Free Her Forbidden Gunslinger by Harper St. George

handiwork.
    Startled that enough time had passed for her hair to already be finished, Sophie shook herself from her reverie to look in the mirror. The coiffure did look beautiful. Her golden locks were pulled back from her face and pinned, but a strand of diamonds intermingled with baby’s breath hid the pins and created a sort of tiara. The rest had been pulled back loosely so several curled strands fell down around her shoulders. “It’s wonderful.” But her gaze went back to the diamonds and she wondered bitterly if Jean would appear at Anton’s tonight to demand them back.
    The thought of the night ahead made her shudder and she caught sight of her face. It was drawn and pale with blue smudges beneath the eyes. She decided then on no cosmetics. Her face looked a horror and it would serve Jean and Anton right if that’s the bride they got.
    “We should put on your gown now,” Martine prompted, hesitating. “I’ll get Anne to help.”
    “No!” Sophie couldn’t bear the company of anyone else. “We can do it alone.”
    Minutes later, it was finished and Martine excused herself to go downstairs. Sophie had half an hour to herself before the wedding.
    The front bell had been ringing for the past hour as guests arrived. All of them important business associates and contacts Jean could finagle to accept the invitation. Not one social acquaintance among them. As if she needed any further proof that she was simply a pawn in this arrangement. She paced relentlessly, uncertain but hopeful that at any moment Gray would appear in her room and tell her everything would be fine, that she wouldn’t have to marry Anton.
    But the clock in her room ticked away without a knock on her door, without Gray, until finally it chimed eleven o’clock. She rubbed her damp palms on her gown, heedless of ruining it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if this damned wedding happened, if Gray had betrayed her. She walked to the window, hoping to see some hope of escape. There was nothing. A cart loaded with hay was being driven by an old man and pulled by two tired horses on the street past the back wall of their garden. A woman walked with a child skipping ahead of her. Out there, life continued, while here inside, hers was ending.
    At exactly ten minutes past the hour, a knock sounded lightly on her door. Sophie’s heart leaped into her throat and pounded out a heavy rhythm there. She approached it cautiously, even timidly, afraid to open it and see that it wasn’t Gray. But finally her cold fingers turned the knob, and she had to stop her knees from going out, from giving in to the visceral response that instantly threatened to destroy her when she saw Martine’s petite frame standing there. Not Gray. Her eyes fell closed and she leaned against the door as she finally allowed herself to admit his betrayal.
    He wasn’t coming. There would be no white knight riding to her rescue, no hero to keep her dragons at bay. The physical pain that tore through her was worse than she could have imagined. It was as real as any knife wound and it left her trembling with the aftershocks. It was made even worse by the knowledge that she’d walked right into the betrayal, had known the danger in trusting anyone and had done it anyway. Had wanted so much to have someone to hold on to when she had known all along that the only person she’d ever really have was herself.
    Immediately her thoughts went to the day, the night, the life ahead of her. And she knew, without any doubt, that giving herself to Gray had been the worst mistake of her life. Not because she was shamed, but because it would make whatever happened with Anton so much worse. To have a taste of how things might have been and to lose it to settle for something that paled so much in comparison was worse than to have never known it at all.
    “It’s time. Monsieur LaSalle requests you to come now.”
    Sophie heard the words, but could barely nod a response past the pain that clogged