Married To Mr. Frost

~ARIA~

The wedding is moving at the pace of a snail who had long lost hope of winning a race and just resigned to fate. Everything about the wedding bores me out of my mind. The white roses are already wilting, and even the air conditioning has already given up. Behind me, more than six hundred guests are desperately fanning themselves with programs that have my name and Thomas Vance’s printed in bold letters.

Aria Bennet and Thomas Vance. A union to bind two families. Yeah right, a fat lie.

My wedding dress weighs what? Twelve pounds? Each step I take seems to drag me back. Underneath my lace glove, the sharp edge of the plastic band from St. Mary’s Hospital is itching my skin. I roll it slightly to remind myself that while I am standing here about to wed, she is in the hospital hooked to machines.

In. Out. Just breathe.

Suddenly, the pipe organ starts to play. That’s my cue. It is time to walk.

My mom’s doctor called yesterday. “Two million dollars by Friday, Miss Bennet, or your mom is moved to general care.” Right after that, my father called from his cell. “Do what you have to do, baby girl.”

So I am doing it. I am selling myself.

I step onto the aisle, the flashes of cameras from the guests temporarily blinding me. Looking down at the altar, I see Thomas in a tux that doesn’t even fit him, and I almost want to puke. His eyebrows are sweaty and his hands are fidgety. He hasn’t looked me in the eye since the rehearsal dinner, and honestly, I can do without it. Seriously, the dude is starting to get on my nerves.

Then, out of nowhere, the doors of the cathedral swing open. It isn’t a loud noise, just the slow groan of old wood. But the moment those doors open, the temperature in the room feels like it drops twenty degrees. Every head turns to the door.

A man walks into the room as if he is just twenty minutes late for a casual meeting. Black suit, no tie, hair perfectly messy as if he just rolled out of bed. Shoving one hand into his pocket, he glances down at the watch on his other hand and then looks up.

Adrian Cole. Oh, great.

Look, nobody is ever happy to see a walking nightmare dressed in an expensive suit, especially when that person is part of the reason your father is serving time in prison. And, most importantly, when that person is about to ruin your wedding.

The cathedral feels like it is spinning. Six hundred eyes flicker wildly from me, to Thomas, and then to him. He takes his sweet time walking, as if he owns the marble floor. He probably does, since Cole Industries bought this building last year.

Beside me, Thomas's hands twitch violently by his sides. “You can’t be here...”

“I can.” Adrian cuts him off, not even sparing him a glance.

He stops at the first step of the altar, three steps below me, yet because of his height and presence, he still towers over me. I finally notice the two men trailing behind him, standing like statues molded to the spot. Shaved heads, black suits, and radio earplugs. Great. The steroid pancake boys. They scan the room for threats while Adrian scans me.

His gaze moves slowly from my veil to my shoes. It isn't a look of lust, or even interest. He is purely calculating whether I will be an asset or a liability to him.

“Remove the veil,” he says, his voice completely flat.

I don’t move an inch. “No.”

A small muscle ticks in his jaw. Yeah, got him.

“Miss Bennet,” he starts, “I’m not going to ask you twice.”

“And I’m not in the habit of taking orders from men who put my father in prison,” I shoot back. Thank God my voice didn’t falter.

“Fair enough,” he mutters under his breath, and for a split second, something flickers in his eyes. Amusement, maybe.

Then his large hands come up to my face and yank the veil off. The cold air hits my face and our eyes lock together.

He turns away from me, facing the priest and the entire crowd. “This wedding is over.”

Beside me, the spirit that possessed Thomas finally lets go of him and he finds his voice. “You don’t have the authority to do this. This is a church...”

“I have five million dollars of authority,” Adrian says smoothly, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a black file. “Signed, dated, and notarized. Two years ago, you came crawling to me for a loan to save Vance Tech.”

He flips the file open. He doesn’t read from the pages; he doesn’t even glance at it. He has clearly memorized this line, waiting for the perfect opportunity to nail us with it. I would have killed for a camera to capture the expression on Thomas's face. The coward knew he was caught.

“Clause nine,” Adrian begins calmly. “In the event of default, the lender may claim any asset listed as collateral.” He looks up from the file, his gaze locking onto me. “Her.”

“Wait, what?” My chest tightens. This couldn’t be real. Thomas didn’t actually list me as collateral, did he?

I snap the file right out of Adrian’s hands to prove he is bluffing. But there, in Thomas's sloppy, unmistakable handwriting under the assets section, is the name ARIA BENNET. It is fully spelled out in block letters. The bastard actually traded me like a piece of property.

Behind me, the sound that erupts from the crowd is terrifying. My aunt in the third row clutches her necklace as if it holds the solution to the problem. People go completely mad.

I stare at Adrian Cole. The man who testified against my dad. The man now calling me his property in front of God and over six hundred people. And I laugh, really hard.

Beside me, Thomas starts stammering. “Baby, I can explain...”

But I drown him out entirely. I turn to face Adrian squarely, because that bastard doesn’t get to screw me over and still get to have a polite chit-chat with me. “So what does this mean for me?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended.

“The contract is legally binding.” Adrian says. “It’s even got your signature showing you gave me your full consent.”

How in seven hells did my signature get on that paper? Then it hits me like a slap to my face. The night of my last birthday, I had been completely drunk from all the drinks and merriment. Thomas had come to me with a random piece of paper claiming it was the catering bill or something and I needed to sign it. So I did. I signed my life right into the hands of Lucifer.

Adrian doesn’t look at the screaming crowd. Instead, he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the realization drain the warmth out of my face. He had clearly calculated this down to the very second. He had waited until I was wearing white and until my family’s survival hung by a single loose thread.

His expensive cologne fills my breath as he leans down and whispers.

“You aren’t a bride today, Aria. You are a debt, and I have come to collect.”