ELLA

“You are Darren Ford?” I’m incapable of hiding the confusion lacing my tone. “Where’s your wheelchair… a-and napkin?”

The corner of his thin lips crooks in a fleeting smile, “I can fetch those if you prefer, make a grander entrance that way.”

He’s so softspoken, too. Is this a joke?

I try to blink away my confusion, momentarily making eyes with my father who is scrolling his phone like this circus is a stock report. He glances up, nods, and thumbs up. Yes, this is Darren Ford.

One thing about influential families? Everything is either a good game or a good deal. I’m not sure which this is.

“So,” Darren tilts his head, his eyes boring into mine like he can see my secrets. “Shall we get married?”

Stupidly, my eyes instinctively flick to Harris. He's looking right at me, his expression unreadable. Ivy still looks petrified.

“Yes,” I say flatly. “Let’s get married.”

Darren climbs onto the altar, adjusting his tie. His frame towers over mine, and the musky scent of his cologne is as invasive as it is enticing.

The officiant goes ahead, rambling the sweet nothings until it reaches my turn. “I do,” I say with the enthusiasm of a prisoner signing parole papers.

The officiant glares and I roll my eyes. Please. He’s just another puppet on my father’s payroll.

Well, at least my groom is hot. That’s a plus. Then Darren answers, nodding assuredly, “I do.”

The crowd erupts into applause, and I’m taken by the intensity of it. Everyone is so happy I'm finally being sent off to marriage.

What I don't see coming is Darren’s arm curling around my waist, yanking me against him. He lowers his head, his face just inches away from mine when he says, sultrily, “Amazing choice of dress, wife.”

Then his lips clash into mine, and he kisses me. This kiss…

It’s not gentle.

It’s searing and critical and hungry. Darren Ford kisses like it’s the sport he played in high school. Like he's been starving for years.

And I kiss him back, with as much vigor and want. Harris may have denied me a good fuck yesterday but this one won’t.

He rips away sharply, a smoldering gaze in his eyes. I stagger, whispering, “Fuck.”

“We should do that more often.”

My face flushes, but that’s when I notice the light and clicks. The stampede.

Reporters, journalists, and paparazzi flood the cathedral like moths to a flame.

Oh god. Someone must have leaked the location. Is it Cassie, cause I didn’t invite her? “Oh great,” I mutter. “Wedding's over.”

Security wrestles them back, but the damage is already done.

***

It takes a while to clear out the paparazzi and get back to the ceremony— if that’s what it even is.

I stand awkwardly at my ‘husband's’ side, while he speaks to some business associates, resisting the urge to find Harris in the crowd.

But of course, he finds me first. Glued to Ivy’s arm like he's auditioned for handbag of the year.

He’ll look so much better on my arm. I miss him, and my heart races from just being in proximity.

“I am so happy for you, Ella. Today is such a great success,” Ivy tucks her fair hair, smiling too widely.

I scoff, “How long did you rehearse that one for?”

“Isa,” Harris warns.

“Ella,” I snap. “To you. It's Ella.” I seize Darren's arm, leaning in with false sweetness. “Meet my husband, Darren Ford. Isn't he a miracle?

“Sure is!” Ivy gawks at him. Of course she does. Then she sticks out her manicured hand. “Ivy DiLaurantis, Ella’s sister. Lovely to meet you.”

“Step sister.” I shake her before Darren can.

“Same,” Darren says, curt. And I could kiss him for it. I squeal internally. Yes! For once, someone isn't charmed by her act.

She laughs awkwardly. Harris and Darren are engrossed in some staring contest until Ivy presses, “So, what’s with the rumors? You have two healthy legs.”

“Safety precautions.” Darren doesn't flinch. His hands find mine, interlocking our fingers. “It’s necessary when hoping to find a perfect bride like Ella.”

Ivy nods. “True. And my sister is irreparably perfect.”

“Oh, Ivy!” I fake a laugh. “You don’t say.”

“You sound awfully sure of her, like you’ve known her for years now,” Harris mentions.

Darren answers without blinking. “You don’t need forever to know what’s right for you. It takes just a moment.”

I’m pleased and equally petrified. His words shouldn’t mean anything but they do, stirring something deep in me no one's ever dared to touch.

“Maybe this is just—” Harris begins, but Ivy pounces.

“Ever been to Monaco, Mr Ford? Hubble’s hotel?”

“I don't catalogue every country I visit, Ms DiLaurantis. Now, excuse me, my wife and I have other guests to see.”

He takes my hand and walks off. I try to be strong and not look at Harris, or wish he’ll say something to make me stay, but he doesn’t.

And when I do look, he’s kissing Ivy.

Poseidon, now’s the perfect time.

***

I’m hauled into the Ford’s limousine like cargo. My father has since left with his wife, and my step-sister doesn’t stop trying to make eyes with my groom.

Harris, on the other hand, is blind to it all.

I settle on one of the opulent seats, letting my hair loose as it cascades over my shoulders.

Maybe societal standards were right and the only reason I haven’t gotten the man I love is because I am a brunette.

No. That’s stupid.

Darren takes a seat exactly opposite me, taps the headboard, and gets the vehicle in motion. He’s silent just as I’d have preferred if he hadn’t defended me and acted like the perfect husband all day.

I should say something. Maybe try to initiate small talk.

“There isn’t a single photo of you on the company’s website, just your father. Why?”

Okay, maybe our definitions of small talk differ, so? Darren jerks his tie loose and leans back like he owns the air I'm breathing.

Instead, he lights up a cigar and takes a slow drag. “Fuck, that was exhausting,” he reveals, more to himself than me.

I sit up straighter. What? “Did you just ignore my question?”

Darren groans, throwing his head back and smirking at the roof. “A little silence won’t hurt, little princess. The hall was noisy enough.”

Little princess?

His cautious and calculated way of speaking has completely vanished, leaving this unfamiliar, lackadaisical idiot. “What's gotten into you?”

“Be quiet, goddamit,” He hurls, disgusted.

“Wow,” a bitter chuckle slips out of my mouth. “This is outrageous. You know what? Turn the damn car around, I am going home.”

He glances out the window. His frown carves lines deep across his forehead. “Sit tight.”

“What?”

“I said, sit ti–”

Just then, a deafening crash jolts me forward.

The limo shudders violently as metal scrapes against metal, tires screeching in a shrill scream before the world spins and slams us sideways to a halt.

My head smacks the window with a sickening thud. Breathless, I claw for air, white sparks bursting behind my eyes as I try to blink through the haze.

The airbag punches my face, and the seatbelt has me locked in place which is probably the only reason I’m not sprawled across the floor.

“Oh my god...” I groan, looking ahead to find that Darren isn’t as fortunate.

Blood snakes down from a gash on his forehead. Yet, instead of groaning in pain, he throws his head back and laughs loudly.

Hysterically. Like a damned madman.

“Nice one, brother,” he slurs, his teeth a crimson shade as he coughs on his own laughter.

It’s official. Darren Ford is a lunatic. The sound of his laughter sends me into more fright, terror clenching my stomach.

This man isn’t the slightest bit bothered that another vehicle just rammed into ours!

“We need to get to a hospital,” I stammer, undoing the seatbelt to check the driver. Even my phone’s screen is cracked, rendering it useless.

I’m barely up on my feet when the door creaks open and cold air rushes in, carrying with it the shadow of another man.

His face is obscured but his fist isn’t, because it clearly swings forward and cracks against my groom’s bloodied jaw. “You bastard!” He annoyedly cries.

Darren still finds it funny. I’m petrified, trembling in my painful heels and screaming at the top of my lungs, “Back off before I call the cops!”

The stranger looks up at me, baffled. “No, you don’t understand,” he starts, gently, but I don’t let him finish.

“Understand that you tried to kill us? What’s there to fucking understand?”

He runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair, heaving a sigh. “The man you married is a charlatan,” he reveals “I. I am the real Darren Ford.”