places.

After he finished his vows, the priest smiled. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Cole Ashford, her husband, stepped toward her.

Kendra instinctively took a step back.

In two strides, he closed the distance and leaned in. His lips brushed her ear. Anyone watching would think it a sweet gesture, the groom whispering endearments to his bride.

If only they knew what he said.

Her stomach clenched. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet until the stems bit into her palm. Did he just say that?

Then he gave her a brief peck, for the cameras, for the guests, and stepped away.

Kendra felt bile rise in her throat, bitter and hot.